Hubert, 68 — Ten years of sidecar roads around the world

For many riders, a motorcycle world tour is a dream parked in the back of the garage: someday, when there’s time, when there’s money, when life calms down. Hubert did the opposite. He sold what he owned, left New York at dawn, and let a BMW sidecar become his home for a full decade. His project had a simple name—Ten Years on the Road—and a brutally honest rule: the money he started with had to last ten years, no matter what. Here’s the story of an atypical rider who chose motion over comfort, and why his way of traveling still resonates in 2026.

Leaving for a motorcycle world tour… in a sidecar

“When you live in big cities like New York, you turn your pockets inside out on December 31st and they’re empty. With that lifestyle, you spend everything you earn. Either I kept working ten more years and I’d be poor afterwards… or I sold everything, traveled ten years on my sidecar, and I’d be poor afterwards.”

It’s a line that lands because it’s not romantic—just lucid. Hubert was 58 when he left. His mantra was equally straightforward: “Don’t forget to take a risk today.” In his own words, it became the best decision of his life.

Choosing a sidecar isn’t a styling choice; it’s a commitment. It changes how you handle wind, braking distances, and low-speed balance. It also changes how people approach you—Hubert will come back to that later. For a motorcycle world tour, the sidecar also adds something priceless: carrying capacity for long-haul gear, spares, and survival equipment without turning the bike into a teetering tower.

February 16, 2005 — New York, 6:04 a.m.: the ride begins

On February 16, 2005, at 6:04 in the morning, Hubert rolled out of New York on a BMW sidecar set up for an open-ended journey. First objective: the Arctic Circle. A few weeks later, in March 2005, he reached Tuktoyaktuk—a moment he still ranks as his best memory on the road.

He didn’t get there on a postcard route. One section stood out: roughly 380 km across an ice desert in around -40°C. For a rider who had mostly lived in cities—Paris, Los Angeles, New York—suddenly being “alone in the world” was not poetic. It was terrifying.

Crossing Ogilvy Pass in Canada’s Northwest, he took a blizzard head-on. On the Dempster Highway, the kind of road that looks simple on a map becomes an endurance test in reality: visibility drops, wind fights your steering, and cold steals attention minute by minute.

“I kept repeating: ‘Hubert, you will not stop,’ convinced I wouldn’t be able to start again… Mentally, I inventoried the survival gear I’d take with me if I got stuck in that storm.”

Arriving in Tuktoyaktuk after days of solo riding brought relief—and pride that only riders who’ve had to “stay moving” will recognize.

Solo world travel takes more work than people think

On the way back from Tuktoyaktuk, just below the Arctic Circle, Hubert met Harvey Van Patten at a gas station. Hubert had a sidecar; Harvey was traveling alone with a dog sled. Different vehicles, same reality: where do you sleep when there’s nothing? How do you fix technical problems when you’re the only mechanic around?

Before leaving, Harvey threw him a sentence Hubert never forgot:

“Because we’re not employees, people think we don’t work… I tell them that to succeed at what we do, it takes a lot of work from us.”

It’s a truth every long-distance rider eventually learns: the ride is only part of the day. The rest is fuel planning, weather reading, basic maintenance, and constant risk management—especially in the cold, where a small mistake escalates fast.

A roadtrip that didn’t want to end

From 2005 to 2008, Hubert rode across the Americas—from the Canadian far north down toward the southern extremes. He also reached Antarctica by ship, watching icebergs at daybreak from the vessel named Explorer. South America followed: Argentina, Bolivia, Peru—a continent where altitude, road surfaces, and distance can reshape a day’s plan in minutes.

In 2008, he flew to Europe, explored the “old continent,” then headed north into Asia: Scandinavia all the way to Mongolia. By 2011, he was in Africa—spotted on Ghana’s roads—and until 2013 he crossed Africa and Europe. At the time of the story, he was known to be in India, determined to keep his roadtrip alive.

When asked whether he wanted to stop after ten years of riding, he didn’t speak about an ending—he spoke about what was next: Himalayan passes from May, Tibet in September, and maybe Australia… “maybe,” because for Hubert, projecting too far ahead means losing the daily freedom that keeps him moving.

Traveling by sidecar is staying loyal to freedom

For Hubert, the sidecar isn’t a machine; it’s a way of being. He has been riding sidecars since 1971, and the idea of switching vehicles simply doesn’t interest him. No rigid schedule, no fixed itinerary—just decisions made day by day, guided by opportunities and encounters.

Beyond his travel diary website—his rolling notebook—Hubert doesn’t count kilometers or obsess over budgets. He protects something more fragile: the feeling of being free while still staying open to people along the way.

Isn’t traveling alone too hard?

“When I stop with my sidecar, people come to me immediately. Then it’s up to me to be open. And I get along with myself, so I’m never bored.”

Hubert’s advice to future world-tour riders

“Stop preparing and ride! If it’s for you, you’ll know very quickly and you’ll prepare while riding. If it’s not for you, you’ll know very quickly too—and you’ll go home.”

You can follow Hubert’s journey on his blog: http://www.thetimelessride.com/index.htm.

Planet Ride pro tip (one that saves fatigue)

On long-haul days—especially in cold, wind, or altitude—plan for shorter “real riding blocks” rather than heroic marathons. A simple rhythm that works: stop every time you refuel and once between fuel stops to eat, hydrate, and scan the bike (tires, fasteners, oil leaks). It keeps small issues from becoming trip-ending problems—particularly on remote highways like the Dempster.

À savoir aujourd’hui

Hubert’s story remains a sharp reminder that a motorcycle world tour is less about perfect planning than about consistency—day after day. What should be checked before leaving in 2026: border procedures, insurance validity by region, and the practical constraints of remote routes (fuel availability, seasonal closures, and emergency coverage).

Mini-FAQ

Can you do a motorcycle world tour without counting kilometers?
Yes—many riders travel by “days and conditions” rather than distance. It works best if you keep a strict maintenance rhythm and never gamble on fuel range.

Is a sidecar a good choice for a motorcycle world tour?
It can be: more carrying capacity and stability at stops, but heavier handling in wind, sand, and tight mountain roads. Training and progressive terrain exposure matter.

What’s the hardest part of solo long-distance travel?
Not the riding—the repetition: managing fatigue, staying disciplined with checks, and making safe decisions when you’re cold, hungry, or under time pressure.