How riding a motorbike in Southeast Asia set me free

As drivers zoomed past me and the smell of exhaust fumes filled the air, I shuddered at the idea of hopping on the back of a motorbike. Yet there I was, less than one week into my Southeast Asia trip, learning how to drive the damn thing on the side of the road in Lombok, Indonesia.

Olivia, the wide-eyed Danish girl from my hostel, spoke to me softly – using the same voice I reserve for rescue dogs who are scared of humans (I suppose I was just as shaky). The helmet wobbled on my delicate skull as I walked the heavy, bulky bike back and forth.

I practiced starting the ignition again before Olivia instructed me to gently twist the throttle. Like all beginners, I did it too roughly and then got scared and hit it even harder, accelerating myself at the speed of light (it was probably about 10mph) and convincing myself this was the end.

Just a few yards away from us, the rest of our group lounged on the beach under the palm trees, sipping coconuts and taking breaks to splash in the perfectly blue Indonesian water. I wondered if I should just join them. Why was I giving myself a heart attack? Surely I could call taxis or hitch rides with random backpackers for the rest of my 6-month trip. Maybe I was just born to be a passenger princess?

After a few goes, the throttle started to feel more smooth and natural. I was doing it!

Gaining more biking experience

The next day, Olivia, her girlfriend Jo and I put my driving skills to the test, heading off in search of the perfect beach. I followed behind Olivia and Jo as we winded through rice terraces, stopped for roadside watermelons and even had to brake for a herd of water buffalo. I started to relax and enjoyed the breeze tickling my skin and perfectly offsetting the warmth of the sun.

Then, Murphy’s Law took over. My bike started sputtering on the road, and we had to pull over in a tiny village before it completely fell apart. We fumbled with Google Translate until some local people kindly helped us move the bike into a nearby autoshop. The person we rented the bike from drove to us to bring me a replacement bike, and we headed back out.

After a picturesque sunset on the beach with live music and fresh coconuts, my bike conked out on the side of the road again. In the hassle, I had forgotten to fill the tank, and this part of the island was completely dark. I pushed the bike a half-mile up the road until I found a shack selling petrol out of plastic bottles.

That absolutely terrifying, complete disaster of a day is a fond memory I go back to like an old scratchy sweater. I was so frightened, confused and uncomfortable, you’d think that I would vow to never ride a motorbike again, but it was the total opposite. Even with everything that went wrong, I was hooked on the feeling of complete independence and autonomy. It was the beginning of something beautiful.

For the rest of my time in Southeast Asia, I rented a bike whenever I got the chance; it was the key that unlocked so many incredible experiences.

The freedom of exploring by motorcycle

After that day in Indonesia, I drove to more beaches, ocean pools and even a shipwreck snorkeling spot. Then, in Thailand, my bike took me up into the mountains to the hippie town of Pai. I explored massive caves and watched the sunrise illuminate the clouds on the border of Thailand and Laos, before going back south to Ko Tao and Krabi where I could drive on lanes through coconut trees.

In the Philippines, there was something electrifying about being in a big group of travelers, ready to explore a brand-new place with no plans and full tanks of gas. We weren’t tied to exorbitant taxi fees or overly planned group tours; we were just ready for anything. In El Nido, I drove up scary mountains and ziplined from one island to the other, and in Siargao I could bike to the beach for spontaneous sunset surf sessions.

Finally, in Vietnam, motorbiking helped me get off of the well-trodden path. I quite literally chased waterfalls in Cao Bang and could stay in the middle of my own private valley, surrounded by nothing but rice terraces and water buffalo.

Despite it all, I never stopped being scared of motorbiking. That fear was healthy. When I was riding, I always checked my brakes and focused on the road. I opted for taxis in busy cities, I wore helmets and I never drove after drinking. Being afraid kept me sharp and safe.

Not letting fear overwhelm you

In these times, it’s easy to retreat too far into our fears for a sense of security. To succumb to the noise and let it overwhelm us. But if we aren’t careful, our fear can grow louder than our dreams. We’ll hold ourselves back from everything unfamiliar, keeping us away from the spontaneous, wild and unexpected.

When I was motorbiking, I found that my bike followed my mind. Like skiing or surfing, you subconsciously veer towards whatever you are looking at. And if I spent too much time imagining myself crashing into trees or falling off the edges of cliffs, that’s exactly where I would end up.

I needed to learn how to breathe, quiet my fears and redirect my focus to everything that could go right. Sometimes it required me singing at the top of my lungs as I zoomed down rocky roads or taking breaks on long drives, but keeping calm kept me safe.

We must learn to coexist with our fears in pursuit of what we want, and it is an ongoing process. They may always exist, but sometimes you just have to do things scared. Fear is an important guide, but it shouldn’t be the only feeling that dictates your decisions.

Fear can be loud, so we must let our love and hope be louder. Travel is an opportunity to move forward, rise above the fear and have a conversation with it rather than letting it control your life.

Doing things when they’re scary builds confidence, especially when learning a new skill. I was at risk of remaining a passenger princess to life, following the whims of others without learning how to take risks or navigate things for myself. I quickly realized that driving myself was always safer than relying on whatever backpacker offered me a ride, no matter how absurdly confident they seemed. It let me choose where I wanted to go, when I wanted to leave and if I’d rather do it by myself. I was finally the one in charge, setting my own pace and not being controlled by my fear.

I’ll never forget the feeling of driving through palm trees as golden hour lit up the island around me. My fear was finally quiet, leaving me all alone and absolutely free.