Let me ask you an unusual question: what smells do you take home after a ride? It may sound like a frivolous topic, but it’s actually very “motorcyclistic” — and maybe even technical, as you’ll see. Only on a motorcycle do you truly perceive scents and even bad smells, cold gusts, warm breezes, and hot drafts with such clarity.
Sure, it can happen on a bicycle, or even on foot when you're outdoors — but with a motorcycle, and its speed, the range of sensations is far greater. Scents and temperatures change constantly, and even the most mundane ride becomes a rewarding journey.
Let’s start with a bad smell: diesel fumes. Sadly familiar to us, because they often mean danger — and an easy way to end up sliding. Here comes the technical part: if your nose is working well, sometimes you can even avoid a fall. More than once, after smelling diesel, I spotted the trap on the asphalt — maybe just a few drops on a straight, or a nearly continuous line through a corner. Trucks and farm machinery are the main culprits. So you drag your boot sole on the road, check if it’s fresh and slick, steer clear if you can, or if you must ride through it — straighten the bike immediately.
Thankfully, there are also “good” smells. My favorite? The scent of summer on Elba Island, in Sardinia, and along the wildest coastal roads. A fragrance like oriental spices — which I later learned comes from Helichrysum, a small, humble yellow flower common in Mediterranean scrubland. Especially when dried in the summer sun, it releases this intense aroma that lingers in your nose. Perhaps you’ve experienced it, too.
I also love that strong summer smell of freshly cut hay — and the one that inevitably comes with it: in Val Pusteria, where I go almost every year, the first hay cut is in early June, the second at the end of July, and the third, less abundant, in September. But of course, South Tyrolean farmers must fertilize generously — and with all those cows, they’ve got plenty of raw material. So when you ride by on a motorcycle, the scent of hay alternates with the smell of manure. Honestly? I don’t even mind it — it’s natural.
But the scents of travel are so many more. I think of the smell of rain, and that of wet asphalt drying under the sun after a thunderstorm. The salty air of sun-drenched seaside towns. The moss and freshly cut wood of northern forests. The harvest. The lavender fields in Provence that embrace you for kilometers. Or those spicy and earthy aromas of dyes and spices in Morocco and Tunisia.
And then there are the “technical” smells that many of us love: the scent of leather — jackets, gloves, boots. Wonderful. Then the unforgettable aroma of castor oil used in old two-stroke engines — something many riders still miss. And even the unpleasant ones: in the mountains, the stench of weak engines pushed to their limit on a climb… or, as one rather irritated rider told me, the unmistakable smell of a smashed stink bug on your helmet visor.
