A New Challenge Ahead: Trading Pedals for Pistons

It’s been nearly eleven years since I set off on that life-altering ride to Cape Town—10 months, 18,000 kilometers, and a thousand stories stitched into the seams of my panniers. Along the way, I met fellow wanderers chasing horizons by bicycle, motorbike, van, and truck. Each had their own rhythm, their own reasons, their own road.

In Tanzania, Maurice had circled the globe. In Mali, I crossed paths with German bikers on roaring BMWs and a retired British fireman carving through the Sahara on a KTM. Back then, the idea of motorbike travel didn’t tempt me. Fuel logistics, border bureaucracy, and the looming suspicion that I might sell the bike locally—it all felt like too much. Besides, I hadn’t ridden since my early twenties, when my wife gently nudged me to sell my 125cc as fatherhood approached.

Cars filled the gap for a while. But over the years, the joy of driving faded. The UK’s roads grew crowded and cratered. Devizes, once a sleepy town, became a slow crawl of traffic and frustration. I fell out of love with driving long ago—and after cycling to Africa, I didn’t miss the car one bit.

Fast forward to 2023. My job granted me a three-month sabbatical, and I leapt back into the saddle. Europe unfolded beneath my wheels—France, Belgium, Holland, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Czech Republic, Austria, Liechtenstein, Switzerland. 3,500 miles of freedom, of tent-flapping mornings and sun-drenched roads. The smells, the sights, the spontaneous conversations—they reminded me what it means to feel alive.

But life has changed. Family commitments anchor me more firmly for now, and the horizon feels a little further away. Work, too, has lost its spark—pressure, expectations and unrealistic non smart targets with constant cuts to resources. I find myself yearning again for movement, for meaning.

Earlier this year, a dear friend Simon—whom I’d originally met cycle touring on the banks of lake Malawi—came to visit, something he does occasionally. He usually arrives on a bicycle, but this time he pulled up on a BMW motorbike. “This must’ve cost a fortune,” I said. He laughed. “Not at all. It’s only 310cc, perfect for touring—light, nimble, and good on fuel.”

That evening, we reminisced about dusty roads and distant future dreams. And something shifted. I began to wonder: what if I got a motorbike? What if I finally took the test, strapped a tent to the back, and chased the horizon again—but this time with a throttle?

I started researching. Motorbikes have come a long way since my 125cc days. The BMW GS 310 is tempting, but I want something more versatile—capable of motorway stretches if needed, off-road detours, and everyday errands. I’m careful with money (some say tight, I say thrifty), so I have started to look for a bike that could do it all.

And then it happened—just like it did all those years ago when I was hunting for the perfect long-range touring bicycle. That same electric buzz of possibility returned, this time sparked by a machine with a growl: the Royal Enfield Himalayan 450. Rugged, reliable, unapologetically built for the wild—this is the surly long-haul trucker of the motorbike world, and it might just be my next companion.

I’m teetering on the edge of a new chapter. With my mod 2 test nearly behind me, I’m close to unlocking the freedom of two wheels once again—only this time, with an engine beneath me and a whole new kind of horizon ahead. The moment my licence lands back in my hands, the real fun begins: test rides, gear setups, and the slow, deliberate transformation of a bike into a home.

Two dealers nearby—Hayball in Salisbury and Bike Treads in Swindon—have been generous with their time and advice, helping me navigate this thrilling fork in the road. It’s uncanny how much this mirrors the excitement of twelve years ago, poring over specs and saddle options, imagining the road ahead on a bicycle that would carry me across continents. Now, the stakes feel higher, the engine louder, but the spirit? Just as alive.

So here I am, on the cusp of a new chapter. Not abandoning the bicycle, but expanding the toolkit. Trading pedals for pistons, sweat for speed, and silence for the rumble of possibility.

Let’s see where this road leads.