The TET Experience – Ep 7

Mud, Mayhem & Four-Star Shenanigans – A Royal Enfield Ramble Through Rural Poland

By: That Dusty Rider Who Always Smells of Petrol

Dates covered: 02.06.25 – 04.06.25

Bike of Choice: Royal Enfield Himalayan – The Mud-Lovin’ Mule

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02.06.25: Wet Wheels & Muddy Grins

You ever wake up somewhere so peaceful you forget what day it is?

That was me this morning. Somewhere deep in the Polish countryside, far from honking horns and supermarket checkouts, I rolled out of bed to the smell of a homemade breakfast that could bring a grown biker to tears. Fresh eggs, warm bread, strong-as-sin coffee – all cooked by someone’s sweet old grandma who probably thinks I’m a stray animal in need of feeding. Bless her.

After that gut-busting start, I fired up the Himalayan at 9 AM sharp, heart full and belly fuller. Made a pitstop in a nearby village to top up the tank, and guess what? Scored some 98 octane juice. Oh baby. That’s the good stuff. Like giving the old Enfield a double espresso and a slap on the arse. She purred like a cat and kicked like a mule. Perfect combo.

Now, the heavens had opened up the night before with one hell of a thunderstorm – full light show and all. So naturally, today’s trails were soaked. And I mean wet T-shirt contest soaked. Mud, puddles, slippy bits that tried to wrestle the bars from my hands. But man, what a ride.

Sliding through the muck, dodging potholes like a drunk ballerina, laughing like a lunatic in my helmet – this, my friends, is what we live for. No dust clouds today. Just water-splashed boots and a face full of adrenaline. Temperature sat comfy at 24°C. No complaints from me.

Come late afternoon, I decided to treat my soggy backside to something a bit… posher. Booked myself into a four-star hotel. Yeah, you read that right. Four stars. The kind of place with napkins folded like swans and staff who look like they modelled for perfume ads.

You should’ve seen their faces when this muddy, stinking swamp creature rolled into reception. Boots leaving wet prints, gear caked in the countryside, helmet under arm like I owned the joint.

“I have a reservation,” I said, dead serious. The poor receptionist looked like she was about to call security.

But hey, they let me in. Even better – they did my laundry. For free. Absolute legends. I don’t know what I smell like now, but I can tell you it’s not wet dog anymore.

The room? Comfy. Restaurant? Fancy without being poncy. Parking? 25 Zloty a night. Not free, but I’ve paid more to park a bike in worse places.

All in all, 160 km of pure grin-inducing mud ballet, followed by posh sheets and fresh socks. Balance, baby. That’s the biker’s way.

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03.06.25: Rest Days and Vitamin D

Today, I did sweet f** all*. And it was glorious.

Woke up. Ate a breakfast that probably cost more than a week’s groceries. Stretched out in the sun like a lazy cat, soaking up Vitamin D and sipping overpriced coffee like I was someone important. Took a nap. Watched videos of people crashing bikes (standard entertainment). Wrote a bit of blog. Took another nap. Ate again.

The Himalayan sat sulking in the car park, itching for more mud, but I told her to chill. Even steel steeds need a day off. And so do I.

To be honest, this rest day wasn’t just nice – it was needed. You ride long enough, and your body starts whispering sweet nothings like “please, mate, stop.” Listen to it. Pamper it. Feed it. Let it recover so it can take more punishment later.

Went to bed early, dreaming of throttle twists and gravel spits.

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04.06.25: Throttle Therapy and Gravel Highways

Right. Back in the saddle.

#dustysocks