Riding solo with the old lady – and a whole bunch of stories in the making.

It all started with just an idea: just hit the road, make the most of a few days off, escape the daily grind – destination unknown, as long as there were mountains, curves, and that sense of freedom.
At first, I had my Honda CB1000R – a fantastic sport tourer with plenty of punch, perfect for quick after-work rides. But as soon as I started planning, it became clear: for a multi-day trip with luggage and unpredictable weather, it simply lacked the right setup.
So I began the search – for a bike made for the long haul. It had to be tough, comfortable, reliable – and ideally, affordable.

That’s how she came to me: the old lady. A BMW R1200GS full of character – but also in desperate need of some care. Her previous owner hadn’t treated her too kindly – but I would.
So before the trip, she got an extra dose of love: fresh oil, new tires, and a bit of attention for the soul. And I wasn’t alone – my dad, who may not have a motorcycle license but definitely shares my love for two wheels, was right there with me.
With time, dedication, and a good deal of mechanical know-how, we brought the old lady back to life. Without him, she wouldn’t have shone nearly as bright – inside or out.

Maybe she felt it. Because she ran. Oh, did she run.

I hadn’t planned that it would end up being 3,600 kilometers, 13 days of travel and countless impressions – it was more likely that it would be through five countries. But that’s exactly what makes the best trips: They evolve. Just like you do on the road.

This isn’t meant to be a dry summary – more like one last roadside coffee break, visor up, looking back on everything that’s been. And even though I did this trip alone, Regine was somehow still along for the ride. Normally, we travel as a team – and so many moments along the way made me wish I could’ve shown them to her right then and there: the quiet pauses, the sweeping views, the best coffee (and the worst), and those delightfully odd names on bakery signs. Traveling as a pair makes a lot of things even more beautiful – but going solo makes you experience some things more intensely. And sometimes, especially in restaurants where solo diners are a rare sight, it feels like the staff go the extra mile – maybe out of kindness, maybe because deep down, they wish they were out exploring too. Either way, the food is served with a little extra care. Those are the moments that stick. And honestly – both ways of traveling have their own charm.

🌧️ Cold, heat, mountain air – and thermal underwear as a loyal companion along the way

I set off in April – wearing winter gear, thermal underwear, and fully convinced I’d be facing freezing temperatures. I knew it could snow in the Dolomites at –2 degrees – but actually riding a motorcycle through a snowstorm? That, I hadn’t expected. That it could hit over 30 degrees inside the Gotthard Tunnel? Not even remotely on my radar.

What I hadn’t factored in: that temperatures could swing from 0 to over 20 degrees in a single day. That the mix of altitude, sunshine, snowfall, wind, and heat would put serious demands not just on my gear, but on my body too. This trip wasn’t just intense in terms of landscapes – it was physically demanding as well. Day 5 really drove that home: I was exhausted, felt worn out, and briefly wondered if I might even have a slight fever. I didn’t mention it in the blog – because sometimes, pushing on makes for the better story – but that evening, it became clear: the stages needed to be shorter. Not out of weakness, but out of respect. For what my body was doing. And for the road that still lay ahead.

In moments like these, you realize just how far you are from home – not just in distance, but emotionally too. And still, that’s exactly what gives the journey its depth. Because you push through. Because you keep going. Because suddenly, you realize how much you actually carry within yourself. And that’s what made it so valuable – because it was more than just a challenge. It was a realization. And a reminder that every limit you overcome brings you a little closer to freedom.

❤️ The quiet moments: when you expect nothing – and receive everything

Sometimes a detour takes you exactly where you need to be. The plan was clear: Großglockner High Alpine Road. But a closure forced me to reroute – and what I found instead was far more than just a replacement. Even the names that led me there – Alte Glocknerstraße and Himmelsschleife – sounded like something out of an adventure novel and instantly sparked a sense of discovery. High up, over 1600 meters, I came across a remote chapel, barely visible from the road. A narrow, rocky path led the way, past abandoned farms with no signs of life this time of year, a rushing stream, and trees whipped by the wind.

As I got off the bike, it was instantly clear: this wasn’t a place for quick photos – it was a place to arrive. I opened the door, stepped inside, and for a moment, time stood still. No engine noise, no voices, no destination – just silence, crisp mountain air, and the feeling of being in the right place at the right time.

You can’t force moments like these. They just happen. And when you’re traveling alone, they hit even harder – because there’s no one there to comment on them. They simply exist. And they stay with you.

Moments like these can’t be planned – they happen when you allow yourself to be open. And when you’re on your own, they feel all the more intense.

🏜️ Passes, curves, dam walls – and a whole lot of freedom

Whether it was the snow-covered Dolomites with the Pordoi Pass, Sella Pass, and Grödnerjoch and all their quiet panoramas, or the atmospheric moment at Grimsel Pass where I stood alone behind the barrier at the top while the road was still officially closed – it was often the detours and closures that led to the most memorable experiences.

No one around. Just the sign: “Closed.” No idea what comes next. Just you, the old lady, and a landscape that feels like it’s been waiting just for you.

Another highlight was the ride along the Berwang–Namlos road – a winding route with surprisingly little traffic. Instead of hustle and crowds: silence, clean lines, and perfect asphalt. It was one of those roads where you feel like you’re dancing with the motorcycle – focused, relaxed, completely in the flow. The old lady ran with confidence, and I realized how being on the road itself became a form of meditation. Not just the riding – also the stopping, the pausing, the listening to the sounds of nature, the breathing in of fresh air. Simply taking in the moment instead of trying to capture it – sometimes that’s the truest form of freedom.

And then there were all those little animal encounters: cat paw prints on the seat, dogs who made themselves toll booth attendants, a curious marmot on the hillside, a donkey with a sense of humor. It’s the small things like these that give a journey its character.

☕ Coffee statistics & culinary reality

And then there was that moment in Andermatt. I’m standing in the bakery – hungry, motivated – ready for anything… except the menu. Because what was lying behind the counter sounded like someone had lost a game of Scrabble: “Salami-Mutschli” and “Schoggigipfeli.” I honestly wanted to order them – really! But my brain and my mouth quickly agreed on a safe bet: “one salami” and “one choco” – accompanied by a perfectly precise index finger pointing straight at the mysterious Mutschli and the Gipfeli-thingy.

The shop assistant smiled like she’d seen this scene a hundred times before – probably not the first time a traveler struggled with the language and just pointed bravely at the pastries. And the taste? Absolutely heavenly – even without the correct pronunciation. And somewhere in between, there it was again: that beautiful moment when you laugh because you’ve failed – and everything still turns out just fine. Either way, it tasted fantastic.

Of course, coffee was my daily companion – sometimes good, sometimes mediocre, sometimes just hot.
The highlights:

• Latte macchiato with chocolate crunchy balls in South Tyrol: 6/5 cups – the holy grail.
• Coffee from the gas station: often only 2/5 cups – but warm is warm.

Culinarily, the tour was a mix of lucky finds and lessons in patience – especially abroad. In France, for example, a bakery isn’t always easy to come by: often well hidden, rarely on the main road, and even if you spot one, it might be closed or already disguised as a residential building.

Anyone who – like me – sticks to backroads and passes through small villages will often find: nothing. No bakery, no café, not even a vending machine. Many places felt like they were still in hibernation – probably because in the classic tourist regions, April simply isn’t the season yet. So more often than not, it meant: supplies from the pannier, an improvised dinner, or that quiet moment of joy when, against all odds, an open restaurant suddenly appears.

That too was part of the journey: learning that there doesn’t always have to be something – and that the coffee you finally find tastes all the better for it.

💸 How much did the fun cost?

Total cost of the tour: € 1,547.51

• 🏨 Accommodation: 821,62 €
• 🍽️ Food & drink: € 302.86
• ⛽ Gasoline: 317,83 €
• 📂 Miscellaneous (toll, snacks, small items): € 105.20

What I got in return:
3600 kilometers of motorcycle cinema,
countless curves,
what felt like 12 different seasons,
and memories to last the rest of the year.

🧱 What did I learned?

• Traveling alone creates connection – with people, places, and yourself.
• Not everything can be planned – and that’s what makes it exciting.
• Sometimes you just have to set off – not thinking, but doing.
• And: you can sleep soundly with a thousand kilometers between you and home – as long as you trust yourself.

I was on the road for 13 days – blogged 10 of them, kept 3 to myself. And that turned out to be the perfect balance.

🛋 And now?

Now I’m back – with a heart full of memories. I think about this tour every single day: the curves, the mountain passes, the encounters, and all those little moments that turned out to be so much bigger than they first appeared.

I’m proud of what I experienced and accomplished – and proud of the old lady who carried me through it all so reliably. No complaints, no fuss – she ran like clockwork with a boxer’s heart. And honestly? I’m a little wistful that it’s already over. It could’ve gone on forever – aside from the fresh laundry, which did eventually start to run out.

Thank you for coming along – digitally, emotionally, with coffee in hand, or simply by quietly reading along.

If you enjoyed the journey, leave a comment, follow us, share the post, send a carrier pigeon – whatever your style may be. The main thing is: stay with us. Because who knows when it’ll be time again for:

Adventure .🐾🐶🥳