I started at 47.
No motorcycle background. A 260-kilo BMW that was completely wrong for me. A muddy field in Sweden where I was cold, lost, and out of my depth — and I hadn't felt that alive in years.
That was the first symptom.
Before the bike there was downhill mountain biking, flying, taekwondo — a long line of things with physical consequences, which teaches you to read what's coming. None of it prepared me for what motorcycles actually do, which is slow the world down enough that you finally see it.
What I've learned since: starting late is an advantage. The young guys have speed. The rest of us have judgment, patience, and the lifelong gift of no longer being embarrassed to look like a beginner.
I ride with no agenda, talk to whoever I meet, and stop when I'm tired. The films are how I work out what any of it meant.
“They say there's no cure for ADV.
ADV is the cure.”
