How It All Began – My First Great Love on Two Wheels

I still remember that moment vividly. I was 18, freshly licensed, when I sat on a real motorcycle for the first time. A black Honda CB500. The sound, the engine’s vibrations, the feeling of becoming one with the road – it was love at first twist of the throttle, even if it was limited to just 34 horsepower.

The Honda belonged to my mother, and sometimes I was allowed to borrow it. Looking back, it was the perfect introduction: easy to handle, reliable, and ideal for gaining my first experience. But the more I rode, the stronger the desire became to own a bike of my own. One that wasn’t just functional, but represented something – my dream.

So I started working at a café alongside my vocational training. Early mornings, late nights, saving every cent – all for one goal: my very own GSX-R 750 in blue and white. And one day, it finally happened. I held the key in my hand, hit the starter – and I knew: This one is mine.

My first motorcycle – GSX-R 750 K4

Back then, riding meant one thing above all: freedom. I rode through the forests of my home, past fields, through small villages where people would sometimes smile at me – or shake their heads. But I didn’t care – I was out there, I was free, I was myself. And I was so incredibly proud of my first bike.

But life had other plans. Two years later – I remember it like it was yesterday – I lost one of my best friends in a motorcycle accident. The pain was deep. Too deep. Suddenly, it wasn’t just the wind in my face anymore – it was fear breathing down my neck. I made a decision that broke my heart: I sold my bike. I thought that chapter of my life was closed for good.

Instead, I focused on my studies. I worked hard, saved money, traveled. First Brazil, then China – eight years that shaped me. I lived intensely, saw the world, learned languages, met people, explored cultures. And yet: the further I traveled, the further I drifted from myself. The journeys became more anonymous, more structured, somehow... soulless.

Until one moment, when I knew: I need to go back. Back to that feeling from back then. Not because I want to relive the past – but because I want to feel again what it means to truly be on the road.

So I made a decision: I'm getting back on the bike. After 17 years.

I know I’m starting from zero. I’m no pro. Not yet. But that’s the whole point: this journey will be raw, honest, and imperfect. And that’s exactly what will make it real.

If you're reading this and sometimes feel like you've lost yourself somewhere along the way – maybe you'll find a part of your own story in mine.

This is the beginning. The beginning of a journey back to myself.

And you're warmly invited to come along for the ride.

Let’s ride.