Let’s be honest. The allure isn’t the smooth, signposted highway. It’s the track that fades into a riverbed, the high-altitude pass that’s open for two months a year, the village at the end of a road that isn’t on any official map. Planning a motorcycle adventure to truly remote destinations is a different beast. It’s part logistics, part intuition, and a whole lot of embracing the unknown. This isn’t about getting from A to B; it’s about discovering what lies between.
The Mindset Shift: From Passenger to Pioneer
First things first. You have to ditch the tourist mentality. In remote areas, you are a participant, not just a spectator. The road—if you can call it that—is a dynamic partner. It changes with the weather, the season, and local use. Your plan isn’t a rigid itinerary; it’s a living document, a framework of possibilities. Think of it as setting a general direction, like aiming for a distant mountain range, rather than plotting every single turn.
This requires a blend of confidence and humility. Confidence in your skills and your machine. Humility in the face of landscapes and cultures that operate on their own time and rules. A failed river crossing or a “closed” pass isn’t a disaster; it’s the adventure asking you to listen more closely.
The Digital Toolkit: Layers of Intelligence
Gone are the days of just a paper map and a prayer—though those still have their place. Modern route planning for remote motorcycle travel is about layering intelligence. You’re cross-referencing multiple sources to build a fuzzy picture that only becomes clear when you’re there.
1. The Foundation: Mapping Apps & GPS
Don’t rely on one app. Seriously. Use a combination:
- Google Maps/Apple Maps: Great for urban areas and finding last-minute supplies. Terrible, often dangerously optimistic, for remote tracks.
- Gaia GPS or OsmAnd: Your workhorses. These allow you to download detailed topographic maps for offline use. You can see contour lines, identify potential water sources, and often spot unmarked trails. The user-generated tracks can be goldmines—or traps.
- Specialist Regional Maps: In places like the Andes, the Alps, or Australia, there are often locally-produced digital maps with unparalleled detail on 4×4 and motorcycle tracks.
2. The Human Layer: Forums, Riders, and Local Knowledge
This is where your route comes alive. Digital lines on a screen don’t tell you about the 200-meter section of deep sand, the grumpy landowner who charges a “toll,” or the perfect campsite behind a specific rock formation.
Scour adventure riding forums (ADVrider is a temple). Look for ride reports from the last 1-2 years—conditions change. Better yet, if you can connect with a rider who’s been there, buy them a coffee (or a beer) and pick their brain. Their “oh, and watch out for…” anecdotes are worth more than a thousand map tiles.
The Physical Logistics: More Than Just Gas
Your route dictates your load. A technical, single-track mountain route means you need to be light and nimble. A long, desolate desert crossing means carrying fuel and water—weight be damned. You have to plan for the gaps.
| Resource | Planning Question | The “Oh-Crap” Buffer |
| Fuel Range | What’s the longest distance between reliable fuel points? | Carry a minimum 100km extra fuel (jerry cans/bladder). |
| Water | Where are the last known clean sources? | Plan for 1 gallon per person per day, plus a purification method. |
| Food | Can you resupply in a village? What will they have? | Pack 2-3 days of emergency, no-cook rations. |
| Communication | Is there any cell signal? For how many days will you be out of touch? | Consider a satellite messenger (Garmin inReach, Zoleo). Not a luxury. A necessity. |
Embracing the Variables: Time, Weather, and Paper
Here’s a hard truth: your estimated daily distance will be wrong. In remote terrain, 150km can be a grueling 8-hour day. You’re dealing with altitude, river crossings, mechanical checks, and sheer awe—you will stop to take it in. Factor in “faff time.” Build rest days or buffer days for when things go sideways (they will).
And about weather: you’re not checking if it will rain. You’re checking if the rain last week has turned the clay track into an impassable slip-n-slide. Seasonal access is everything. That alpine pass might be “on the map,” but if you’re there in early June, it could be under 10 feet of snow.
Finally, print it. A physical paper map, with your planned route highlighted, is your ultimate backup. Batteries die. Phones shatter. Paper, you know, just works. It also forces you to see the bigger geographical picture in a way a zoomable screen never does.
The Intangible Plan: Cultural Waypoints
Your route isn’t just a physical path; it’s a series of human interactions. Planning for remote destinations means understanding subtle cues. Is it respectful to camp near that village? Should you bring small gifts (school supplies, simple medicine)? What’s the local protocol for asking for water?
These cultural waypoints are as critical as fuel stops. A smile, patience, and a few learned phrases do more to “open” a route than any tire or GPS unit. Sometimes the most memorable part of the journey is the hour spent sharing tea with a herder who redirected you around a washed-out bridge.
The Letting Go
And this is the final, crucial piece of the plan: the willingness to abandon it. The locked gate, the flash flood, the local’s advice to go another way—these aren’t obstacles to your adventure, they are the adventure. The magic happens when the map ends and your own judgment begins.
You’ve layered your maps, packed your spares, studied the terrain. You’ve done the work. Now, the real skill is to hold that plan loosely. To understand that the best route you plotted might not be the best route you ride. The destination was just the excuse. The remote track, with all its glorious uncertainty, is the point.