Riding for the Road - Not the Warnings
Prelude - Back in the Day
How many times did we hear it from parents, grandparents, anyone with more decades on the clock than we could imagine?
"Take your time. Think long-term. Don't rush."
Life was slow back then. Painfully slow. No phones in your pocket, no GPS, no traction control, no riding modes. No Alexa, no Instagram, no YouTube.
And yet, they managed. More than managed. And here's the kicker: all the tech we take for granted today? They were the ones who built it. Curiosity made it happen.
So, what's this got to do with motorcycles? Everything.
The Exciting Prospect
Forty years ago, my bike of choice was a Yamaha XT500.
What did I get? An oil light, an indicator light, and on a good day, a neutral light that actually worked. A rev counter, a speedo, a carburettor. All analogue, all basic.
Did it stop me exploring the world? Not for a second.
Fast forward. Meet Herman - my 2007 BMW GS1200. An old timer now, but the top dog back then. Fuel injection, a little LCD that told me the time, gave me a rough idea of fuel, and flashed when a bulb blew. That was modern.
Then came 2021. My brand-new BMW 1250 GS. Full spec, every gadget, all black. Golden wheels? Not for me. This was the dream bike.
The Urge to Know
First ride home, keyless ignition felt like stepping into the future. The TFT display lit up like inflight entertainment. "Welcome aboard BMW Airlines." All that was missing was a stewardess with peanuts.
Messages popped up before I'd even hit the starter. "Service due after 1000 miles." "Key battery at 50%." I hadn't even finished the first tank and the bike was already nagging me.
Then came the riding modes. Rain, Street, Enduro. I flicked through them all and felt nothing. But the screens looked impressive.
Back home, I grabbed a cold beer and opened the manual. Suspension, traction control, wheelie control, SOS button in case I got ejected from the bike. Pages and pages of settings. I sat there poking buttons like a toddler pressing elevator switches. Did I know what I was doing? Not a clue. But damn, it was fun
My First Scare
A few weeks later, service done, I was ready for Europe. 1500 km to visit my parents. Somewhere in Germany, the dash lit up: "Exhaust flaps malfunction. See workshop."
My brand-new bike with 2000 km on the clock was already throwing a tantrum. I rang a dealer. Appointment in two weeks, they said. Two weeks? I offered to camp outside their shop until they looked at it. That did the trick. Fifteen minutes later, I was in the workshop. Thirty minutes later, I was back on the road - with the flaps disconnected.
From that day on, I renamed the TFT: The Anxiety Machine. Every warning set my heart racing.
The Story Continues
Over the next three years, I saw more warnings than I could count. Some I understood, most I didn't. Cold start at minus three degrees? Stall the engine once and the dash lights up with error codes faster than you can read them. The bike freezes, refuses to start. Twenty minutes later, it sorts itself out. Luckily, I was outside my garage, not 5000 metres up in the Andes.
The Bottom Line
Do I need all this to enjoy riding? No.
Do I want to pay through the nose every time a sensor hiccups? Absolutely not.
Yes, my 1250 GS has done 70,000 km. Apart from a few flats and that early glitch, it's been reliable, fun, and taken me places I'll never forget. But the endless warnings? I ignore them now, usually with a muttered profanity.
Meanwhile, Herman, my old 2007 GS, is in South America. It's climbed 5000 m passes, crossed Bolivian deserts, hacked through Brazilian jungles, and forded rivers in Peru. With none of the drama.
Would I take the 1250 on that journey? Yes and No
The truth is, I love shiny things. New tech, new toys, new bikes.
But sometimes too much really is too much. At the end of the day, I don't ride for the warnings. I ride for the road. The rest is just noise.