Of Castles, Gravel, and a Missing Plate: A German TET Tale of Misadventure and Misery (with Some Lovely Breakfasts)
By: That Rider With No Number Plate
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Ah, motorcycle travel. That magical cocktail of freedom, fresh air, and the occasional bout of mild swearing at hotel invoices. If you’ve ever romanticised the idea of riding across Europe on something reliable like a Royal Enfield Himalayan—boots caked in mud, cheeks kissed by wind, and eyes full of scenic vistas—allow me to introduce a healthy splash of reality. Spoiler alert: it includes overpriced parking, bureaucratic runarounds, and a very cheeky number plate that decided to ghost me mid-adventure.
Strap in, grab your helmet, and let’s dive into the slightly tragic, mostly amusing story of my latest leg through northern Germany, where the roads were straight, the food was hit-or-miss, and the weather did its best impression of a moody teenager.
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24 May – Lübeck to Dabel: Castles, Cold Winds, and a Friendly Town That Wasn’t Schwerin
Let’s start at the beginning, where the first betrayal of the day came not from the weather or my motorcycle, but from the hotel breakfast. For the princely sum they charged me—including €17 for parking, which I assume went directly toward polishing the owner’s ego—I expected something approaching culinary competence.
What I got instead was an underwhelming breakfast and the faint aroma of disappointment. But with my belly technically full (though emotionally scarred), I hit the road at 8:30 AM.
Weather report? Rain had danced overnight, but the skies cleared and sunshine peeked through like a shy toddler. Cold wind followed me like a clingy ex, but honestly? I don’t mind cold. I can layer up. I just ask the heavens not to pee on me from above.
Now for the good news: the TET was an absolute peach today. I was zipping along Section 3, which allegedly boasts a 30% off-road ratio. Let me tell you, that 30% was a glorious mix of gravel, wooded paths, and the kind of riding that makes you talk to your bike like it’s a loyal dog. “Good girl. Yes, chew up that gravel. Who’s a dirty machine? You are!”
But alas, every riding fairytale has its villain, and mine was Schwerin. Now look, I get it. The castle’s pretty. It’s the kind of place that makes tourists whip out their cameras and attempt moody architectural shots with too much Instagram filter. But navigating city traffic on a loaded bike with cold wind up your neck? That, dear reader, is the opposite of magical. It’s just… annoying.
Tired and slightly grumpy, I pulled the plug in a quiet little town called Dabel. It’s not on any top 10 list, and it’s not trying to be. It has one hotel, some friendly people, and food that didn’t taste like someone had a grudge against seasoning. Sold. Checked in. Slept like a log.
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25 May – Dabel: Doing Absolutely Nothing and Loving It
The rain gods returned today, and not subtly. This was proper, biblical, build-an-ark level stuff. I poked my head outside, laughed once, and retreated like a vampire in daylight. Today’s plan: rest, relax, and maybe inspect my gear for rogue stowaway snails.
The highlight? Doing nothing in a cozy room while nature had a tantrum outside. If you’ve ever ridden day after day in cold wind and crap weather, you know how sweet a break can be. Dabel, you humble hero, you were exactly what I needed.
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26 May – Gravel Bliss, a Great Breakfast… and a Disappearing Number Plate
After yesterday’s spa day for my soul, I was ready to ride again. The morning began with a breakfast that actually deserved to be called breakfast. Fresh bread, hot coffee, and possibly the ghost of a real chef somewhere in the kitchen. Mood: rejuvenated.
The ride started even better. A delicious combo of tarmac and off-road tracks meandering through woodland and gravel trails. It was the kind of stuff that makes adventure riding worth it—the “why the hell am I not doing this all the time?” kind of ride.
Then came Neustrelitz.
Now, Neustrelitz isn’t to blame directly. It didn’t steal my wallet or insult my mother.
But it was there—the place where I discovered my number plate was missing. Just… gone. Vanished. Not even a goodbye note.
I checked the bike from every angle, just in case I’d grown a new kind of temporary blindness that makes license plates invisible. No luck.
Cue the start of the German Bureaucratic Olympics.
First stop: the police. They were polite but not particularly useful. I think one officer yawned halfway through my tragic tale of the disappearing plate. Then it was off to the Zulassungsstelle—Germany’s version of vehicle registration purgatory.
Now, picture this: a dusty adventurer in full gear, trying to explain to stone-faced officials that somewhere between Dabel and here, his number plate performed a vanishing act. Result? More shrugs than answers. They suggested contacting Munich, where my bike is registered, so I did. By email. Because nothing says urgency like a digital message floating through a slow-moving bureaucratic cloud.
After all that, I decided there was only one thing left to do: ride back and search. Like a desperate Romeo hunting for his Juliet, I rode those roads again, eyes scanning every ditch, every shrub, every suspicious piece of scrap.
Did I find it? No. But I did find the limits of my energy.
At the end of this scavenger hunt, I checked into another surprisingly decent hotel. €60 with breakfast, a lovely dinner, and a beer that tasted like liquid forgiveness. After 380 km of riding, I was properly knackered.
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So… What Now?
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room—or rather, the missing rectangle that used to sit proudly at the rear of my bike.
In some parts of the world, losing your number plate might result in a laugh and a shrug. In Thailand, for example, you might just zip-tie a bit of cardboard and carry on your merry way. In Germany? Oh no. Here, it’s a criminal offense to ride around without a plate. Not only would continuing be illegal, it would also be impressively stupid—especially with other countries up ahead on the route.
So here I am, on the edge of a decision cliff. If I find the plate tomorrow, we continue. If not, this leg of the TET might meet an early, tragic, moderately comedic end.
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Final Thoughts: From Gravel Dreams to Plate Nightmares
It’s funny how adventure riding gives you both ends of the emotional buffet. One day, you’re gliding through forests on the perfect trail, the next you’re playing detective while your license plate disappears into the ether like it’s running from a crime.
What I’ve learned?
1. German hotels really love charging for parking. So choose wisely.
2. Breakfasts can be a gamble. Don’t get your hopes up.
3. City traffic should be avoided like gas station sushi.
4. Always, always check your number plate bolts.
5. And sometimes, the best part of the day is just a good beer and a warm bed when everything else has gone sideways.
Whether this trip continues or hits a bureaucratic wall tomorrow, one thing’s for sure: it’s been a ride worth remembering—and one hell of a story for the pub back home.
Stay tuned, and may your number plates never play hide and seek.
#dustysocks
Traveling is always exploring new things what can happen and learn it … in the end it will be a journey experience…