For years, my journeys began with the rhythmic churn of pedals, the creak of panniers, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing that every mile was earned by my own legs. I’ve cycled to ferry ports, Portsmouth, Newhaven and Dover more times than I can count—multi‑day rides with tents strapped to the frame, cooking gear rattling in dry bags, and the familiar ritual of finding and setting up camp after a long day on the road.

But this year, everything changed.

This time, I’d be travelling on a motorbike.

A New Chapter Begins

The decision didn’t happen overnight. After spending part of the previous year working toward getting back on a motorbike, I found myself tumbling head‑first into research mode. It became an obsession: reviews, comparisons, forums, YouTube rabbit holes. BMW, Honda, Kawasaki, KTM, Suzuki—every brand had its champions and critics, and I absorbed it all.

Eventually, one bike stood out to me: the Royal Enfield Himalayan 450.

It wasn’t the flashiest or the fastest, but it felt right. A proper touring machine with a global dealer network, a sensible price, and two years of European breakdown cover. It promised capability without pretension—a bike built for real roads, tracks and trails, real weather, and real travel.

So I treated myself to a brand‑new one. A clean slate on two wheels.

Learning to Pack All Over Again

You’d think that after years of bicycle touring, packing for a motorbike would be easy. After all, a motorbike can carry more, right?

Well… yes and no.

Cycling gear is feather‑light. You stay warm by pedalling harder. You cool down by easing off. Layers are simple, breathable, and compact. Motorcycling, on the other hand, demands armour—literally. Jackets are thick, gloves are reinforced, trousers feel like they’re made from repurposed tank parts. Everything is bulkier because it has to protect you when things go wrong at speed.

And because you can’t generate heat by working harder, you end up carrying more layers, more thermal gear, more “just in case” items. Touring on a motorbike, I quickly realised, is not easier—it’s just different.

The Great Luggage Hunt

Once the bike was sorted, the next obsession arrived: luggage.

Hard aluminium panniers were tempting. They look the part, they’re secure, and they’re built for adventure. But they’re also expensive, and a single dent can render them useless. Soft luggage felt more familiar—closer to my cycling roots—but the big-name brands came with big-name price tags.

Thankfully, the world has changed since I last bought dry bags twelve years ago. New manufacturers like Rhinowalk offer solid gear without the premium price. After weeks of comparing, measuring, and overthinking, I settled on a setup that felt both practical and budget‑friendly:

• Lomo bar bags up front for tools, pump, and waterproofs

• A budget aluminium top box from Amazon (surprisingly excellent quality)

• Rhinowalk tail bags for the sides, avoiding the need for a pannier rack

• A rackless system from AliExpress to tie it all together (Also available on Amazon for £60 more)

It’s not a quick‑release system—those cost a small fortune—but it works. And after a test ride to Moretonhampstead with friends for a walking weekend, I was genuinely pleased with how everything held up. A few tweaks remain, like keeping the bags clear of the exhaust, but that’s all part of the fun.

Going All In (As I Do)

I should confess something: when I get into a new hobby, I go all in. It’s a trait I inherited from my father, and it shows.

So naturally, researching luggage led to researching riding gear, which led to… well, a small wardrobe overhaul:

• Three jackets (two winter, one summer mesh)

• An armoured hoodie for casual rides

• Upgraded armour after learning far too much about impact ratings

• Four pairs of gloves, from heated winter gauntlets to summer mesh with sliders

• Separate waterproof trousers and overjacket, that wouldn’t look out of place hunting Moby Dick.

If there’s a weather condition, I now have a garment for it.

Looking Toward Belgium

Now, with the bike dialled in, the luggage sorted, and the gear cupboard resembling a small branch of Sportsbikeshop (where a lot of the clothing came from), I’m finally ready.

Belgium awaits.

It’s a route I’ve travelled many times before, but this time feels entirely new. Faster, yes—but also more demanding. More technical. More gear‑heavy. More preparation. And yet, the same sense of anticipation remains: the thrill of setting off, the promise of the road, the quiet excitement of seeing familiar places from a new perspective.

This is my first real motorbike tour.

A new chapter in how I travel.

A shift from pedals to pistons.

And I can’t wait to see where it leads.