On Her Pegs at 74

A Woman, A Ride, and a New Chapter Earned on Nepal’s Roads

Frances, 74 — proud, present, and exactly where she belongs (photo credit: C Man Dongol)

“I am impressed with myself,” Frances says, and then she pauses. Not for effect — but because the sentence still feels unfamiliar on her tongue.  

At 74, she is sitting in Kathmandu at the end of her first-ever adventure ride, a soft grin spreading across her face as she replays the past two weeks mile by mile. The mud. The rough roads. The bridge. The moments when doubt whispered maybe not — and the many more moments when her body quietly answered, yes, actually.

For some women, confidence comes early. For others, it arrives later, after life has tested every seam. Frances belongs to the second group.

Motorcycles have been part of Frances’ life for decades. Riding has carried her through joy and loss, certainty and grief, across New Zealand’s stunning islands. But sitting here now in Kathmandu, at the end of this journey, something feels different.

“I am impressed with myself,” she repeats.

This time, the words stay.

What Frances Carried for Decades

Frances earned her motorcycle licence at 40 — late by most standards, but exactly when she was ready. Perhaps it had always been there. Her mother, after all, rode an Ariel long before women on bikes raised eyebrows, calmly ahead of her time.

Frances learned to ride on her first husband’s motorcycle. It was there that she discovered a freedom she hadn’t known before — and it was also there that something else in her bruised spirit began to erode.

When the marriage ended, Frances knew precisely what she wanted. Not furniture. Not apologies. The bike. A GSX 250. She bought it and kept riding.

But the relationship left its mark.

Over those early years, Frances grew quieter. Her self-worth thinned. Accepting compliments felt foreign. Confidence lived in one place — on the motorcycle. Off it, the effects of that marriage lingered, and she had learned to make herself smaller.

She rode on where she felt at home: in New Zealand, on tarmac, in familiar territory, riding alongside those she trusted. Frances was good. She knew she was good.

She just didn’t yet know how strong she was.

Nepal, Women, Motorcycles

It happened suddenly.

Frances was scrolling one day when an image stopped her cold. A group of women. Motorcycles. Nepal. A women-only adventure riding tour. Three words that did not belong together in her life — and yet landed with unmistakable force.

Nepal.

Women.

Motorbikes.

Her heart began to race.

“I could so do this,” she remembers thinking. The thought surprised her. So did the speed with which it arrived. Maybe next year, she told herself. Maybe.

But the idea didn’t let go.

A couple of phone calls later, she had secured her bike. Her brother was not convinced. “Are you sure this isn’t a scam?” he asked. Frances listened to him as she always does — but then trusted her gut.

Six months later, she landed in Kathmandu.

She had been in Nepal once before, exactly fifty years earlier, travelling overland from London by truck — young and curious. This time was different. This time, she would ride.

Ten women, one road ahead — strangers then, something else entirely by the end (photo credit: C Man Dongol)

Nine women stood with Frances at the starting line. Nine strangers. What they shared was simple: a willingness to show up and see what might happen.

When Things Began to Shift

Day one did not ease them in.

Within hours of leaving Kathmandu, the road demanded something different. Broken surfaces. Mud. Slippery tracks after days of heavy rain. Frances watched the women ahead of her rise up on their pegs — shifting weight, letting the bike move beneath them — and followed.

She had never ridden like this before.

There was no time to overthink it. The road required attention. Her body adjusted. And slowly, something clicked.

Standing up changed everything.

It brought her closer to the motorcycle, not farther away. The Himalayan beneath her felt steady, almost reassuring, as if it knew the terrain and was willing to teach her — as long as she listened.

Something Frances once wouldn’t have imagined — now she’s leading the way (photo credit: C M Dongol)

At 5’2” and just over sixty kilos, Frances was surprised by how naturally the bike responded. She wasn’t fighting it. She was moving along with it. The terrain that had once looked intimidating began to make sense.

There were falls. Dusty, unceremonious, quickly forgotten. She got up. She laughed. She rode on.

Confidence didn’t announce itself. It settled in, each day a little more.

And then the road offered its next challenge.

A Footpath in the Air

The bridge waited.

Over 300 metres long, suspended high above the roaring Modi River cutting through the valley below, it offered no solid ground — only forward.

Frances slowed and looked. She felt a tiny flicker of doubt. She watched the first riders go. One by one. Steady. Focused. The bridge moved almost imperceptibly beneath their wheels. The river kept roaring, indifferent.

When it was her turn, Frances didn’t argue with herself. She didn’t rehearse fear. She looked ahead and let the bike roll.

Loose on the pegs, she felt the rhythm of it — the subtle sway, the way the motorcycle responded when she trusted it. The bridge became what it was: not an obstacle, but a passage.

Crossed, returned, and riding on (photo credit: C M Dongol)

When she came back and stopped, she glowed.

“Wow,” she said. “That was easier than I thought.”

What lingered with her wasn’t the bridge itself.

It was what followed.

Pride.

What Stayed

Motorcycling has always been Frances’ lifeline. But it has also taken her to the darkest edge of her life.

Just over two years earlier, her second husband, Rob, was killed in a motorcycle crash. Frances remained unharmed in body — but altered forever in spirit. Six weeks later, she was back on her bike. Not out of bravery, but necessity.

Riding was the only place where grief loosened its grip, the only space where fear and loss did not consume her whole.

Nepal did not erase that history. It honoured it. And it would have been what Rob wanted. His kind of girl.

Out on the road in Nepal, Frances found a different rhythm — slower, more attentive. She was ready to go with it, to meet uncertainty with curiosity rather than speed. To inhale every moment.

The dust will come off — the memories stay forever.

Back in Kathmandu after two weeks, the traffic no longer felt overwhelming. It felt navigable. Almost familiar. Like riding home.

“I am impressed with myself,” she says again, now without hesitation. “I’ve discovered skills I didn’t know I had.”

She speaks now of future rides. Of travelling again overseas to join some of the women who arrived as strangers in Nepal and left as something closer to kin.

Her advice to other women riders?

“Don’t overthink it. Don't think 'Can I do it?' but 'How can I do it?' If Nepal rings that little bell within — go with your heart.”

She smiles.

“It’s worth every penny.”

Author’s Note

I’m sharing Frances’ story with her permission.

What stayed with me was not Frances’ riding ability — that was always there — but the way this journey seemed to open a new door for her. A space where pride began to feel wearable, not awkward. Where inspiration came quietly, through allowing herself to fully acknowledge what she is capable of.

I was fortunate to witness all of this — on a women-only adventure ride in Nepal with BIKE ’N SOUL.

— Kerstin ❤️