How Not to Ride a Dirt Bike

Motorbikes and I have never really been happy together. Many years ago I had the two wheeled equivalent of a very bad one night stand which left me with a richly coloured bruise the shape, and size, of Lichtenstein.

Then a few years ago I was riding one of those little scooter skateboard things when I came off and broke my nose. The actual medical term for what I did was to 'de-glove' my nose. Think about fingers and gloves for a while and you'll get the gory picture.

Two wheeled transport is obviously not for me and I've not touched the bloody things since. Which left me rather surprised when Honda phoned to invite me to a motorbike launch.

Not having ridden one for 20 years, and not having an actual bike license I felt I had to decline, but when I was told it was a motorcross bike launch and that there would be quad bikes as well, I decided what the hell...

But first, what to wear? As you know a major part of bike riding involves being dressed up like a Ninja with a heavy interest in Kevlar, but thankfully Honda had some gear I could borrow.

Now the only thing to worry about was hurting myself.

So I duly arrived at the course somewhere outside of Huntly to be greeted by the sight of grizzled, athletic off road bike professionals in protective gear that had obviously been well used.

I was given a pristine pair of white and red armoured trousers, brand new black boots, and a bright red and white shirt which, quite worryingly, was made of nothing more substantial than some cotton and nylon. It seems that you need to move your body a lot when on the bike and big hefty jackets would get in the way.

Well on the way to becoming the laughing stock of the launch I walked out to inspect the track. It looked more like one of those places they test army tanks than something you'd run a motorbike over.

Rejigging my expectations, I asked one of the Honda people which bike would be suitable for me given my experience or lack thereof, and my stature - which only a Hobbit could call impressive. I was given something called a '100', told where the gear shift pedal was, where the brakes were, and where the clutch was. And then encouraged to go out on the track where bikes presumably named '55,000' were leaping twenty feet into the air.

I instead opted for the Pee Wee track, which is not, as you would expect a track for small children, but one named for John 'Pee Wee' Spartan, the only man that could tame its wild undulations and sweeping corners - and a puddle.

I quickly learned a few things, as you do when suddenly piloting an alien machine. The first was that you can't feel any of the pedals. Motorcross boots are essentially a slimmed down version of a ski boot that covers virtually all of your lower leg, presumably so that you don't break into too many pieces by the time you reach the bottom of the hill you've just fallen off.

Second, there's no way to work out what gear you are in.

Third and most important, is that when you panic and slam the front brake on, can't find the rear brake because your right foot is encased in armour, and forget to lift off the accelerator your bike will plow majestically straight ahead into whatever you are about to hit.

I did execute a rather professional barrel roll though, after cleverly using my chest to absorb all of the impact. I was a little winded, but you know what they say about falling off horses, so it was back on the bike again. After a while I became more confident, and went quicker and quicker. I learned how to change gear, and how to avoid the puddle in which I would likely drown.

I even went out again on something called a '150' which was actually more fun, not only because it was more powerful, but because it seemed much steadier - a by-product of the extra weight.

I never did get onto the track with everyone else, which in retrospect was probably a very good decision indeed, as even some of the experienced riders were saying the track was too slippery. Instead it was quad bike time. And a plus, this one didn't even need you to operate the clutch to change gear, which would prove to be a very good thing.

I just wish that someone had said turn left at the first exit sign.

Everything started off very well. The bike was manoeuvrable, and the way it could claw up slopes I would have trouble walking up was nothing less than bloody impressive.

Then the exit sign flashed by. I was following another rider who had either lost his way or actually knew what he was doing and going on a bit of a safari. I spent the next few minutes blithely riding confidently on, getting further and further away from the actual bike launch, but actually having quite a fun time.

Then I rode up a very steep hill in second gear, which is a Bad Thing. The quad got slower and slower, until it just stopped. Well, it didn't exactly stop, because gravity, which until then had obviously been taking a bit of a break, noticed me and my quad halfway up a muddy cliff, and with a stately sort of grace we both started sliding backwards.

I hadn't been told much about riding the quad, but I had been told that you never, ever try to put your feet on the ground lest you be sucked under the whole thing. Luckily the quad gently slid into a bank and stalled.

Unluckily the quad would not restart. It had to be in neutral, which in a bike is achieved by pushing down on the gearlever until it's in first and then lifting it up ever so slightly. In my armoured boots this was nigh impossible, so in the end I got off the quad and put the gearbox into manual with my hands on the pedal. But that didn't work, as the engine remained stubbornly silent.

I knew that eventually someone would come and rescue me, but I had an inkling that I'd gone further than anyone else had gone and therefore that might be a while, so I clambered to the top of the slope and saw the marquee way off in the distance.

Now I realised this is why Honda dressed me in red - it was so they could spot me when I did something stupid.

I waved wildly for a while and then returned to the bike. I thought I might as well pull it out of the bank, which I managed after a great deal of huffing and puffing, and a rather sore chest that I'd bounced off the ground previously. One last attempt to start it, and wouldn't you know, the bugger fired up and sat there happily idling at me. Bastard.

So it was back on the track again, where I learned another important lesson - never try to get a quad moving on a very steep slope while you are halfway up said slope. The wheels instantly lost traction and gravity took great pleasure in setting us on yet another vertically oriented journey.

By this stage I had had enough. You were not supposed to put your feet on the ground, but what about your whole body? I abandoned the bike with all the grace of an Orang-utan filling out a tax form, but I did manage to hit nothing but the ground, this time breaking my fall with my left index finger, which quickly went an interesting blue colour.

The quad, meanwhile, had settled neatly at the bottom of the hill. And it was still running. Never one to miss a bit of luck, I was instantly behind the handle bars and attacked the hill in first gear. This time it all went swimmingly, but I'd had enough of all this off road stuff and took the first exit sign.

And the second.

And the third.

Every ten minutes or so I'd crest a ridge to see the actual bike launch in the distance, and every time it would be further away. I felt just like Ewan MacGregor on one of his trips, except on a quad bike and titled The Wrong Way Round.

I eventually did find my way back and emerged to find I'd missed lunch. But in retrospect I did have a hell of a good time, on both two and four wheeled transport, and I'm toying with the idea of actually learning how to ride a motorbike properly. This would certainly help if Honda wants to invite me on any further launches.

Oh, and that first tumble off the bike? By the time I got back to Auckland it was getting hard to breathe so I checked directly into the emergency clinic. A multitude of X-rays later and I was the proud owner of at least one cracked rib.

Bikes - three. Sam Domett - nil.