The Daring Journey of a Six-Year-Old Adventurer

When I was just six years old, my adventurous spirit knew no bounds. One of the most unforgettable adventures of my childhood was the time I decided to hitchhike to a destination 160 kilometers away from home.

It was a bright and sunny morning when I set out on my journey. Armed with nothing but my curiosity, determination and a small backpack, I waved goodbye to my sleepy hometown. The thrill of the unknown beckoned me, and I couldn’t resist the call of the open road.
As I walked along the ​path of dry asphalt, I stuck out my thumb, hoping for a kind soul to give me a lift. It wasn’t long before a friendly driver pulled over. With a wide grin, he asked, “Where are you headed, little one?” ​I confidently replied and said the name of the next close village, because I knew there would probably be some kind of problem if I would have told him the town name 160 kilometer away!
The driver chuckled but admired my determination. He agreed to take me there. ​Time flew by as we chatted about as much everyting a six year old could know and talk about... The landscape changed ​from the ​village scene to rolling hills and forest, and I felt a sense of excitement with every passing kilometer.

When I arrived at the first intermediate goal, I waited until the car I had been hitchhiked with disappeared from sight, before I extended my thumb again and continued hitchhiking.
It wasn't many minutes before the next car pulled up and I repeated the winning concept of saying I was only going to the next adjacent community.
The driver was a friendly-looking man in his late fifties, or maybey in his early thirties... Hard for the young me to have a clue!
He nodded and motioned for me to hop in. As we drove, he shared stories of his own childhood, and I found myself relaxing into the rhythm of the journey. The landscape outside the window once again changed from the ​village vista to hilly countryside, each mile bringing me closer to my final destination.

The pattern repeated itself four times before I reached the last village before the concluding destination.

However, as the day had turned into late evening, the reality of my journey began to set in. My feet ached as I walked along the branch of a highway, at least 120 kilometers from home and “only” 40 kilometers from my goal. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows and a sense of uncertainty. But I wasn’t afraid!
I was determined to reach my destination. Just as I was beginning to feel the weight of my adventure, a police car pulled over. The officer stepped out, looking both concerned and curious.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” he asked. I told him about my daring journey and my goal to reach the city.

The officer listened intently, then smiled and said, “Let’s get you to the police station and we'll call your mother and father.”
I was greeted with warmth and kindness in the station house. The officers there were amazed by my bravery and determination. They called my parents, who were relieved to know I was safe.

At the station, I was treated like a little hero.
They gave me my first ever experiance of an awsome micro waved hamburger!
As I sat there, I realized that my adventure had taken an unexpected turn, but it was still an incredible journey.

In the next hour, my aunt's boyfriend came to take me home, which was in the 160 kilometer distant city! I was greeted with hugs and tears of my aunt. Looking back, that journey taught me the power of courage and the kindness of strangers.

It was a defining moment in my childhood, a testament to my daring nature and my love for exploration.
Even in present days I appreciate a good hitchhike and as I recount this story, I can still feel the thrill of that adventure.

My childhood consists of many many more stories like this - from real life!
 

In the same summer as my hitchhiking adventure, still only six years old - I had my first experiance with motorcycles.

Again, my aunt's boyfriend! I felt and experienced that I had a special bond with that man.
He was always kind and listened to me and joked with me - and not least he taught me to ride a motorcycle that summer.

It was a small home build he made with a tuned moped engine.
It was a wonderful feeling to drive around the large outhouse at his parents' house.
The little machine had three gears and it didn't take many laps before I first dared to shift from first to second gear and soon after that also the third! It was fast! At least 30 km/h! Which I enjoyed!

The next summer I was there again, driving around the big outhouse at his parents' house, when I heard the roar of a real motorcycle!
It was his younger brother who sled into the yard with his 900cc or 1000cc racer.

Either he asked me or I asked him, which is most likely(!) if I got to go along - and I did...

By this time I was a big boy, seven years old! and certainly wasn't going to have to hold on to him around the waist, but took a firm grip on the screen sides and held on for dear life as we got onto the country road and the acceleration came like a rocket that took off to the moon! It went so fast I was scared, but I loved it!

My aunt's boyfriend was not my only male role model, but I also had my 20 years older stepbrother who was a big and strong bodybuilder.

When I turned nine, I got a moped from him as a present. A very own moped. A green pedal moped with a U-frame. It wasn't particularly fast or anything, but it was mine and I loved that it could take me around the block - yes! Only in the neighborhood, because I wasn't allowed to go any further. But it was ok.

Another two years later, when I was 11 years old, I pestered my stepdad's ex-wife's new husband, they lived at the far end of the street - that I would be allowed to buy his moped. It was a 1976 Mustang Cobra, orange and black with chrome spoked rims. I was allowed to buy it! It wasn't tuned, but it still did close to 50 km/h - which I was happy with. Despite my age, I was allowed to drive it even outside the block, so with it I drove around the entire municipality, the entire county and as far as the city 160 km away which was the next county, which I almost hitchhiked to all those years ago - in case it hadn't been because the police picked me up...

Once I was stopped by the police when I came whizzing down a hill at almost 50 km/h... I hastened to screw the carburettor nipple, because I knew then it would never be able to go more than a maximum of 30 km/h which was the speed limit.

The fact that I was only 12 or 13 years old at the time never came up, ​but I argued that the moped was not tuned and that the speed was only due to the steep hill I was driving down.

One of the two policemen got on the mped, kicked it into motion and drove off. I heard how it really flowed and knew that it wouldn't be able to get up to speed more than the allowed 30 km/h.

"You're right," said the policeman when he returned, "it's not trimmed!"

To this day, I can still ask myself how the police could be so ignorant about mopeds!

A few months before my 15th birthday, I got a brand new, red and black Yamaha DT-50. For the first few months, I drove around at a speed of 29 km/h, which was what it was capable of in the original version.

By spring I had some friends help me fix the 29km/h towards 115 km/h, with an 80cc cylinder, 24mm carburettor, effect bend and golden effect mufflers.

Several times I was stopped by the police and had to accompany them to the station to watch as they unscrewed what they thought was the only thing that wasn't original. Once the cylinder, another time the carburettor and once the whole exhaust system!

Each time I left the police station, pushing the moped in front of me, all the few hundred meters to the ​"Chainsaw and motor shop", where I immediately fitted the moped with new parts again...

I turned 15 and instead of driving a legal moped, I bought, with the help of my older brother (stepbrother), my first motorcycle, a Yamaha XT 125cc. Another month or so, I also bought a 500cc Husqvarna which I immediately traded for a car... As if that wasn't enough, I also used to borrow a 1985 Kawasaki GPZ900R from a man in his 40s-50s. I was still 15 years old.

And it was at that point somewhere that I began to dream of riding a motorcycle through distant lands and on unknown roads. First dream was to drive through a wintry Russia.. Don't ask why! it was just like that and it was my dream trip for many, many years.

When I was 16 I bought a Kawasaki Z1000ST.

As I have grown older, Russia in its winter garb has taken on the image of spring and summer, as has Africa.

There are certainly a very large number of roads left both in Sweden and in Europe that I haven't driven on, but I have driven on many and in almost all of the European countries in the last 25 years.

So now I'm going to Africa and not only there, but I'm going around the entire continent of Africa - then it will be Russia :o)