We’ve all had the thought. You’re halfway through a Sunday blast, sun on your back, perfect bend ahead, and you wonder—“Could I do this for a living?”

I had that same thought a decade ago, and now I run European motorcycle tours for a living. Sounds like a dream, right?

Well… yes. And no. Depends on the day, the weather, and whether anyone’s panniers are falling off.

The Fantasy vs. the Facts

When people hear I guide motorcycle tours through the Alps, Black Forest and Vosges, they picture me leading a perfect convoy across mirror-smooth mountain roads, rolling into pre-booked inns with beer on tap and bikes lined up like an advert.

And don’t get me wrong—those days exist. Like the time we hit the Route des Crêtes in golden evening light, hardly a car in sight, tyres warm and the whole group in perfect formation. That was a “this is the job” kind of day.

But let me balance that with the day I had to:

• Rewire a brake light in a hotel car park using electrical tape and hope

• Calm down a rider who nearly ran out of fuel on the Autobahn (with 6 others following him)

• Convince a Dutch hotel manager that, yes, 10 dripping-wet Brits deserved a second helping of schnitzel

All while smiling and saying, “It’s going great!”

Herding Bikers: Like Herding Cats, but Louder

I guide small-group tours—just 10-12 riders max. Sounds manageable, right? Until you remember that every one of those riders has their own pace, preferences, comfort zones, and opinions about which pub has the best chips.

Add in rain, border crossings, ferry schedules, fuel stops, hotel check-ins, language barriers, and you’ve got the makings of a minor breakdown. Not the bike—me.

There’s no support van. No mechanic on standby. Just me, a loaded bike, and a prayer that everyone read the pre-trip checklist (they didn’t).

The Bad Bits I’ve Learned to Laugh At

• Watching a bloke realise he packed 4 t-shirts and no trousers.

• One guy brought two pairs of gloves, both left hands.

• Getting chewed out by a hotel owner because someone dried wet socks on the room radiator and left a smell like boiled badger.

At the time, you grit your teeth. Later, it’s pure comedy gold.

The Moments That Keep You Coming Back

For all the faff, there’s this magic that happens somewhere around day 3 of every trip. People relax. The bikes settle in. The roads get under your skin. And suddenly you’ve got a crew of strangers riding like they’ve known each other for years.

I’ve had grown men get choked up at the top of mountain passes. I’ve had riders message me months later saying, “That trip changed the way I see biking.”

That’s when it’s all worth it.

Should You Do It?

If you’re thinking of leading tours—my advice? Try organising one for your mates first. Plan a three-day trip. Book the digs. Sort the routes. Manage the breakdowns, the lost keys, the missed turns.

Still smiling at the end of it?

Then yeah, maybe you’ve got the wiring for it.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not always smooth. But it’s real. And when it clicks, it’s the best job in the world.