Cycling alone, cycling together: the pros and cons of motorbike travel

Cycling alone, cycling together: the pros and cons of motorbike travel

Cycling alone, cycling together: the pros and cons of motorbike travel

There is a lot of truth in this old African proverb, but traveling with friends versus traveling alone changes more than just speed and distance. I've traveled extensively in both circumstances, so let's look at the good and the bad.

Go out the door

I started my first cross country trip alone. And the reason I did that is because, frankly, I couldn't find anyone to go with me. I wasn't in a relationship of any kind. I had friends, but no one who had the circumstances to commit to a month or more of commitment to me. There was no Ewan McGregor to my Charley Boorman or Thelma to my Louise. I was the only person I could count on, and it was only on my will that doubts had to be crushed and my stomach butterflies had to be fought. Depending on your drive and fear threshold, it can be an exciting challenge or an impenetrable barrier.

Conversely, when I met my partner on the road and the trip started to spiral into more exotic and foreign places, it was much easier to set off for destinations I otherwise would have been afraid to go. Knowing I had someone I could count on took out so many of my insecurities. When those inevitable doubts crept in, usually the day before I left, as I wondered, “Am I really ready for this?” I had someone else hype me up and say, “Heck, yes, you are. Let's go!"

On the one hand, going alone made the trip entirely mine, fueled by my courage, and despite saying no, because I honestly wanted it so much. There's an intangible pride in that, and if I hadn't gone alone, I never would have gone. But on the other hand, leaving with a partner is a wonderful safety net.

But is it safe?

Speaking of safety, this can be one of the biggest concerns for any adventure rider, whether it's fear of bears, crashing, getting lost, running out of fuel, or, well, other people. Personally, I'm a remarkably unintimidating woman who's lived in the not-so-nice parts of the big city long enough to understand the unique dangers I could face as a woman, and the dangers anyone could face when alone and vulnerable. To be honest, most of my fears centered on my fellow humans rather than the forces of nature. (Besides, I camped in Florida, where there were bears and alligators. The forces of nature conquered that one.)

But once he got out on his own, the real world told a different story.

The news tells us about serial killers and bandits because they are shocking and not the norm. What I've actually found is that people often react to solo travelers with a sort of maternal instinct. From time to time, other campers, often retired couples or fellow travelers, immediately stepped in to make sure I was comfortable and protected. On my first day on the road, not even 200 miles from home, a young guy in a Prius made me breakfast and shared all his favorite driving routes in exchange for nothing more than my company. In Arkansas, a retired couple made me dinner, offered me road-trip snacks, and heated up a bean bag of deer feed to warm my hands before the day's frigid ride.

Being alone makes you much more approachable than when traveling as a couple, and I can't count how many times I've been offered stories, boat rides, or meals. As an introvert, this was an easy way to make friends, and this became much more difficult when I found a partner and people saw us as a less accessible unit.

But having a partner really increases your confidence when something goes wrong. The obvious benefits are when you fall and hurt yourself, you have someone who can call for help or lean the bike backwards until it's… well, pretty straight. Sure, I knew how to work on the bike myself, but having another person help me becomes a form of bonding. You may lose the satisfaction of only having yourself to rely on, but you get a sense of camaraderie when you and your friend are getting together so you can get to the next epic backdrop.

The less obvious benefit, although this is perhaps slightly against security, is that having that backup also means you're more likely to travel to places you otherwise wouldn't have. The added peace of mind had me navigating dirt roads that my anxiety told me were in over my head. I camped on a black sand beach among the redwoods off California's lost coast, beyond the grooves of the mountains. I relaxed in a Baja lagoon overflowing with gray whales. And I learned to ride through dirt, mud, sand, and streams (with varying results), expanding my skills beyond what I knew I was capable of.

There's freedom in not having to compromise, but there's also freedom in not having to worry so much about making a mistake.

And the race?

All of this, of course, assumes that you're traveling with a companion who matches your travel style. Even if you're just out for a long weekend, there's no quicker way to ruin a trip than riding with someone who's obsessed with a rigorous schedule when you're loose and lethargic (or vice versa). Or someone who needs a hotel when you'd rather camp. Like any relationship in life, you need to bond on a deeper level than simply enjoying each other's company in good times, and this is especially true in a travel relationship where you'll spend every waking moment together.

When I drive alone, for example, I tend to travel further, wake up earlier, and stop less frequently. I stick to 400- and 500-mile days, heavily favoring asphalt, and get strange satisfactions from riding in rain, hail, and even the occasional snow. I don't have to listen to outside opinions about where or what I should ride, and I choose challenges I'm comfortable with. It's freedom in its truest form, and it's why I love my bike.

All was well, until I met a travel buddy who prefers 200- and 300-mile days, sleeping in, and lots of dirt riding. At first, this was a tough fight for me. The endurance of 500 miles a day on a sportbike was part of the achievement, and being a new dirt rider, the long, bumpy roads with no traction were still daunting. I was resistant to change. It was my journey and I wanted it to unfold according to my whims.

But being “my trip” also meant trying new things, so I decided to compromise. And I've found that the shorter days have made me smell the roses more, see more sights, and enjoy more meaningful conversations that can only be had with a close friend. Combining our styles created all sorts of new experiences.

A compromise like this is easier when it's between just two people. In contrast, when I have traveled in a group in the past, I have had destinations I wanted to see vetoed, I have been left in the dust with no communication, and I have had beautiful destinations almost ruined by bad attitudes, until I longed to be traveling alone, not no matter how pleasant conversations at the gas station can be.

At the end of the day, both forms of travel have their pros and cons, depending on your goals and personality. As great as a compatible travel buddy can be, sometimes if you want to go on a big trip, you can't wait for someone else to give you permission.

And who knows, maybe you'll meet your travel buddy while you're out there!

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