Some 1387 miles, six countries and six days later, I park my Triumph Thruxton on the pier overlooking the deep sapphire sea at the finish line for The Great Malle Mountain Rally in Monaco. A wave of excitement and relief hits me as I’m welcomed with smiles and fist bumps from the other 60-odd riders who’ve accompanied me on this trip.
I dismount, my movements still wooden from eight hours of riding and were it not for Stephanie’s hug holding me in place and the adrenaline still flowing through my body, it would have floored me.
When I decided to join the rally, it was an excuse to get more seat time on a bike that had gone largely unused due to the most uncooperative British weather. I thought riding the entirety of the Alps from East to West and North to South might make me a better, more technical rider. And I wasn’t wrong. If my first uphill hairpin came with a dose of humility as I found myself fighting the bike to avoid careering into oncoming traffic, by the end of the week the sequence of braking and gearchanging had fully clicked and had become almost second nature.
