Solo motorcycle travel as a woman: the questions I had myself

At the time I was living with my parents again, which meant I could put a bit more money aside than when I was still renting. That made it possible in practice, but the urge had been there much longer. I had always wondered what it would be like to be away on my own for a longer time. Above all, I wanted to know whether I could do it: be alone without being lonely. I don't think many people can really do that.

I had already been to France solo for a few days, and that left me wanting more. Road-wise, that trip wasn't challenging at all. So this time I wanted to go for longer, about two weeks, and straight to my dream destinations: the Alps, the Dolomites and Italy. That last one mostly because I'm such a fan of Italian food and food culture. And of the lovely weather, of course. If you're going anyway, you might as well go for the real thing. Or so I thought at the time. Looking back, I would first build up some experience on easier passes, like in the Vosges, before taking the big leap.

Mostly falling or breaking down. If something happens, you're on your own in that moment. Everyone is far away and nobody can quickly come and help.

I did have a repair kit with me, but I had never used it. How I would have managed on the spot? No clue. Learning by doing, right? Mostly I'm just glad I never needed it, because I still don't know today.

My biggest fear actually came true, by the way: I fell on the Stelvio. In hairpin 3, with busy oncoming traffic, I panicked and grabbed my front brake. In the middle of the bend. That's exactly what you should never do, and before I knew it I was on the ground. I wasn't injured, but mentally it hit me for a while. I later wrote about that front brake as one of the lessons I learned after years on the motorcycle.

Another rider stopped and helped me back up, and that's something you don't forget quickly. So travelling alone doesn't mean there's nobody around. That day was a mix of pride, tears and pure panic, but I did make it down.

Travelling alone doesn't mean there's nobody around.

They were all enthusiastic. But underneath that enthusiasm, most of them were also a little worried, and that came out differently in everyone.

I think as a woman you're always a bit more on your guard than a man. I never deliberately chose a remote hotel and preferred busier roads and towns. I also checked out the surroundings on Google Street View beforehand. Yes, I really do that. When I rode into Colmar on my first day, I immediately recognised the town by the roundabout with the Statue of Liberty that I had already seen on Street View at home.

Once on holiday I got a real fright. In my hotel restaurant, the waiter made witty remarks all evening and flirted quite a bit. I didn't respond to it. At the end he asked whether I wanted to go out with him and his colleagues, and that's when the alarm bells went off in my head. I politely declined and wanted to pay straight away, but that wasn't possible: he needed my room number to put everything on the bill.

Maybe I was being too careful, because I often am, and I overthink everything. But it shows that as a woman on your own, you always pay just a little extra attention.

I'll admit it: this is where I really struggled. As long as I was riding, it didn't bother me. But in the evening, with a menu in front of me, there was nobody to talk to and nobody to tell about my day. Waiters often make a bit more effort and chat more readily, so you feel at ease. That's nice, but also confronting.

Eating alone was the hardest part of the whole trip. During the day you're busy, but at the table you really feel that you're alone.

You do get used to it. You decide where you eat and how long you stay, and you don't have to take anyone else into account. Some of those solo dinners have even become some of my best memories. A few of them:

I expected to feel much lonelier. But you're on the road a lot, and then you're busy all the time: with your route, your bends, the weather and the next stop.

On a motorcycle you also get talking quickly. In the car park on the Furka it was straight away 'Where are you from?' and 'Shall I take a photo of you?'. I mostly felt alone during dinner, and I learned to enjoy that too.

Grimsel Pass

A quick stop on the Grimsel

Stop for a moment, helmet off and just look. In a moment like that you don't miss anyone. You don't have to explain anything or agree on when to leave again, and that might have been the biggest gift of travelling alone.

Close to home first

First get used to your bike

That's the most important thing, especially as a beginner. I'm not saying you should wait years before going on holiday, but ride some kilometres first. Local rides, a forest road on a Sunday, until you feel truly comfortable on your bike.

And your first day doesn't have to be perfect: mine consisted of rain, French traffic jams and a drying rack in my hotel room.

Yes! Mostly because you learn to ride at your own pace. No rush, nobody you have to follow, and nobody who has to hang back behind you because you're not all at the same level in the group. Everything can happen at your own rhythm. You also really get to know yourself, and yes, you'll run into yourself along the way too. That's for sure.

So can I say that I can do it? Solo motorcycle travel: yes, I definitely can. But am I a pro on the bike? No, absolutely not, and I never will be. I'm okay with that. I'm quite an insecure person by nature. But I do it anyway. The Stelvio, with a fall along the way. The Maloja, which was a real fear pass for me. The Umbrail. We made it, and we enjoyed it. That's what matters most in the end.

Still in doubt? Feel free to tell me what's holding you back. Chances are I had the exact same question.