Lost Plates, Found Luck, and a Thumpin’ Ride to the Polish Border: A Cheeky Biker’s Tale
Let me paint you a picture: It’s a sunny(ish) late May morning in Germany. Birds are chirping, the road is calling, and I’m ready to tear it up on my trusty Royal Enfield Himalayan. Only one teensy problem – I ain’t got no bloody number plate. That’s right. The metal ID tag that makes your bike legal on the roads of Deutschland? Vanished. Gone. Probably off living its best life in a ditch somewhere.
27.05.25 – The Day After the Disaster
Now, losing a number plate in Germany ain’t just inconvenient – it’s a whole circus of red tape, raised eyebrows, and the constant risk of getting your arse pulled over by Polizei. You can imagine my state yesterday. Frustrated? Yep. Swearing like a sailor? Absolutely. Fantasising about German bureaucracy burning to the ground? You bet.
But then – plot twist. This morning, at the ungodly hour of 07:50, my phone rings. It’s the cops. And hallelujah, they’ve got my plate! Found by some sharp-eyed youngster working for the government. Kid deserves a medal, a beer, and maybe even a free ride on the back of the Himalayan. Turns out he spotted it around 4 PM yesterday, which explains why I missed it on my way back. Mystery solved, Sherlock.
So I smash down some breakfast, stuff my panniers, and hit the road towards the police station – a brisk 60 km jaunt. And let me tell you, riding without a number plate in Germany is a real white-knuckle experience. Every car that passed, I was bracing for blue lights. Every junction, I was scanning for uniforms. Riding naked never felt so illegal. But hey – I had filed a lost report the day before, so I should have been safe. In theory.
When I get to the station, the officer’s all chill. Hands me the plate with a smile and a “have a good day” kind of vibe. I bolt it back on with a sense of victory only a biker will truly understand. That feeling of being legal again? Glorious. Like a warm hug from the gods of motorcycling.
But I wasn’t taking any more chances. I rolled into a garage down the road, explained the situation, and the lovely lads there fixed the plate properly – screws, washers, the full treatment. Free of charge, too. Legends.
Back on Track – Neustrelitz, Baby
With my metallic ID back where it belongs, I retraced yesterday’s route towards Neustrelitz – a quaint little town with just enough character and quiet to help a weary biker recharge. Found myself a hotel with covered and private parking (massive win), and checked in for a two-night pit stop.
Honestly, I needed it. After the number plate debacle, sleep had been more elusive than a KTM rider on time. So I crashed hard – after lunch, a supermarket run for some hydration, and a cheeky little nap.
That evening, I went out for a wander around Neustrelitz. And surprise, surprise – it’s a little gem. Quiet streets, a bit of old-world charm, and hardly any tourists this time of year. Sometimes you find the best places when you’re least trying.
28.05.25 – One Day Off, One Hell of a Breakfast
Next morning, I’m up bright and early for a banging breakfast at Hotel Schlossgarten – proper coffee, bread rolls with a crunch, meats and cheeses like a European buffet dream. If you’re ever rolling through Neustrelitz, trust me: this hotel’s the one. Covered parking, fair price, and walking distance to the good stuff.
At 10:30 sharp, I joined a free walking tour. Yep, that’s right – yours truly, the rugged biker, swapping handlebars for history. Two solid hours hoofing it around town with a local guide who clearly loved the place more than most people love their own family. We got the lowdown on Neustrelitz’s royal past, its architectural oddities, and a bit about its ups and downs through the wars..
Right as the tour wrapped up – bam – the heavens opened. Classic Germany. So, what’s a road warrior to do? Off to the hairdresser, of course. Bit of a trim, bit of a tidy-up. Gotta look sharp when you’re rolling across borders.
Then back to the hotel for more chilling.
That’s the thing about long-haul motorbike travel – it’s not all vroom-vroom and wheelies (okay, maybe some), it’s also about knowing when to pause and let the body catch up with the road.
29.05.25 – Back in the Saddle, Border-Bound
With batteries recharged, I saddled up this morning and hit the road hard – 170 km of twisties, gravel, sand, and the kind of terrain that makes your arse clench and grin at the same time. The Himalayan was in its element – thumping along like a war drum, chewing through whatever surface I threw under it.
Destination: Schwedt, sitting right on the Polish border like a gate to the next adventure.
Before crossing over, I made a tactical fuel stop. Sure, petrol’s cheaper in Poland, but every man and his dog seems to know that – the border stations were rammed. So I coughed up the extra cents and filled up in peace on the German side. Worth every penny for not queuing behind a dozen camper vans and cranky tourists.
The weather? Decent. Dry skies, though the wind was strong enough to slap you sideways if you weren’t paying attention. Still too damn cold for late May, but hey – what’s a little chill to a biker with heated grips and a stubborn streak?
Being a public holiday, the TET (Trans Euro Trail, for the uninitiated) was alive with riders. Big KTMs, snarly Huskies, fully kitted GSs – everyone and their gran seemed to be out playing in the dirt. Always good to see, even if a few don’t wave back (seriously, what’s that about? We’re bikers, not bankers).
Me and the Himalayan? We were vibing. No breakdowns, no drama, just sweet dirty miles and that satisfying grunt of a single-cylinder engine that doesn’t know the word “quit.”
Next Stop: Poland – TET Section 2 Awaits
And now, here I sit – belly full, chain cleaned, GPS ready – with Poland up next. I’ll be diving straight into section 2 of the Polish TET tomorrow. Expecting sand, forests, and who-knows-what-kind-of-trouble. The Himalayan’s prepped. I’m prepped. And after the plate-losing debacle, I reckon I’ve paid my dues to the road gods.
This trip’s just getting started. So, to all you road-dogs, throttle-twisters, and trail-blazers reading this – keep your number plates tight, your bolts tighter, and your sense of humour even tighter than that.
Catch you on the next stretch. And remember: life begins at the end of the asphalt.
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Got a similar story of mayhem, mischief, or magical recovery on two wheels? Drop it in the comments. And if you’re riding the TET this season, keep an eye out for a muddy Himalayan and a grinning idiot with a German plate. That’s probably me. 🛠️🏍️🍻
#dustysocks
Something is hardcore than in Thailand for example lost the number plate