The story is remarkable, even if it is not well known in much of the motorcycling world.
In the summer of 1982, a 23-year-old woman left the United Kingdom on a journey to circumnavigate the planet by motorcycle. Elspeth Beard decided that it was an opportune time to leave school, family, and friends behind to do something that few would contemplate and fewer still would have the courage to execute on. Her story, once shrouded in ambiguity, is now sharply raised in the public conscience due to her 2017 memoir, “Lone Rider.” For the 35th anniversary of the adventure, completing the story was no doubt something that provided a certain sense of closure. It also makes for compelling reading.
While I was somewhat aware of the story, it wasn’t until I met the author last fall that the full magnitude of the accomplishment, and the underlying challenges, came into clear relief. Our fortuitous meeting came about when our lives intersected at the 100th anniversary celebration for BMW motorcycles held in Harleysville, Pennsylvania. The irony of the location name wasn’t lost on anyone of course.
I was part of the organizing team, responsible for transporting guest speakers to the event. Elspeth came from England for the festivities to recount the experiences from a pivotal two-year window in her life. In addition to being of similar age, we had each enjoyed life affirming motorcycle-based adventures early in adulthood. We had used nearly identical BMW motorcycles to propel those adventures. We learned many similar life lessons on the road. Her journey was far grander than my own. No matter, since we struck up a wonderful friendship in a matter of hours.
When it came time for the actual event, my job was to ferry the speakers between the hotel and the beautiful small farm that became our focal point for the weekend. Given this task, a motorcycle was not part of my repertoire. Instead, our ride for the 2023 event was a shockingly bright, rented Dodge Charger, which added to the festiveness of a weekend with brilliant speakers, an amazing collection of vintage Beemers and a driving nor’easter. Perhaps because of the adversity, it became even more memorable than it otherwise would have been. In any case, the red Charger proved to be capable of the task and even allowed me to ferry a set of classic panniers home to North Carolina at the end of the weekend.
Back in 1982, and against the better judgement of her parents, Elspeth saddled up her recently acquired BMW R60/6 and headed for North America. She was well and truly on her own, as an effort to raise sponsorship funding had made a proverbial face plant. As she recounted in her remarks, she widely sought support from motorcycle publications and equipment manufacturers. One of the few companies that actually bothered to send her a letter declining their support was BMW AG in Munich, a copy of which is preserved in her book.
So, she planned to travel on her savings and replenish the funds along the way by taking on work as needed. This was a hard-fought adventure, not some trust-fund baby’s lark.
Her choice of the BMW R60/6 made great sense. Always known for reliability and durability, these were the smallest machines in the Beemer lineup, and they were dramatically over-engineered and under-stressed. My own R60/5 was just a few years older than Elspeth’s and while far from “quick” by contemporary standards, it would happily run all day long at whatever speed the rider selected… for as long as the rider could stand it. For both of us, the shaft drive and under stressed drive train were a winning combination.
Three years before Elspeth headed for New York to get wheels rolling, I had left New Jersey with a mate to enjoy our own cross-continent adventures. We met some astonishing people along the way, including a pair of provincial police in Western Ontario who spent an evening drinking our Molson’s and smoking our John Player Specials while regaling us with stories of being in the British Eighth Army in North Africa chasing Rommel’s Afrika Corp in the desert in 1942. Lifelong friends, they had been courier riders on Royal Enfield motorbikes in battles that featured Wehrmacht Panzers on the other side of the field. The more Molson they drank, the better the stories. It also made our own adventure seem pretty tame.
For us in Canada and points west in the States, we embarked with no Internet, no GPS, and only limited access to phones. Postcards became a way of staying in touch with the home front. Elspeth’s issues were similar but dwarfed ours on the trip.
Her venture spanned two years on the road. The BMW faithfully plodded along using supplies but avoiding catastrophic failures. Preventative maintenance is a must when you plan to cross the Australian Outback, India, Thailand, Turkey, and points in between, and she became remarkably facile at handling the work.
An accident in Oz (Australia) required medical attention and work on the Beemer. In Thailand, a dog ran in front of her causing more vehicle and personal damage that required rehab periods. She said they ate surprisingly well while the dog owner’s family helped her recover. Later she realized that the pup hadn’t survived the accident, but nevertheless contributed to the recovery.
She had to scrounge for petrol, which could be of questionable quality on a trip like this. At one point had to forge transit documents to leave a politically charged situation in Asia. Along the way, while there were many dangers and difficult situations to navigate, she also noted how many wonderful people she met. The lessons learned provided her with a lifetime of stories, which we all benefit from now. She’s a gifted presenter, which allows her to regale audiences wherever she goes with stories from a remarkable period in her life.
And after two years, and 35,000 miles, the BMW delivered her home to England. Upon arriving home, she found that no one seemed to care about her exploits. The Cold War was still a reality, the economic times in many places were difficult, and the news was at times depressing, with big stories including the assassination of the prime minister of India, the Bhopal environmental disaster, and a year-long coal strike in the United Kingdom. Since there was no Internet, and no social media, her story went untold to most people.
The bike and travel kit went to the back of the garage, and she set about getting on with her life. She went back to school, became a world-renowned architect, invented ways of creating new living spaces from old buildings, and progressed into middle age. Wiser, for sure, but with a fascinating tale to share about life on the road. The book was, no doubt, a cathartic undertaking which allowed her to personally relive and archive those moments of joy, excitement, and perhaps terror. Many emotions are clearly on display. The book is a mighty read.
After it was published in 2017, the global reaction suddenly became, “You did what?” BMW AG in Munich, who had politely declined to help fund the effort in ‘82, in retrospect discovered that this was a brilliant story to highlight, even three and a half decades after the fact. As the company approached 100 years of Beemers in 2023, her story and theirs began to merge together. The gratification was delayed, but nevertheless sweet.
After recovering from the trip, she continued to ride motorcycles, with “airhead” BMWs being a particular favorite. Simple by design, over-engineered, a sort of pinnacle of mid-20th century technology. A favored ride became the R100GS, something that barely existed in 1982. Of course, adventure bikes today dominate the production numbers.
As Elspeth passed into the 2020s, she decided that restoring a villa in Italy would make a brilliant next project. The effort is ongoing, and the longer-term plan is to host motorcycle-based tours from this idyllic location. Progress has been slower than forecast, but her eyes are on the prize.
To do this, naturally, requires getting a Beemer to keep on-site near Tuscany. Just after our Pennsylvania encounter, she became the second owner of a lovely and well cared for R75/5. This is a bigger and more powerful version of what propelled her through so many adventures in an earlier era. Much like the purchase in 1982, she carefully searched for exactly what she wanted, eventually locating a low mileage, much loved, airhead that had been in the possession of the original owner for a half-century. Preserved, rather the restored, the vintage Bavarian was quickly prepared for her next journey, this time carefully positioned in wine country somewhere between the Mediterranean and Adriatic seas.
One final irony of course is that my own “Toaster Tank” airhead was lost to time and other family responsibilities. A few years ago, I managed to find an even better one in the form of a lovely black 1973 R75/5, which is a wonderful machine for cruising the byways of North Carolina.
The one Elspeth just purchased, other than the color, is nearly identical. Like fine wine, some things really do get better with time. Now that there’s an opportunity to join one of her tours through actual wine county, I clearly need to start packing.
No time like the present to get ready for our next adventures.
