Travel diary: Lausanne to Düsseldorf on a Royal Enfield Bullet 350
roadtrip royal enfield isn’t a hashtag for me—it’s the sound of a kickstarter catching, the patience you learn in traffic, and the quiet confidence you build mile after mile. I fell for Royal Enfield in India, where I lived for a year: learning to start a bike in chaos and heat, to respect the road’s micro-dangers, and to accept that vintage mechanics have their own rhythm. Back in Switzerland, I brought home a 1982 Bullet—then spent a full year wrestling with registration constraints for early-80s vehicles. When it finally ran legally on Swiss plates, it felt like winning something you can’t explain to non-riders.
When work moved me to Düsseldorf, the plan wrote itself: a roadtrip between Lausanne and Düsseldorf, without motorways. About 700 km, a small single making about 16 hp on paper—meaning the route would be long, slow, and honest. Exactly what I needed.
Before the roadtrip: making an old Bullet road-ready
I went to see my friend Mamin, who runs a small custom garage on the plain at the edge of Valais. He trained at the Royal Enfield factory in Chennai for 13 years and lives for vintage bikes—so I couldn’t have picked a better place to start.
“I’ll fit an Amal carburetor and redo your wiring—right now it’s a plate of spaghetti.”
Result: two extra horses (18 now—luxury), and the bike stopped dying the moment I turned the lights on. With the route roughly mapped, a pack of Oreos stuffed somewhere in the luggage, I was ready.
Then the usual pre-departure sabotage: two days before leaving I spotted a slow puncture and the bike refused to start. Changing a tube is never “hard,” but it’s always time-consuming, especially when you’re already late in your head. I called garages around town: no tube in my size, no workshop slot anyway. I started to accept I’d postpone.
I tackled the starting issue first—coil, points, battery—everything except the obvious. The spark plug. Like when your grandmother’s “broken computer” just needs the power cable plugged in. New plug in, the Bullet came back to life.
The day before departure, I finally found a shop that could get the right tube within 24 hours and had room to fit it. The road was back on.
And, because a roadtrip always demands a small offering: that same evening, the heels of my riding boots started peeling off. Superstition crept in. I ignored it, fixed everything in the morning (boots, puncture, starting), and forced myself to pack early—using the checklist from how to pack your bag for a roadtrip—before fate could get creative.
Lausanne → Mulhouse (aiming for Colmar)
13:00. Last fuel stop in Switzerland—premium priced like it was barrel-aged since 1990. The sky was grey. I didn’t care until the Swiss Jura reminded me: even when it’s nice, it rains. I pulled into St-Imier to dry off and drink a coffee. Locals walked over—half curious about the old machine, half amused by my wet-dog look and Vaud plate.
I’d targeted Colmar, but the climbs slowed me more than I expected. That’s when I learned the key equation of this trip: 1 hour on Google Maps equals about 1.5 hours on an old Bullet when you avoid motorways and live in the right lane. I broke the ride into smaller goals. Cross into France first, then decide.
Alsace arrived with humidity my bike understands intimately. The clouds opened up, but the road surface felt rougher. And I had to keep my brain sharp: in Switzerland, blue signs often mean secondary roads; in France, blue can pull you toward the motorway if you’re not careful.
After about 50 km of frequent stops to confirm the route, I understood I’d need to memorize village names if I wanted to flow. My “Indian” also had a habit of stalling at a standstill—meaning a kickstart at every stoplight. With a route that changes road numbers often, chasing a single destination on signposts becomes a small mental workout.
Early evening: Mulhouse. Cold in the bones. I stopped and kept Colmar for the next day. A brasserie to thaw out, then the hunt for a bed—harder than expected. Airbnbs: nothing. Hotels: full. I ended up at a Mercure. I told myself I’d fix the budget tomorrow.
Mulhouse → Saarbrücken (via the Vosges)
Quick morning check of “Gaby II” (yes, I named her—riders do that): bolts seem present, oil and fuel okay, tires still holding (Inshallah). Plan: cut through two nature parks—Parc naturel régional des Ballons des Vosges and Parc naturel régional des Vosges du Nord. About 250 km that promised real riding: forest curves, open farmland, and that calm you only get when you’re alone on the road with a simple engine beneath you.
Colmar, finally—coffee stop. Then I followed the Rhine toward Strasbourg, feeling the invisible pull of Germany. For a while, everything was easy enough that I let Creedence Clearwater Revival run in my right ear and smiled behind my neck tube.
In Strasbourg I stopped to see a friend.
“Why are there so many soldiers in the streets?”
“They’ve deployed the Vigipirate security plan.”
On a bike, you drift far from that noise. Rolling resets your head.
Fuel stop, tire pressure check. A guy on a Ducati looked at the Bullet and asked: “Doesn’t that catch a lot of wind?” Truth: I didn’t know. The bike is unstable in its own charming way. I shrugged: “It’s fine.” He answered with the kind of line you hear at bad bike nights—“A real man’s bike.” I left before the conversation got any emptier. Germany was waiting.
Later: the second park of the day, another reward. Alsatian village names turned into memory hooks—Ingwiller, Wimmenau, Rohrbach-lès-Bitche.
Zoll. Border. The Saar river. Germany.
The Bullet started feeling tired: occasional surges, brakes loosening. I took that as a clear sign to stop. This time I didn’t gamble on availability and booked a hotel outside Saarbrücken. The suburbs weren’t pretty, so I went into town instead—beautiful in the evening, and saved by a schnitzel-cordon-bleu that I still think about. Cultural fusion has its merits.
Saarbrücken → Düsseldorf (Eifel highlight)
Tonight, I sleep at home. Longest leg: about 300 km. I left early. 6°C, drizzle that gets under your collar and stays there. I didn’t realize yet I’d be cold all day.
The route was straightforward, but I doubled down on attention: wet roads, faster traffic, and a rising headwind—exactly the mix that punishes fatigue. Then the smell: acrid, wrong. I pulled over. No oil left. Luckily, I had bought oil at the last stop. Problem: no funnel. So I turned a stiff page from my notebook into a cone and poured without painting the engine.
Back on the road, the bike felt unhappy at speed—jerks and hesitation. (Later I’d learn it was a worn clutch.) I tried to warm up in a café in Trier, but the cold had already moved into my shoulders and neck. I clenched the bars and kept going, feeling that familiar ache: the saddle hard as wood, the body slowly stiffening.
At my own surprise, I approached the Belgian border—and even crossed it—just to cut through the Eifel, the absolute highlight of this day: rolling hills, deep forest, fast curves that demand smooth inputs, not aggression.
It was Whit Monday, and more riders appeared on the road—some staring at my Swiss plate, others staring at my frozen face.
Last 100 km. I pushed, but the headwind was so strong I couldn’t really hold more than about 70 km/h. Seeing an accident about 50 km from Düsseldorf snapped me back into patience. I stopped, and realized I hadn’t drunk water in four hours—I’d been too focused on getting there.
The final stretch was heavy: traffic building, my bag suddenly feeling twice its weight, the cold turning into shaking. Then I recognized the road. I’d ridden it before. I rolled onto the Josef-Kardinal-Frings-Brücke, Düsseldorf rising ahead, and I shouted—pure joy, pure relief, with whatever strength I had left.
Planet Ride craft tip
If you’re riding a low-powered vintage bike off motorways, plan your days by real saddle time, not distance. On secondary roads with stops, climbs, and navigation checks, aim for a pace that leaves you sharp for the last hour—because that’s where fatigue and wet roads usually meet.
Mini-FAQ
How long should you plan for a Lausanne to Düsseldorf backroad ride?
On a small or vintage motorcycle, splitting into 2 to 3 days keeps the ride enjoyable—especially if you avoid motorways and ride through the Vosges and Eifel.
What’s the biggest practical risk on this route?
Weather and fatigue: cold rain in shoulder seasons, wet roads, and headwinds. Carry basic consumables (like engine oil) and keep hydration accessible.
Do you need offline navigation?
Strongly recommended. When your route switches between multiple road numbers and small villages, offline maps help you avoid repeated stops—and repeated kickstarts if your bike stalls at lights.
Royal Enfield adventures calling you? Planet Ride has curated routes to get you started.
À savoir aujourd’hui
This is a dated travel diary, but the essentials still hold: vintage bikes demand patience, shorter stages, and more mechanical attention than modern machines. What you should verify before leaving: border/traffic rules on your exact backroad route, accommodation availability in peak weekends, and whether your bike’s insurance and roadside assistance cover cross-border riding.
