I Thought Motorcycles Didn’t Belong in the Wilderness. I Was Wrong.

I was gunning it toward Split Mountain in the Sierra Nevada and my Subaru was begging for mercy. The “road” to the trailhead was like the surface of the moon, rife with ditches, potholes, and boulders techy enough to have a V-grade. The sunglasses hanging from a strap on my rearview mirror swung wildly, smacking me in the face as I dove the car in and out of potholes. I’d already taken two wrong turns and had been driving this dirt road for the better part of an hour. I was sweaty, stressed, considering canceling my weekend backpacking trip… and I hadn’t even made it to the trailhead.

Whether you’re hiking, packrafting, rock climbing, or fly fishing, you have to get to the trailhead first. Sometimes, that’s a mission in and of itself. Most of us just send it in whatever car we drive on a daily basis. In some cases—like my trip to Split Mountain—this means borderline destroying your vehicle.

A lifted 4×4 makes reaching remote trailheads less sketchy, but not everyone can (or wants to) own an expensive, gas-guzzling adventure rig and rumble around pumping fumes like a mobile smelter. And even these won’t make it up some rugged, poorly-maintained access roads.

There are other options. You can park your car at the edge of the pavement and walk or pedal. This is a noble choice, but some access roads are so lengthy that this adds several hours to your trip, zapping energy before you reach your objective. If you’re a weekend warrior like me, you may not have time for that.

But I’ve learned there’s another option: You can ride a motorcycle.

I’ve been backpacking and rock climbing since I was a kid and riding street motorcycles since I was a teenager. But for most of my early twenties, I saw these activities as disparate pursuits. The roar of dirt bikes and ATVs in the backcountry is enough to bring any hiker’s blood to a boil, and it feels like cheating, so I never thought powersports had a place in the wilderness.

But I had never considered making motorcycles my vehicle to get to the wilderness.

That changed during a two-month trip to Guatemala in 2021. I wanted to see the country, but I couldn’t afford to rent a car, and the roads were so bad I didn’t feel comfortable driving one. Instead, I rented a 250cc Honda Tornado motorbike for a few hundred bucks. I spent several weeks taking that little bike to trailheads across Guatemala, from the black sand beaches of El Parédon on the south coast to the stratovolcano Tajumulco (13,789ft), the highest peak in Central America.

Instead of feeling like my adventure started when I stepped out of my car and got to the trailhead, the whole trip became an adventure, and I was able to do so much more than I could’ve with a car. I rode the bike up rocky mountain roads to hike volcanoes and crossed streams and rivers to access remote beaches, bodysurfing and snorkeling along the coast.

Even the seemingly shitty parts about riding a bike had hidden benefits. Initially, I was frustrated that I couldn’t pack nearly as much on the bike as if I’d rented a car. I had to pare down my hiking kit, bringing only bare necessities, but this made me a more sustainable, thriftier packer.

One day, a rainstorm stuck me under a tin-roofed gazebo for three hours. I was joined by five other riders during that time. We all swapped stories, shared coffee, and poked around on each others’ bikes. I didn’t get where I was going that day, but I made new friends and was better for it.

Those two months in Guatemala hooked me on motorcycle adventures. When I returned to Alabama—where I lived at the time—I began riding motorcycles as much as possible when heading into the outdoors. I slimmed down my usual climbing kit so I could take my bike to the sport crag, bought a packraft that fit in my saddlebag to paddle flat water, and dove into minimalist backpacking.

Narrow, rocky 4WD access roads were no longer a stressful, time-wasting obstacle. They were a thrilling part of the adventure, one I could comfortably tackle on a dual-sport or adventure motorbike. Long commutes to the wilderness were no longer boring drives, either, tackled with windows up, A/C on, coffee in hand, and podcast playing. On a motorcycle, the adventure began as soon as I pulled out of my garage.

I discovered other advantages. Motorbikes have much better gas mileage than cars, so I started saving money getting to the trailhead, and I felt better about putting out less carbon dioxide. I also took up less space on the road, reducing traffic and congestion.

The next year, I spent three months in Ecuador, riding a Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda XRE300, and Suzuki DR650 to camp and climb some of the country’s 5,000-meter peaks. The trailheads for many of these mountains were impossible to reach in a normal car. I would have had to hire a guide or enlist a local with a 4×4, but those bikes allowed me to tackle the adventure on my own.

I rode up to Tungurahua (16,480ft) with a wild dog running alongside me. I shared beers with two teens riding dirt bikes when we all got stuck in a mud pit on the heinous “road” to Cayambe (18,996ft). (Admittedly, when a snowstorm hit the latter mountain, I was the last guy stuck at the shelter as everyone else left in 4×4 trucks, but it just made the adventure feel more real.)

In the years since, I’ve adventured off of motorcycles in a dozen countries. Most of the time, motorcycles weren’t the adventure—they were the route to the adventure—but they always magnified it tenfold. My girlfriend and I rode a Harley-Davidson Pan America to a slew of remote hikes and campsites across the Balkans, and I used a Honda CB500X to ride into and investigate a controversial strip mine in the Peruvian Andes for Climbing magazine.

If you haven’t ridden a motorcycle before, you might be surprised at how easy it is to get started. Small-to-medium displacement motorbikes are far cheaper than cars. You can pick up a new Himalayan—perhaps the flagship bike in the small adventure class—for a mere $5,000. Older bikes routinely go for ~$2,000, smaller bikes even less.

I hiked on the South Island of New Zealand off a 125cc Honda that I bought for $900. Lightweight, slim, and nimble, bikes like these are easy to keep on the porch, under the stairs, or in a sliver of garage space. As for the riding, consider taking a Motorcycle Safety Foundation (MSF) Introductory Motorcycle Experience or Basic RiderCourse to see what you think.

At home or abroad, motorbikes can turn sketchy, stressful, car-destroying wilderness access roads into exciting parts of the adventure. You’ll also feel better about your carbon footprint, pack lighter, and get more in touch with your environment.

Just keep the rubber side down…