From her struggles with family and friends when preparing for her around the world ride decades before it became a television opportunity, to her honest observations of what it was (is?) like to travel solo as a woman, you get a sometimes painfully transparent look at the emotion and effort stirred up by such a massive undertaking. The repeated machismo she runs into in the motorcycling community in 1980s London is frustrating. What's more frustrating is that it hasn't changed as much as it should have in the past thirty years.
Travellers tend to throw on the rose coloured glasses when describing India, ignoring the difficulties of trying to move across a continent with well over a billion people on it. Elspeth's experiences, exacerbated by her gender, along with her brutal honesty, give you what is probably the most accurate description of riding in India you'll ever read; no rose tinted glasses on here. From the fumbling sexual advances of men stuck in the middle ages to breath taking child cruelty, Elspeth's wide open eyes see it all and she doesn't shy away from telling you about it.
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As much as I enjoyed the travel writing, what I missed most at the end of the book was Elspeth's unique way of seeing the world. Her struggles understanding people and dealing with bureaucracies, especially with her wit and dry humour, are often hilarious, disheartening and hopeful all at the same time.
I'd urge you to give this book a read, it's available on Amazon as an ebook for less than ten bucks Canadian. When the movie comes out in a couple of years, I hope they give it the nuance and depth it deserves. Elspeth provides a voice and insight into a lot more than just her gender.