THEY SCREWED BOLTS INTO MY SKULL

I’ve broken both femurs. My left wrist five times. My right wrist four times.

I’ve broken my collarbone, shoulder, fingers, ribs, nose, feet, toes, dislocated a hip, suffered quite a few concussions. The list goes on … and I’m sure there’ll be a few more things to add before I’m done.

I’ve spent my adult life riding motorcycles all around the world. In 2016, I became the first Aussie to win the world’s most treacherous race – the Dakar Rally.

Getting that trophy in my hands was a special feeling. But I want more of it.

A lot of you probably wonder why I’d want to risk more injuries, or even something worse. Haven’t I had enough?

Let me tell you, every time I have an injury I think about giving bikes up. And every time, a day or two later, I’ll want to be right back out there riding again.

It’s a bad thing to say, but the adrenaline really is like an addictive drug. When I’m riding a bike, the feeling just takes me over.

As a young kid growing up in the tiny town of Roto in western NSW (population 41 plus flies), I didn’t have computer games like the kids do these days. I had to make my own fun. Riding a motorbike around the paddocks at home gave me a sense of complete joy and freedom. And once I got the knack of it, I could nearly ride a bike better than I could walk.

Now, I’ve got bills to pay and all this adult stuff to worry about but that all disappears when I get on the bike. All the problems just go away, and I find that same feeling I had as a young fella. That’s what I’m chasing.

That’s a big part of why I keep going but it’s not the whole story. There are two other big reasons why I keep challenging myself.

MY SISTER AMANDA

My older sister, Amanda, was born 15 weeks premature. She had cerebral palsy, epilepsy and was blind as well. It was a miracle she lived at all.

Growing up, it was hard to see her face so many challenges. And there were a lot of times I wished I could swap places with her, if that meant she could live a normal life. It could just as easily have been me anyway.

But despite how tough she had it, Amanda enjoyed life a lot. And I tried to make her happy because, in a lot of ways, she lived through me.

The most exciting part of racing was coming home with a trophy. Even though she couldn’t see it, Amanda could touch it and hold it and join in the celebration.

She’d get so excited, knowing that I’d won and seeing that joy on her face meant everything to me.

That’s how she was whenever we talked about bikes. She’d be laughing and smiling and trying to kick her legs. It was how we bonded. Every time I got back from a ride she’d want to know everything, even the boring mechanical stuff.

She would hear my stories and dream of what it must be like.

But when I’d come home with plaster on my arm instead of a trophy, she’d get so upset knowing that I was in pain. I’d tell her that everything was OK and that I’d get better and go again. She was on this journey with me.

The ups and downs of racing, she loved it all. And with everything she had to deal with, she was the most inspirational person in my life.

The biggest thing I learnt off Amanda was to not take things for granted. To cherish every moment, because life can work out so differently to how you plan. The time we’ve got is precious and you’ve got to make it count.

I wish she was still around to hear my stories, because I’ve got quite a few new ones, but she passed away in 2011. I miss her so much.

I’m sure she’s looking down on me though, keeping me as safe as possible out there. When I won the Dakar in 2016, she was in my thoughts the whole race. I wanted to do it for her.

I still race to make her proud.

MY MATE, KURT

It wasn’t long after my sister passed away that one of my heroes changed my life forever.

Kurt Caselli was one of the best enduro riders in the world and he spotted me at the Finke Desert Race in Alice Springs. He liked how I rode and brought me across to his team at KTM in America.

I think he saw a lot of similarities between the two of us. We were both fiercely competitive but knew that winning races wasn’t everything.

You can have all the trophies and accolades you like but, at the end of the day, it’s family and friends that will be there for you through thick and thin. And Kurt reminded me how important that is, because this motorbike thing won’t last forever.

The most exciting part of racing was coming home with a trophy. Even though she couldn’t see it, Amanda could hold it and join in the celebration.

And it almost ended for me in 2013, when I had a really bad crash racing in California.

I’d broken my neck in three places and when the doctors realised that, they screwed bolts into my skull and fitted me with a body-suit to immobilise me. They couldn’t believe I was alive. And before I was flown back to Australia for surgery, I was told I’d never ride again.

When I got home, the surgeons had to operate to put in those rods and screws I mentioned. And when I woke up, against all odds, I walked again.

It took me six whole months to get back on the bike and it was Kurt who brought me back. I wasn’t ready to race yet, but he knew it was important to get me back around the KTM family, so I could feel a part of it again.

I went over and helped him prepare for the Baja 1000 in Mexico. He had me laughing and having a good time. We went riding just two days before the race and I kept up with him, matching him for speed. He helped me believe that I could come back better than I was before.

That was the last time I rode with him.

I was waiting for him at the finish line, but he had a terrible accident in that race and he didn’t come away from it.

It rocked me hard, losing a good mate like that in the prime of his life.

It made me realise that I wanted to be all-in on riding motorbikes. And I want to honour his memory. I’m living the adventure he never got the chance to finish.