Foreign Roads, Familiar Freedom—A Letter From Marisa

There’s a particular kind of magic that happens when you throw a leg over a motorcycle in a country that’s not your own. The throttle opens not just to the road ahead, but to a whole new way of experiencing the world.

The unfamiliar is thrilling, the routine feels exotic, and the language of the ride needs no translation.

I recently spent two weeks winding through the alpine curves of Austria, the dramatic coastlines of Croatia, the medieval towns of Slovenia, the storybook villages of Germany, and the sun-drenched hills of Italy. But this isn't just about where we went—it's about what it feels like to ride a motorcycle in a place where everything is different.

The Beauty of Letting Go

Back home, I’m the planner. I put together the GPS routes, the backup paper maps, the hotel reservations, and the contingency plans.

But on this tour, I surrendered all of that. It was nice, not having to think. I didn’t have to lead the group, worry about fuel stops, or keep an eye on the tail rider. Our seasoned guide, Uwe Krauss, knew the roads, the culture, the coffee stops, and the secrets behind every turn.

There’s something deeply relaxing—almost meditative—about following a line of motorcycles through an unknown country, trusting the pace, the path, and the people.

I also didn’t have to film anything or focus on photography, although I can’t go on such an adventure without snapping at least a few photos. The most important thing was that I didn’t feel rushed to get things done, as I usually do, which is the curse of turning a passion for riding into work.

It doesn’t happen often, but on this trip, I truly got to experience the ride instead of orchestrating it. I debated for quite some time whether I even wanted to write this article, or the short tour recap that you’ll see in your inbox soon, for fear of turning the experience into work yet again.

But then, what kind of journalist would I be if I didn’t share the experiences that mold and shape me as both a person and writer?

Different Roads, Different Rules

Motorcycling in Europe puts you not just in different landscapes, but a different culture altogether. In many of these countries, motorcyclists are treated with much more respect and admiration than they are back home.

Car drivers move over to let you pass. Lane splitting isn’t just allowed, but expected. All of this means there’s a rhythm to the ride that feels smoother, more organic.

There’s also a sense that motorcycling isn’t just a hobby. In Europe, it’s a legitimate way to travel, commute, and live. It's not uncommon to see people in full leathers stopping for espresso at a cafe, or to see high-end bikes parked next to family wagons at the grocery store.

You also see designated motorcycle parking everywhere, and if there isn’t any, bikes are pulled up on sidewalks or tucked under awnings. Nobody complains about it; it’s just how it is.

On top of that, motorcycle-focused motels are plentiful. As a rider, I didn’t feel at all like traveling on a bike was a slight inconvenience, as I sometimes do back home. Instead, I felt welcome.

Strangers Turned Friends

I didn’t know anyone in the group before the ride, except of course Caleb. The others were a crew of Harley-Davidson riders from Canada who had logged plenty of miles together, but most of whom had never ridden in Europe either.

At first, it felt a little like showing up late to a distant family reunion. Everyone was kind, but I wasn’t sure where I fit in. That uncertainty didn’t last long.

The road has a funny way of turning strangers into friends. In a matter of days, we had inside jokes, shared life experiences, and we even picked up new nicknames.

Maybe it’s the shared vulnerability of navigating foreign roads, fumbling through menus in new languages, sweating through gear in the sun, and laughing through the rain. Or maybe it’s just that once the helmets come off, everyone’s story starts to spill out, and I’m a sucker for a good story.

There’s a deep kind of camaraderie that only happens when you’re out of your element. Somewhere between the switchbacks, espresso stops, and old Eastern Bloc hotels, we became more than a tour group. We became good friends.

Coming Back Changed

Returning home after a trip like this, something lingers. The scenery is familiar again, the signs are in English, the gas pumps are intuitive—but the world feels just a little bit bigger.

Every time I ride now, a part of me goes back to leaning into an Alpine curve, chasing taillights through Tuscan hills, and marveling at how universal the joy of riding really is.

There’s freedom in riding, always. But there’s a special kind of freedom in riding somewhere else. Somewhere where the road is new, the people are new, the culture is rich, and the only thing you really need to do is keep your eyes open, your throttle smooth, and your sense of wonder fully engaged.

Travel often,

Marisa McInturff
Managing Editor