Four years ago, I had never ridden a motorcycle. Four weeks ago, I rode a motorcycle 2,000km through six countries from one end of the Alps to the other—from Innsbruck, Austria to Monaco. I had high expectations and kept stoking their fires, watching the hype videos on social media dozens of times. And somehow—don’t ask me how—this experience surpassed even my daydreams.

I knew the Alps would provide winding roads, but I had no idea how many hairpins I’d encounter. For those of us who liked them, we luxuriated in an embarrassment of riches. I didn’t get a chance to capture more than a few of them with my phone. I snapped this after getting disconnected from my team and navigating this curled snake alone.

Our trip photographer, Kane, caught so many rad moments of us riders in the curves. I’m not one of the riders in this photo, but I saw a beautiful swatch of Europe with the dudes in this photo.

I stalled on this section of the trip and learned to take these corners wider and/or with more speed. We encountered a wild range of exotic cars, sports cars, and convertibles on these passes.

I don’t know whether or not this is prime real estate for a hotel, but Furka Pass was unique enough to be featured in a James Bond Goldfinger chase scene.

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I wish I could tell you how many times I looked down at the phone on my handlebars, saw lines like this on my Google Maps, and smiled. I was in heaven.

At one of our checkpoints, I headed to the back of the coffee shop and got a preview of what awaited us after our official rally clock restarted. I liked the juxtaposition of the curved window grates and the curved road running perpendicular to them.

I don’t know if this was a former (or current) military installation or some other municipal facility. As we wove through this unique pass, it felt like we were riding through a dystopian novel or sci fi movie.

This is just one tiny section of the famed Stelvio Pass. In Italy, the government posts numbered signs in the hairpin turns (and only those turns). Our route up from the valley to the top held 48 of those signs, and that was just one of the passes we did that day. Plus, we switched back and forth like this down the back side of this mountain.

The drone view makes it seem like we were traversing Mars. The street-level view looked less galactic but still very different from any place I’d ever been on two wheels.

This shot better shows the banked nature of many of the switchbacks. If I had more courage and better skills, I might’ve taken them faster than I did. I eventually worked up to being able to traverse them north of 20mph, but they were fun at every speed.

On this trip, I had no music, podcasts, or audiobooks playing in my helmet. While I made wrong turns every day, I never got lost in my thoughts. I got to this wild, new-to-me place where I just melted into my surroundings. I may have found what William Least Heat Moon meant when he wrote, “The open road is a beckoning, a strangeness, a place where a man can lose himself.”

Novelist Edith Wharton wrote, “One of the great things about travel is that you find out how many good, kind people there are.” I again found that to be true on The Great Malle Mountain Rally, traveling more than 1,200 miles and tent camping nightly with more than 50 other motorcycle riders from 14 countries. The trip created a unique mix of solitary and communal moments that flowed into and out of each other as seamlessly as we leaned into and out of curves in the road.

The Malle team divided us into riding groups based on our types of motorcycles, our social media profiles, etc. We didn’t know until after our first dinner together (in a castle!) who our teammates were. I don’t know if I should thank Sovereignty or serendipity, but I can’t imagine getting more aligned teammates than Alfonso, Matt, and Stuart. Kane snapped this photo of us at our first starting line. Each morning, the flag that waved over each team’s release into the rally (3 minutes apart) was the flag of the country in which we had camped the previous night.

This might be my favorite photo from the trip. Matt and I had crossed the finish line first of all of the riders, and Alfonso wasn’t far behind. Here, we’re waiting on the pier in Monaco for Stuart to find us. (Our official times at each checkpoint and each day’s final stop weren’t stamped until every team member was present.) After being in the cool shadows of snow covered mountains for days and riding through tiny villages with humble homes, it was surreal to be surrounded by extravagance and summer heat.

While we rode further to our final campsite, the official finish line of The Great Malle Mountain Rally was 30 feet from the Mediterranean. We rode the last day with bathing suits under our riding gear so we could celebrate our journey with a communal jump into the sea. That water felt AMAZING! The realization of what it signified felt even better.

I was the dork on this international crew, but I tried not to let my American show too much. Stuart has companies in India and England. Alfonso is an impressive entrepreneur from Spain. And Matt rode his bike from the UK all the way to the start line in Austria and all the way home from Monaco. I enjoyed learning about their interesting jobs, their past trips, and their weekend pastimes.

We all felt a compulsion to pull over at this spot, and take our picture not only together but with the ever-regal Mont Blanc (directly over my head).

Stuart proved to be a master navigator. Every morning, he prepared the GPS routes we would follow to remote checkpoints on the windiest roads possible. He knew a little something about navigation having completed the Peking to Paris Motor Challenge—in a 1960s MINI Cooper!

I underestimated how cold some of the mountain passes would be. (It snowed at one of them two days after we flew home.) Thankfully, I had a hoodie I’d bought in the Toronto airport and my rain gear on the morning of this chilly ride.

Apparently, this is what it looks like to wait for me to arrive. haha I had gotten disconnected from my team for more than an hour on this day and finally caught up with them here. Thankfully, during that stretch, I also had an open road in front of me and got to find out what 101mph feels like in the Alps.

The horse trainer & podcaster, Stacy Westfall, wrote, “Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of nowhere and sometimes in the middle of nowhere you find yourself.” I would be tempted to say I felt this in the Alps, but we weren’t nowhere. We were guests in places where people have called home for centuries and even millennia. I’ve found that travel can lead to hubris or humility, and I’m learning to intentionally choose the latter—to ask questions and not to assume my country or culture knows better. Everywhere I travel isn’t just somewhere for someone else. It’s familiar territory if not home. Every place I’ve ever traveled has taught me something new or even confronted something I thought I knew.

John Muir said, “I’d rather be in the mountains thinking of God than in church thinking about the mountains.” As with a lot of other things in my life, I try to embrace “both and” instead of “either or.” So, my weekends regularly include both a faith community experience and time engaging with local mountains. That said, the Alps proved a continuous cathedral of wonder for me. They often distracted from the exciting roads, even if only with stolen looks.

Kane snapped this photo of Rob, the founder of The Great Malle Mountain Rally; and I found that it captured what it felt like multiple times on this 2,000km journey. I was regularly convinced of my smallness—of just how insignificant my challenges, accomplishments, and worries are in comparison to a world that just keeps spinning.

I didn’t get to see this Italian peak in its unshrouded glory, but the mystery of the clouds (that parted for only a few minutes) added to its majesty.

Why would I cross an ocean and a continent to spend time in the mountains, when I have mountains back home? Because we don’t have THESE mountains. The Dolomites never disappoint. Having hiked, paraglided, and climbed via ferrata in this section of the Italian Alps in years past, I was happy to add riding a motorcycle to the ways I’ve experienced this landscape.

Kane snapped this sick shot of a few of our (volunteer) rally staff taking a break from their duties to absorb the landscape. I can feel this picture. I know what that air feels like in my lungs and how insufficient even my peripheral vision is in that moment.

I snapped this picture next to a small dump truck load of manure deposited just off the road. This beautiful sight came with a not-so-beautiful smell. I’ve found a similar juxtaposition in my life back home: a big dream in the distance to chase next to a reality I can’t wait to get past—a sweeping vista on the other side of something I’d rather avoid. Not that I roll in the manure, but I’m learning to be pull over and investigate the not-so-fun realities in my life rather than always escaping into “someday and far away.” Being curious about the [poop] in my heart has actually brought clarity to my dreams, goals, and growth opportunities.

I like this quote from Angela N Blount: “Sometimes the most scenic roads in life are the detours you didn’t mean to make.” I never planned to get into riding a motorcycle. I was comfortable with Crystal’s prohibition on this specific dangerous activity. I’m grateful a mutual friend convinced us both to change our minds. I would never have leaned into this curve or seen this mountain.

I’ve gotten my mail in eight states across my life, but it wasn’t until I called Virginia “home” that I realized how much of my heart is held by mountains. I spent 16 years between the coastal flatlands around the Chesapeake Bay, on the panhandle of Florida, and between the cornfields of Indiana. And each of those places have their own type of available beauty. I don’t know if I could go back to a life where I don’t see ridge lines every day—and not just on vacations.

Thanks to this trip, I now know better than ever this sentiment from adventure writer Aaron Lauritsen: “The freedom of the open road is seductive, serendipitous, and absolutely liberating.” There’s something about mountain roads that you can’t understand in a vehicle with four tires solidly on the ground. I’ve traveled to the Alps multiple times, but I absorbed them in a whole new way on the back of a BMW F850 GS.

One of our rally marshals got to experience this dirt road exploration, and I’m jealous.

Of all of the rally teams, this crew put the hammer down the hardest. On the fifth day, I determined to keep up with them. After 20-25 minutes, I could smell my own brakes. I was taking chances I’d never considered on a motorcycle: passing on solid lines, passing on a blind corner, playing leapfrog, and wedging between vehicles. My rented motorcycle became an extension of me, and it screamed along foreign roads until I had scared myself back into compliance with legal and safety norms. As I risked my life, I somehow felt very alive. When I arrived home, I resorted to my usual riding boundaries and habits. It was if I got to be an alter ego in the Alps to live vicariously through a different version of myself.

When I tell you we traversed a lot of narrow roads, I’m not exaggerating. There were times we’d be on roads about this narrow where the pavement ended at the wall of a home or building—on both sides.

My local mountain rides offer a different kind of beauty. Almost all of it is between forests, along fields, or next to tumbling creeks. The Blue Ridge Parkway is dotted with pullover spots for overlooks. So, to have sweeping, open vistas like this—often without guardrails—gave a whole new meaning to “scenic route.”

Even though traveling in teams, riding a motorcycle is a solitary act. I can’t speak for other riders, but I felt like I had a whole piece of the road to myself. Surrounded by mountains whose personalities seemed to change every 15 minutes, I spent hours a day swiveling my helmet from an intriguing road in front of me to the diverse landscapes above me.

I’ve never driven through as many tunnels as I did during my weeks in the Alps. The tiny ones halfway up passes were the most fun. I don’t encounter tunnels on my bike back home—or as many quick transitions from dark to light while riding.

If only all of our lane splitting in Monaco had this much room on either side of our handlebars! Eventually, I grew adept at sliding in between two vehicles’ rearview mirrors. I’m grateful that this isn’t part of my daily commute back home.

I don’t know if you call these passages tunnels or not. I don’t encounter many of these in the States. But they often showed up in steep canyons, sometimes along bold rivers.

Douglas Adams wrote, “I may not have ended up where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.” My life looks very different than what I imagined for it in college. (In newspaper journalism class, Ms Green assigned us to tell our life story and death story to a classmate for them to write our obituary.) Even as an imaginative youth, I didn’t dream big enough. I would never have imagined I’d ride a motorcycle across the Alps or walk across a flying biplane or adopt an adult child or surf in the Arctic. But here I am, and I’m still trying to convince myself to dream bigger. I need to heed the warning of T.S. Eliot: “Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.”

“God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road.” — Isak Dinesen

It’s no exaggeration to say I rode around more than 1,000 curves in 7 days on my rented motorcycle. Around most of them, I didn’t know what was coming, what view awaited me. Every turn was an adventure. I don’t treat the figurative turns in my life witt that much joyful expectancy. Maybe I should.

This is not me. I’ve never even attempted to get my front wheel off the ground. On this trip, I was surrounded by dozens of motorcycle enthusiasts with impressive feats and adventures under their belts. But every last single one of them treated me and other newer riders as equals. We were all in this together, and we were all loving it.

Malle is headquartered in London, and they had a relationship with a London motorcycle rental company. So, my bike arrived in Innsbruck, Austria, and left in Nice, France, like this: in a crate forklifted onto a semi trailer. Some guys shipped their bikes from home. Others rented in other European locations and rode to the rally. One of my teammates rode his bike (which happened to be the same bike I left back home in the garage) all the way from the UK. There were so many different makes and styles of bikes. One of the French folks even drove a Vespa scooter the entire way.

You can see a lot of the world if you’re willing to sleep in tents, hostels, and the back row on a bus. I’ve slept on a portaledge 90 feet off the ground, inside an Arctic quinzee, in a snow trench in Antarctica, within a Norwegian lighthouse, and in a jungle treehouse. On this trip, I got to add “in the backyard of a castle” to my list of overnight locations.

Each night, we camped in a field or back yard. For those who paid the full price, riders arrived to assigned tents already erected with beds waiting for them. For two of my teammates and I on the budget package, we set up our respective backpacking tents somewhere nearby. All of the riders received a duffel bag with our rider number on it. Whatever we put in that bag when we left in the morning, rode on direct highway route by truck to our next camping spot. The Malle staff graciously let me add my second bag with tent, sleeping bag, etc. to the mix so that I didn’t need to bungee a bag to my bike each day.

On at least three of the nights, we got to camp next to a castle! One even had a moat.

Each night, a local vendor would cook us a local dish. So, we got to try regional cuisine. I liked the dishes that included a lot of cheese and potatoes. I was intrigued by a dish in Austria called “blue cabbage.” The host would put out a continental breakfast and then brown bags with a sandwich, fruit, and a snack for us to take on our bikes for lunch.

My team never discussed why we always tried to be first into camp each night, even though teams were released in reverse order in the morning. But I suspect it was (1) to get our tents set up before everyone else arrived and (2) to get first dibs on the shower truck. (These hot-enough showers were a luxury after a day climbing cold mountain passes.) This truck pulled the trailer that held our duffels.

One night in Switzerland, I stayed up past my bedtime and after most of the other riders had gone to bed. This picture doesn’t do it justice, but the Milky Way overhead was mesmerizing. I alternated between staring at the sky and answering life-giving texts from my college roommate. Lying in the road in the dark, serendipity and wonder washed over me. My flashing phone drew the attention of the guys who erected and moved the tents, and we ended up talking past midnight. I struggled to bid the stars goodnight and return to my tent.

After dinner each night, Rob briefed us on the day ahead and the week so far. Kane snapped this shot from the first meeting before Rob announced who in the room were our teammates.

I don’t know what I was celebrating in this picture. To be fair, it doesn’t take much to excite me.

A mobile repair shop followed the last group out each day and was available on the course to make repairs. It also carried a Royal Enfield loaner that was used if a bike wasn’t immediately repairable. The mechanic would buy parts at motorcycle shops along the way and often stayed up late to make repairs. The rally staff held their team meetings in there some nights before the repairs began.

My teammate’s bike lost its rear brakes coming down one of the passes. Thankfully, most braking on a motorcycle is via your front brake. That might’ve been the same day that we assumed the 18 miles left on my gas tank would certainly get me to a petrol station from when we left camp. We were wrong, as there wasn’t a gas station for a long time. Thankfully, most of the trip to our first town was downhill. I put my bike in neutral for miles and rode the final flat miles with 0 miles showing on the fuel gauge.

Two riders (including one of the marshals) dropped their bikes in a shadowy, dew-soaked curve. The Harley didn’t sustain any damage. The marshal’s bike needed a lot of zip ties to make it to Monaco.

John-Patrick rode this Vespa across the highest Alps passes in multiple countries, completing the entire 2,000km trek on this scooter. It needed some maintenance along the way, but I was surprised at the power it had on those mountain roads.

Part of what appealed to me about The Great Malle Mountain Rally was their concept of an optimal time. It wasn’t a race, but we were meticulously timed with multiple checkpoints each day. The goal wasn’t the fastest time but an untold perfect time that the organizers had determined meant that we had fun on the bikes but also fully absorbed our surroundings with photo stops and roadside attractions. Starting on the third night, we learned at each rider briefing which team was closest to the ideal cumulative time.

We carried branded passports to get stamped at each checkpoint and then at each day’s finish line (our campsite for the night). We couldn’t get our time stamps recorded until every member of our team had made it to the checkpoint.

After dinner each evening, we had a rider briefing. Rob would give us notes to consider about the following day’s journey and then pass out these map cards with significant way markers and our checkpoints. It was then up to us to figure out how to get our GPS units to follow those routes.

Thankfully, our time between arrival and takeoff from our checkpoints was neutral time that didn’t count against our total ride times. Usually, my team had some of the shortest pit stop times; but we luxuriated in a few of the stops. If you had backdrops like these, wouldn’t you?

Sometimes, we’d get to a checkpoint and learn from the advance scout team that a road was closed or that there was a good reason to ponder our route to the next stop. Here, you can see me and two of my teammates doing that kind of homework. We learned full well that William Hazlitt was right when he wrote, “You know more of a road by having traveled it than by all the conjectures and descriptions in the world.”

Sometimes, the parking was tight at our checkpoints. Then again, a lot of our roads were tight, too. It was wild to me that people live or at least work at some of these remote passes miles from a grocery store, gas station, or school.

Several of us teams drove right past this St Moritz (Switzerland) checkpoint. So, I was relieved when we finally found this cool spot for grabbing a hot cocoa.

I’ve eaten a lot of hotdogs in my life but none quite like the one I tried across the street from this restaurant. The street vendor sliced it multiple times and fried it on a griddle and then served it inside a square focaccia bun. So good! I finished it white standing on this restaurant’s balcony (where we had to get our trip passports stamped by the marshals).

This was the checkpoint where we learned that the only gravel road of the planned itinerary was closed. I had been looking forward to some dirt riding, but the paved route around that closure brought the fun of snaking through a really fun canyon with rock walls just off our handlebars.

This photo was snapped at Vis a Vis in Vipiteno, Italy—our first checkpoint on our first day of the rally. I ate maybe the best donut of my life at this cafe. I ran back into the coffee shop to buy a second before we left.

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The organizers of The Great Malle Mountain Rally got permission from Monaco’s royal family for our finish line to be on a pier that doesn’t allow motorized vehicles. The yachts nearby were a lot larger than the ones Google Earth had captured.

The finish line. My heart beat out of my chest when Matt and I rode in and discovered we were the first to arrive. It was also a relief, because the finish line had been moved from where we were told it was. After riding between pallets & box trucks, yachts & buildings, luxury cars & scooters, I wondered if someone else had passed us. Nope. We had made it. We had done it. We had completed a unique challenge for our respective adventure résumés.

At one checkpoint, we saw this plane turn back to whence it had come. We did a lot of turning around and going back to an intersection or roundabout. There was also some:

“It should be right here.”

“I wonder if they moved the checkpoint.”

“I didn’t see a flag. Did you?”

I typically use a sleeping bag only to sleep in remote—usually primitive—places. I never imagined ducking out under my rain fly and standing in the shadow of centuries-old fortresses.

I’ve felt like Tom Cruise while climbing out onto the wings of an aerobatic biplane. I’ve felt like Bear Grylls, camping in the snow in Antarctica and building a snow shelter in Arctic snow. I’ve felt like Travis Pastrana, whipping Subaru rally cars around dirt tracks and frozen lakes. I’ve felt like Jason Statham, racing a sports car around a parking garage in front of film crews in Los Angeles. But I felt like James Bond, pulling up to the Château d’Avully in Brenthonne, France—on a motorcycle. Homeschool Ryan and Christian College Ryan would not believe me, if I went back in a time machine and told them what badass moments the next three decades would include.

We started our journey with a dinner, team meeting, and overnight at Schloss Friedberg (east of Innsbruck, Austria). I can’t speak for the others, but the air was electric for me—like the first day of school, waiting to see who would sit with whom, who would say hello, and who the cool kids are.

My team took a very different journey than all of the other teams on our way to dinner at the Castel Katzenzungen in Tesimo, Italy. Until the statute of limitations expires, I can say only that we made some wrong turns, ended up on a private road with a gate, and found civilization again only after riding between trees in an orchard. Despite our mayhem, we were greeted with the full red carpet treatment.

My team was the second of the eleven to arrive at the Château de Picomtal outside of Crots, France. You can always tell my motorcycle in the official Malle photos, because I was the one who always forgot to turn off my headlight.

I’d never visited a castle with a real-life moat until we camped at Château d’Avully in Brenthonne, France. If my memory serves me, the hall where we ate dinner included hundreds of family crests painted on the walls.

My first big LEGO set was “King’s Castle” (set #6080). The castles we visited on The Great Malle Mountain Rally proved much fancier. Several included paintings like this on the interior walls. One had a chapel inside. One let us climb the watchtower, where we learned that most castle dwellers probably weren’t as tall as I am.

Our official photographer, Kane, snapped this cool angle of the Schloss Friedberg—the only evening we slept in Austria.

The juxtaposition of motorcycles and castles never stopped intriguing me. I thought this was one of the coolest animal mount installations I’d ever seen (at Schloss Friedberg).

I was impressed by the undertaking inherent in building these castles in elevated places in an era without Caterpillars and Bobcats, Putzmeisters and Liebherrs. But my eyes kept escaping to the surrounding mountains. They drew my thoughts to Job 38, when Sovereignty asked, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?”

I’m not a foody and didn’t follow the work of Anthony Bourdain. But I absolutely agree with him: “Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts; it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you.”

I think I visited more countries during this trip than in any previous vacation. We rode from Austria to Italy to Liechtenstein to Switzerland to France to Monaco. I got two new countries for my visited list, bringing my life total to 34 (not counting Antarctica). Each day, the sense of accomplishment grew with each mountain pass we traversed. Parking my rented motorcycle in the courtyard of the Château de Picomtal (Crots, France) felt surreal.

I’ve already paraglided in Europe twice this year (in Slovenia with Crystal and in Italy on my BASE jumping trip). But every time a paraglider appeared overhead, I watched with jealousy—as much as I could while still safely operating my motorcycle. The freedom of the skies is a different freedom than a motorcycle on an incredible road. I’m grateful I get to do both in life. I’ve now paraglided in 9 countries (across 4 continents) and ridden a motorcycle in 10 (across 3 continents)

I love this slogan of The Great Malle Mountain Rally. It pairs well with the line from the poet and rancher John Perry Barlow: “If you’re not lost, you’re not much of an explorer.”

I was glad I didn’t have to pronounce the road names or understand what they meant in order to follow my GPS.

The flower boxes under the windows in dozens of alpine villages added a soft beauty to the boisterous energy of our rumbling motorcycles.

In the hype video for this trip on social media, I had seen drone footage of riders traversing the top of a dam. It wasn’t until one of our last two days that we finally got to the dam—my first time riding on one with a motorcycle.

Rob treated every rider with respect—even the annoying ones like me. He had a Greatest Showman optimism and humor to him, the perfect guide to invite us into his joy.

The morning after the rally ended, those of us who didn’t have early flights got to add a 2-hour tour loop in Southern France to our trip. It was so warm, I rode in shorts and eschewed my padded jacket. We rode another road that appeared in a James Bond movie and then left our bikes at the transport lorry in the airport parking lot.

I generally avoid taking trips during my spring or autumn busy seasons, and I lost a lot of sleep and several Saturdays trying to meet clients needs so that I could join this annual event. But I’m thankful to have been a part of this gathering of enthusiasts. I’m grateful to have gone the only year in the event’s history when nobody had to ride in rain or snow. And I’m grateful for a wife who knows I need a different way to recharge than she does.

Until The Great Malle Mountain Rally, I don’t think I’d ridden with more than two or three riders at a time. So, sharing pit stops with more than fifty fellow rally participants felt like a party. At the same time, for 6-9 hours a day, the experience was also quite a solo endeavor. I had a lot of time of loud solitude. And I returned home better for it.

I’m glad Kane caught this moment of me taking in the mountains as I rode through a Swiss village. My helmet was cocked like this for hours via hundreds of stolen gazes on this grand adventure.

Before I left, I had asked friends to pray for my headspace. I’d never spent this much time away from music, podcasts, audiobooks, and conversations. I wondered what hours a day with only wind and exhaust in my ears would conjure. But this picture captures what I was feeling: joy and openness. I both wished I could better burn the surroundings into my memory and couldn’t wait for what new vista waited after our next checkpoint. In short: it was a good time, and I’m better for it.

I don’t know what the joke was, but this face is what was under my helmet or what my heart was feeling for hours each day.