My motorcycle rides have usually begun in much the same way: engine fired up at some ridiculous hour, riding gear dragged on while the neighbours muttered, and then a healthy dose of throttle to make sure everyone within three streets knew I was leaving. I always told myself the noise was part of the escape. This time, with the Ultraviolette X-47, I realised I had been taking some of the chaos with me.
The difference started before I even left the parking lot. There was no engine to warm up, no familiar mechanical chatter while I sorted my gloves and helmet. I thumbed the starter, and that was about it. The security guard carried on with his morning, the dogs that normally regarded passing motorcycles as a personal challenge barely lifted their heads, and I rolled away without announcing myself to half the neighbourhood. It felt oddly antisocial, which, given that I was heading out for a long ride, was rather appealing.
Once I got beyond the city, the silence became much more interesting. I could hear water rushing underneath a bridge, tyres crunching over gravel and birds carrying on with whatever birds do at that hour. Somewhere in the distance, peacocks were calling. Cattle grazed beside the road without bothering to look up. None of this was new, of course. I had travelled through these sorts of places plenty of times before. I had simply never heard them properly.
The X-47 made that possible, but it also introduced a new problem. Range anxiety arrived almost immediately. This wasn’t my first ride on the X-47, so I knew what the 40 bhp motor could do. Ultraviolette had lent me the bike with the onboard charger, Boost charger and UV Lync, so I wasn’t exactly going into the trip unprepared. Still, knowing you have charging options and feeling relaxed about range are two very different things.
The temptation was particularly strong because the X-47 is quick. At 60 kph it feels completely settled, almost leisurely, and then the road opens up and a twist of the throttle sends you towards 120 kph with very little ceremony. There is no downshift, no engine note building towards the redline and no mechanical crescendo to tell you that you’ve asked for more. The acceleration simply arrives, hard and clean, while the scenery starts moving rather quickly.
That silence changes what you hear. Instead of an engine dominating everything, the chain, tyres and wind become part of the ride. You notice the tyres working as you lean into a corner and the surface changing beneath them. On an ICE motorcycle, the engine is usually the loudest voice in that conversation. Here, the road gets a chance to speak.
It also makes restraint easier to notice. I had more than 400 km to cover, and every enthusiastic burst of acceleration showed up on the range display soon afterwards. I found myself riding in Glide and Combat for much of the trip, saving Ballistic for the stretches where the road was simply too inviting. That was probably healthier for my licence and certainly better for the battery.
Every now and then, though, common sense lost. One particularly good run of bends had me staying in Ballistic far longer than planned. It was tremendous fun, right up until I looked down and saw the estimated range had fallen to 120 km. My enthusiasm had not diminished, but my confidence in finding a charger had.
That was when the trip began to change. Normally, a long ride is a calculation: get up early, cover the kilometres, stop when necessary and arrive before you’ve become too tired to enjoy the destination. The X-47 forced me to pay attention to the distance, but that turned out not to be entirely a bad thing. Once I stopped trying to make up time, I started looking around.
The best part of the ride came when I left the main road and followed a B-road towards a village. Beyond it was a trail climbing towards a forested hillside. The tarmac gradually disappeared beneath loose rocks and ruts, and the X-47 suddenly seemed much more at home. Its suspension, which had felt slightly soft on rippled highway surfaces, soaked up the rough stuff beautifully. The tyres found grip and the bike climbed without fuss. I would have preferred more suitable off-road footpegs, but otherwise it was an unexpectedly capable companion.
Then I nearly rode into a scene I would normally have disturbed long before I reached it. An elderly couple were walking along the trail with their cattle. I was creeping up behind them and got within a few feet before they finally realised there was a motorcycle behind them. Even the cattle carried on grazing. I stopped and laughed to myself.
That little moment stayed with me, because motorcycles are usually noisy visitors. Their arrival is announced well in advance, particularly on quiet roads and trails. The X-47 had allowed me to pass through without becoming the main event. I wasn’t watching wildlife or having some profound encounter with nature. I was simply there, which somehow felt rather nice.
The locals were curious about the motorcycle when I stopped further along the trail. Some had seen electric vehicles before, but the X-47 was unfamiliar territory. They asked about its range, performance and charging, and we ended up talking for longer than I had intended. Normally I’d be looking at the clock, thinking about how many kilometres remained. This time I wasn’t in much of a hurry.
Charging helped with that. I plugged into a regular wall socket at one point, and later used a socket in the administration office of a petrol pump for the final leg. The onboard charger meant I could carry the cable in the saddlebag without having to lug around a bulky charging unit. While the bike took on some electrons, I had a cup of something, chatted to people and watched the world continue around me.
By the end of the 400-odd kilometres, I was surprised by how fresh I felt. The range anxiety hadn’t disappeared, and touring an electric motorcycle still requires more thought than simply filling a tank and carrying on. But the X-47 had changed the character of the journey. I wasn’t constantly listening for the engine, working a gearbox or feeling the vibration through my hands and feet. There was more room to notice everything else.
That doesn’t mean I suddenly want every motorcycle to be electric. I still love the sound and mechanical involvement of a good combustion engine, and there are few things better than hearing a motorcycle working hard on a mountain road. But the X-47 showed me that silence has its own appeal, especially when you’re travelling through places where there is something worth listening to.
For years, my idea of touring has involved getting somewhere. This ride made me less interested in the destination. I stopped for detours, conversations and a trail I hadn’t planned to ride. I spent time waiting for a battery, instead of impatiently watching the clock. I noticed cattle that didn’t run away, and birds I would normally have heard only after removing my helmet. There was a freedom in that, although it took me most of the ride to recognise it. A motorcycle has always been my way of getting away from routine, but I had somehow turned the escape itself into another routine. The X-47 broke that pattern. It made me stop, listen and accept that a long ride could contain stretches, delays and moments that had nothing to do with reaching the next town. For once, I wasn’t trying to beat the clock. The road hadn’t become any quieter. I had simply stopped being the loud one on it.
