Life on two wheels | Feature

I grew up on the back of a motorcycle, though I was never allowed to ride one myself since that was far too dangerous for an only child who also happened to be a little girl.

So as I sit on the back of a scooter racing though the streets of Sanepa the rebel in me is grinning like the cat that ate the canary. I still haven't told my mother that this is my regular means of transport.

In Australia, there are streets with my last name on them. My late Grandfather, Desmond Searle was known for his prowess on a motorcycle, racing all over Australia long before professional motorcycle racing paid big bucks.

Now in a little town in Australia near Oran Park Raceway you can find Searle Street, a tribute to my Grandfather's dedication to what was then a hobby.

After he passed away, it became a ritual for my Father and Uncle to spend weekends in my Grandfather's makeshift motorbike workshop. When I was young red was a colour for girls and blue a colour for boys, it was the rival colours of Honda and Yamaha. Red is still one of my favourite colours, much to the pride of my father.

My earliest memories are of grease and the roar of motorcycle engines that still lulls me to sleep. I can't tell you how many times I have sat on the back of a motorbike screaming at the top of my lungs while my Father laughed and rode faster.

It's no wonder then that some of the most amazing memories I will take from Nepal will be riding on the back of scooters. Despite the cold, the fog and the dust in my mouth it always manages to make me feel lucky to be alive and in Nepal.

There is something to be said for the independence of the women who I see braving Nepali traffic on their scooters and motorcycles. In a place where driving a car seems brave, women all over Nepal manage to make me gape in awe wondering why we aren't looking for the next MotoGP Champignon right here. The roads would be training enough and that's without mentioning the traffic.

The question of whether or not these women are any less feminine as a result of their independence is laughable when you see their pristinely done make up, high heels and even sari's. I'd like to see Valentio Rossi do that.

I tell my friends you haven't lived (or truly valued your life) until you have braved Nepali traffic on a motorbike or scooter, exposed to the elements.

I have the utmost respect for Nepali women who value their independence so much they are willing to overcome that fear.

The only thing that amazes me even more is the whole families I see on them.

Watching a little girl eating cake on the back of her father's motorbike makes me smile, even I wasn't quite that brave.

As she finishes and wraps her arms tightly around her father's waist, I suddenly realise how lucky I was and how lucky that little girl is. Anywhere in the world, those moments are both rare and priceless.

So even though they obey no road rules, decide which side of the road they will ride on according to a whim and have nearly run me over innumerable times, there is something intriguingly James Dean about motorcyclists.

This Australian has a soft spot for those rebels without causes that scream through Nepali Traffic with the talent of Casey Stoner, and firmly believes: If you can survive Nepali roads the Mount Panorama Circuit is a piece of cake.