The TET Experience – Ep 11

Mud, Madness & 6,200 Kilometres of Mayhem: My TET Adventure Comes to a Slippery End

Dates covered: 14.06.25 to 16.06.25

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Let me take you on a little tale, my two-wheeled friends. A tale of grit, grime, glorious countryside, and just the right amount of “What the hell am I doing out here?” It’s the final stretch of my TET (Trans Euro Trail) madness through the Netherlands, Germany, and Poland, with a bonus soggy finale through the Czech Republic and back home to good ol’ Germany.

So grab a brew, strap in, and prepare yourself for stories of soaked boots, muddy regrets, and philosophical revelations from the saddle of a Royal Enfield Himalayan. Spoiler alert: this machine is tougher than me.

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14.06.25 – The Mud Monster Awakens

The day started peacefully. No breakfast, so naturally, I did what any sensible person would do—I slept in like a champion. Blue skies and sunshine greeted me like an apologetic ex. A cup of tea later and a quick video call with my loved ones, I felt like a human again. Ready to hit TET Poland Section 3 with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated goat.

But oh, how naïve I was.

After a couple of tame tarmac kilometres, the track led me deep into the woods—and by “track,” I mean Satan’s Slip’n’Slide. We’re talking deep ruts filled with water, sneaky tree roots ready to yeet you off balance, and puddles that would swallow a Labrador.

Before I could blink, I was stuck. Good and proper. I missed the bypass—my fault, I admit. But now I was committed. Roughly 300 metres of pure off-road punishment. Thirty minutes of wrestling the Himalayan like a bear in a phone booth. The bike stuck on roots, sank in puddles, and almost needed last rites.

Emerging on the other side: sweaty, filthy, but grinning like a lunatic. Victory was mine… but at a cost. My body had about as much energy left as a Nokia 3310 on 2% battery.

I tried a longer break. Didn’t help. So after about 60 more bone-jangling kilometres on the TET, I waved the white flag, found a bed, and proceeded to sleep from 3 PM straight through to 5 AM the next morning. That’s not a nap—that’s hibernation.

And in that dreamy coma, I made a decision. A big one.

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Time for the Twist: Turning Tarmac-Warrior

Look, I’m 59. I’ve done almost 5,000 km off-road on this trip. That includes deep sand, gravel, rain, mud, dust, and everything in between. If it exists and it’s uncomfortable, I probably rode through it.

But there comes a point when even the most die-hard adventure rider realises: you’re not in your mid-twenties anymore, mate. The body says, “Maybe let’s not die in a ditch today, eh?”

So, I pivoted. No shame. No guilt. Just a proper grown-up decision: ride the remaining 840 km home on smooth, twisty tarmac—my Himalayan’s underrated playground. And let’s face it, winding through the Czech countryside on backroads isn’t exactly punishment.

Looking back, maybe I took this trip a bit too seriously. Should’ve tossed in more chill time—some sightseeing, a few lazy mornings, maybe even a cheeky nap on a sunny riverbank. Lesson learned. Adventure’s not a race; it’s a story. And every story needs balance.

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15.06.25 – Bye Bye TET, Hello Czech Charm

This was it—the official “I’m off the trail” day. Left the TET behind and hit the road at 06:30 like a man on a mission. Filled up the tank, rolled out on sleepy rural roads, and soaked up the peace of Poland’s countryside. No mud in sight. Glorious.

An hour and a half later, I slipped into the Czech Republic so smoothly I almost didn’t notice—no borders, no drama. Just suddenly, all the signs were in a language that looks like someone fell asleep on the keyboard.

Czech roads were mostly a dream, aside from the odd dodgy goat path masquerading as a county lane. But hey, when the sun’s out and the temp is a toasty 27°C, who cares?

After 350 km of sheer joy, I landed in a place called Skuteč. Sounds like a sneeze, but it’s a lovely little town. Checked into a local spot, grabbed some grub, had a celebratory beer, and then, like the true road warrior I am… I passed out cold for a nap. Again.

Yes, I might be riding like a machine, but I also nap like a pensioner with a full stomach.

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16.06.25 – Drenched, Determined, and Almost German

Remember the glorious weather from yesterday? Yeah, Mother Nature does too—and decided to punish me for enjoying myself. I woke up to the oh-so-soothing sound of rain hammering on the roof.

Booked breakfast for 07:30. Secretly hoped the rain would be gone by then. It wasn’t.

So, on went the rain gear. Packed up the bike like a sodden turtle and hit the road again. The rain? Relentless. After two hours, even the waterproof gear threw in the towel. I was soaked. From the outside and the inside. Like a tea bag that’s been left in the mug too long.

Still, I pushed on through Czech Republic, passed by some landmarks like the Temelín nuclear power plant—which, for those of us with a memory, caused quite the stir back in the day. A reminder of how the world’s changed. Or hasn’t.

So there I was, blasting along the backroads of the Czech Republic, thinking I’d just roll into Germany like a breeze through a bratwurst stand. But nope! Thanks to the new German government’s fresh idea to tackle illegal migration, the borders are back in style—passport control and all. Welcome to 2025!

As I pulled up to the crossing, looking like a half-drowned rat on a mud-caked motorcycle, a couple of Polizei with far too much time on their hands flagged me down. Helmets off, gloves off, papers out.

I mean—really?! Look at me. I’m soaking wet, covered in half of Bohemia’s dirt, and my luggage is so overloaded I need a small engineering team to close it. Did they seriously think I was smuggling an inflatable migrant in there? What would that even look like—pop goes the refugee?

They gave the bike a suspicious once-over, probably debating whether I was a road-tripping lunatic or the least stealthy people smuggler in EU history. After a bit of grumbling and a raised eyebrow or two, they handed my documents back and waved me on, probably thinking, “Poor bastard, let’s let him go before he starts talking.”

Finally I found myself riding through the rolling green of the Bavarian Forest. Gorgeous roads, no puddles, and a slight feeling of “home stretch.”

Then, the most German thing ever happened.

I tried to book a room. First B&B? Full. Second? They had a room but said, “Arrive at 4 PM!” It was 2 PM. They wanted me to wait around for two bloody hours like a lonely duck? No chance.

So I did what any mildly stubborn, slightly damp biker would do: I kept riding.

The weather was perfect, the road was calling, and suddenly, my bed at home didn’t feel that far away.

By the time 4 PM rolled around and I could’ve checked in, I was already 150 km further down the road. It didn’t make sense to stop anymore. The bike felt good, my legs hadn’t fallen off (yet), and I could already smell my own shower gel waiting for me at home.

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Final Stretch: 523 km, 9 Hours, One Happy Biker

At exactly 6 PM, I rolled up to my front door like a victorious gladiator. Wet. Exhausted. Starving. But victorious nonetheless.

That was 523 km in one day. And a bit over 9 hours riding time. A new record for me on the Himalayan—and the longest time I’ve ever spent in that saddle. The moment I unlocked the door, I felt like a legend. A very soggy legend, but a legend nonetheless.

First thing: clothes off. Second thing: hot shower. Third thing: raid the supermarket like a man just rescued from a desert island. And then, straight into bed with a belly full of warm food and a brain buzzing with the madness of it all.

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The Grand Total: 6,200 km in 33 Days

Here’s the final tally:

 • 6,200 km total

 • 4,800 km off-road on the TET in 3 countries

 • 1 very stubborn Royal Enfield Himalayan

 • 0 breakdowns

 • At least 3 existential crises

 • And one 59-year-old rider who found his limits—but not his regrets

I’ve seen the insides of rain clouds, danced with tree roots, cried into my socks (figuratively… mostly), and eaten more dodgy sausage than I’d care to admit. And through it all, the Himalayan proved itself again and again. Sure, it’s not fast, and it’s no lightweight ballerina, but it’s reliable, it’s tough, and it doesn’t drink oil like it’s on a bender. Can’t say the same about some bikes I’ve owned…

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So What’s Next?

Well, first: rest. There’s a garden that’s trying to become a jungle, a fridge that now resembles the inside of a tomb, and a body that needs some proper TLC.

Then? Who knows. Maybe the Balkans. Maybe Scandinavia. Maybe just a long weekend to somewhere sunny where I don’t need waterproofs.

But one thing’s for sure—I’ll be back on that bike soon enough. Because once you’ve tasted the freedom of muddy trails, near-misses, dodgy kebabs, and the joy of riding into the unknown… you’re hooked for life.

Ride safe, ride silly, and for heaven’s sake—pack dry socks.

Over and out,

#dustysocks

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Have you ever hit your limit on a trip? Or kept riding just because the road was too damn good to stop? Let me know in the comments. And yes, I accept sympathy beers.