The Simple Joy Of Riding

There are 93 days in January and 56 days in February, sometimes 58. Days in those months count 3:1 and 2:1 for a northern hemisphere motorcyclist.

The good news about these ratios is that it also increases the simple joy of riding by the same amount when a half-decent day appears on the weather forecast.

Yesterday shouldn’t have been anything special. The roads were damp and greasy, the temperature barely touched 5°C, and I only had a handful of errands to run. Nothing glamorous. Nothing adventurous. Yet I rolled the Suzuki GSX1000GX out of the garage because, well … motorcycles.

Even on days when the ride promises more chill than thrill, I still feel the pull.

On the way back, as I wound through the familiar roads, a weak blush of winter sunlight finally broke through. It wasn’t much—just a thin strip of pale gold on the barren hedgerows—but it was enough for me to realise that I was smiling.

There I was, dodging potholes, fingers just on the edge of numbness – stupid me hadn’t put on the KEIS 301 gloves – and yet I felt content. Happy, even.

The Simple Joy of Riding

Nothing about that ride should have stood out. It was just a run to take care of a few tasks, the kind of ride most non-riders wouldn’t bother remembering. But riding a motorcycle has a way of making even ordinary moments feel textured, vivid, and grounding.

On a bike, I find myself paying attention to things I wouldn’t notice otherwise—the smell of cold, damp earth, the slight warmth when the sunlight lasts for more than a few seconds.

My senses switch on in a way they rarely do when I’m doing anything else. Even weaving around potholes adds a sort of rhythm: a micro‑challenge, a nudge of finesse, a reminder that I’m part of the environment, not sealed off from it.

There’s something soothing in that.

Being Fully Present

One of the reasons riding feels so restorative is that it demands our full attention. There’s no drifting through the experience. We are constantly scanning the road, our hands and feet make small subconscious adjustments, and our minds quietly absorb everything without spiralling off into day-to-day clutter.

This isn’t just me waxing lyrically about the joys of motorcycling. A neurobiological study from UCLA’s Semel Institute compared motorcycling to driving and resting, measuring riders’ brain activity, hormone levels, and heart rates. [It even applies to Harley riders ~ Ed.]

It found that riding increases sensory focus and resilience to distraction—essentially pulling the brain into a state of heightened presence.

Other reports on the same research noted a drop of around 28% in cortisol levels (the primary stress hormone), along with a rise in adrenaline and heart rate, similar to that seen with light exercise.

That means even a short ride can shift our physiology into a calmer, clearer mode—no yoga mat required, no hour-long meditation sessions, and yesterday was no exception.

Riding and Our Mental Well-being

The simple, steady flow of riding replaces internal noise with focus and rhythm.

According to UCLA research, the change in brain activity while riding mirrors patterns seen in experienced meditators—more sensory engagement and less internal chatter.

Even more interesting, these studies found that motorcycling boosts alertness in a way comparable to a cup of coffee, but without the jittery edge.

So when I stepped off the GSX1000GX after my “nothing special” ride, I wasn’t just ticking tasks off a list, I’d been out doing my brain a few favours. Calmer, clearer, lighter.

Two-Wheels Connecting the Body and Mind

Riding engages us physically as much as mentally. Even at modest speeds in winter, we use our whole bodies—balancing, shifting, leaning. It’s a subtle exercise, but exercise all the same.

The UCLA studies back this up, too: a 20-minute ride increased riders’ heart rates by about 11% and their adrenaline levels by 27%. It’s not strenuous, but it wakes the body up just enough to feel invigorated.

Freedom in the Mundane

Many riders, myself included, daydream about perfect rides: warm days, sweeping bends, empty B‑roads and scenic mountain passes.

But there’s something special about finding joy on a cold, grey day when nothing is ideal. When the roads are greasy, when you’re bundled up against the chill, when the ride is just… normal.

That’s the real test of why we ride.

Because on days like yesterday, the bike doesn’t transport me somewhere spectacular. It transports me back to myself. That sliver of winter sunlight didn’t change the world, but it changed something inside me. It reminded me that joy can surface in the smallest, simplest circumstances.

Pressing The Reset Button

By the time I rolled back home, the errands were done, the temperature hadn’t budged, and the roads were still rough. But it was a different me that returned. More grounded. More myself.

And that’s why I ride—even on cold mornings, even on greasy roads, even when all I’m doing are chores.

A motorcycle isn’t just a machine. It’s a reset button. A way to remember that I’m alive in the present moment, not just passing through it.

Even when nothing special is happening.

Call a Mate

You might think this is all a bit philosophical. Dave’s taken one too many happy pills and is having a moment.

All the jokes about January aside, it can be a bitch of a month, so check in with a mate.

Have a brew, and talk absolute bollocks for a while. That track day, camping trip, or visit to Assen will be here soon enough, but until then … Call a mate.