BMW’s women-only off-road skills course
“You will fall off,” says instructor Nick. “When you feel it happening, remember they’re our bikes. So forget about them – just get out of the way.”
I’m not normally a “women-only course” type of woman, but this time I’m very nervous, and glad I won’t be the only one wrestling with the weight of my bike. As it turns out, Nick is shorter in the leg than me, and has dozens of tips for shorties. Lesson one is picking the bike up and handling it with confidence.
All of us ride on the road, but this is different. We’re standing on the pegs, arms bent slightly, elbows out, putting weight on one footpeg to turn. Two fingers are meant to stay on the levers all the time, but I struggle to do this without blipping the throttle whenever I go over a stone.
We wobble off in a line, instructors coaching as we go. “You look a bit tense,” shouts Simon. No kidding. I’ve stood on the pegs before, but only over a pothole, not in circles around cones. It’s like doing my CBT all over again, halfway up a Welsh mountain, standing up. I’m squeaking like a hamster as I lock up the front wheel, but somehow avoid falling off.
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After lunch, our first trail ride. Gravelly tarmac and shaley tracks, slippery and painful to land on, are much scarier than riding around on flat mud. But as we get onto rougher tracks with soft mud verges, I relax a little. I do seem to be in control, to my own amazement. Besides, the photographer’s waited in vain all morning to catch me falling off – It seems a waste to do it when he’s not there. So I stay on, sometimes through blind determination, more often by bottling out halfway round a corner.
Then we round a bend in the woods and see a deep puddle, with the photographer beyond it ready to capture my downfall. Nothing to do but look ahead, keep a steady throttle and trust the bike to get me to the other side. I ride on, feel a satisfying splashing over my boots, and emerge triumphant.
A bit too triumphant, as it turns out. Losing concentration for a fatal moment I fall sideways onto the grass, without even having time to leap clear as we were told. My foot is trapped but, thanks to my hefty boot, unscathed. 
Now, having broken the falling-off barrier without pain, I really can relax and enjoy the ride. I even find time to look out across the wooded valley and admire the view. Downhill riding is the hardest thing, so I corner Simon when we get back and ask what I was doing wrong. “We haven’t done downhills yet,” he says cheerfully.
It feels odd to sit down for the ride back to base, and it’s funny to reconvene and see what everybody looks like in make-up and dressed for dinner. We’re very assorted; some people’s husbands have done this course before, Ally has done it herself and is back for more, and Chris has tried off-roading but wants “to learn it properly”. Dinner with the instructors is worth it for their stories alone. Nick and Simon are both Dakar veterans, and Tony has ridden all over the world.
Next day Jonty replaces Nick, so there are no more short-leg tips, but there are plenty of comments that an all-male group of students would never dare make about a female instructor, however nice her bum looked.
I stand up and find I’ve lost my nerve overnight. How can I have forgotten everything so fast? I’m glad we’re heading straight out on the trail, so I won’t have time to think too much. It comes back quickly, though I’m still struggling to change gear. I’m getting the feel of taking uphills quickly enough to use the momentum, but I’m still not joining in the “gymnastics” – others are kneeling on the seat as they ride.
Then we halt where the trail falls away so steeply we can’t see the bottom. Suddenly, I’m not so keen to get that lesson on downhills. This one’s rocky and rutted, ending in a sharp right turn. Simon explains how to use engine braking, with the throttle rolled off. “If you do exactly what we tell you, I guarantee you will get down it,” he says confidently.
My rational mind agrees that it is within all our capabilities. The rest of me disagrees violently. I have done stand up comedy and internet dating, and I have never been as frightened as now. I need to do it as soon as I can, without time to imagine what could happen. Throttle off, look where I want to go. I banish everything else from my brain and, as promised, go down and up with no problem. By the time I’ve regained the queue at the top, I am shaking so much I don’t think I can do it again, but I do, twice.
Rain soaks our clothes and slicks the rock, but our spirits are only slightly dampened, and after lunch the skies clear. Before we split into groups for fast, medium and easy rideouts, we try the big GS1200 Adventures, so high that some of us can’t reach the ground at all. Once they’re moving, they’re smoother than the single-cylinder GS650s we’ve been riding, and it’s great to be so high above the ground.
Jonty coaches us around some tight corners, and I learn that I can handle a bit of sliding on mud. Then it’s “recovery” – or riding halfway up a steep, shaley slope, stalling the bike to a deliberate halt, turning it around and riding back down.
Simon demonstrates how to dismount and use the bike’s own weight to turn it. This bike is as big and heavy as the Bandit I ride on the road, but I can hold it steady, roll it and rock it till it faces diagonally downhill. The scariest bit is letting the brake off and riding away, but I do that too.
Feeling confident, I tackle the hill for real. I’ve seen several people take a tumble, but I go for it, keeping a steady throttle and standing right over the bars to encourage the bike over the loose stones. The engine growls as we climb past half way, but the front tyre is losing purchase. I try to feed in more power. It’s a losing battle, my balance is all over the place and I tumble spectacularly off into a deep ditch.
I get up quick so they can see I’m OK, but Simon is already laughing as he runs up to help me pull the GS out of a hole. He has to drag it round by the spokes before he can start the engine and roll it back onto the slope. I’m glad I did that recovery exercise, because now I have to ride it down from this precarious perch.
Last time I didn’t have enough momentum to take me to the top, so now I heed the shouts as I accelerate towards the foot of the hill, and keep working the throttle as smoothly as I can with the bars juddering over rocks. It’s working – I’m past the ditch and still climbing, gritting my teeth and muttering curses at the bike. Then the slope rolls away and I pop over the top, suddenly realising I have no idea what awaits me. I fly over one bump, narrowly miss another, and come to a triumphant halt.
Simon’s upbeat about his first all-women course, though he’s keen that women shouldn’t be deterred from doing the mixed courses, too, as they have before. “You want everyone to learn something, have some laughs, and come back uninjured,” he says, “which we did – nearly.” There was only one injury beyond bruising and, ironically, it happened nowhere near a bike.
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We’re all pretty pleased with ourselves. “I was shitting myself before I came,” says Lorna. “I’ve been riding for over thirty years but I’ve never done any off-roading. I didn’t know whether I had the confidence to do it - they’ve inspired that confidence.” The brochure promised that in two days I’d progress to a level I never before thought achievable. Frankly, that happened before lunch on day one. The only problem is, as soon as I’ve finished washing the mud out, I know I’ll be wanting more.
Article by Timandra Harkness - www.timandraharkness.com Thanks to Nevis marketing for supplying off-road boots, gloves and helmet - http://www.nevis.uk.com. BMW Off-road skills courses happen in Wales from March to October – 08000 131 282 www.worldofbmw.com . Photographs by Mark Hill - http://www.marchill.co.uk
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