November 15, 2026
Electric motorcycles
Jürgen Theiner, Motorprosa, SteckerBiker
Motorcyclists, especially ‘real’ ones, are strange people. They happily take detours and ride roads that lead nowhere. They put up with inconveniences they would criticise in any other vehicle. They meet in places they would never have visited without a motorcycle. They keep up rituals that outsiders can barely understand, and they love motorcycles that roar and vibrate. And of course, they don’t ride electric.
To them, that noise is music and vibrations count as character. If things shake really hard, they believe they can feel the soul of the motorcycle. Petrol is perfume for heroes, and engine oil is lubricant for life’s rough patches. And few things are as fulfilling as wrenching on your own machine.
I’ve been riding motorcycles for more than 35 years. But volume and sound have mostly been pretty unimportant to me. When carving up country roads in a sporty way, I always wanted to be leaned over, but never loud, so the Carabinieri couldn’t hear me coming from miles away. The fact that I still had open carbon silencers bolted onto the back of my Ducati happened in a moment of weakness.
This curious motorcycle mysticism never affected me either. If my motorcycles had a soul, I’d be afraid of them. And I’ve already written elsewhere about what I think of the so-called “emotions of motorcycling”. Admittedly, my dream machines occupied my mind for months before I could buy them. Of course I was proud not only to admire them in the garage but also to ride them in the mountains, but that came without any romanticised glorification. In the end, what I admired and rode was just a vehicle.
Friends, they’re just machines!
Since 2020 I’ve also been riding electric. The Zero SR/F electrified me so much on the test ride, yes, electrified, that I simply had to buy it. I had a very strong sense that this could be the perfect motorcycle for me. And then something strange happened: I immediately faced fierce headwinds from the warriors for the righteous cause. Only on social media, but fierce all the same.
I was accused of fetishistic vacuuming. I clearly had no clue about motorcycling, and by buying this Thermomix I had lost control of my life. And I was handed plenty of arguments for why electric motorcycling doesn’t work. For example:
- too little range
- charging times too long
- at too few charging stations
- with tariffs too high
- in places too ugly
- and above all: no emotion
So, all rubbish. On top of that came the claim that this “rolling microwave” was electronic scrap and therefore not a real motorcycle. And one of the most frequent sermons was: “Electric rides are for the funfair.” Well, yes. You want to have fun there too. Does the penny drop now?
Of course, some of these points have something to them. Just because I’d like it to be so, my electric bike doesn’t become a long-distance motorcycle. But if I wanted to ride to Lake Garda for a morning coffee and be back on the Stelvio Pass by lunchtime for a bratwurst, my garage would look different. Same if there were a hundred kilometres of motorway between my garage and the mountains.
Of course, the purchase prices of some models are a bit out of this world. And of course, the futuristic look of some electric motorcycles doesn’t suit everyone’s taste. But let’s be honest: combustion bikes can get pretty ambitious on price too, and the beauty of some current adventure tourers is very much up for debate.
A lot has changed in recent years. At first I had to patiently deal with the whole charging circus: the dealer only handed over a bulky single-phase charging cable that doubled the charging time. Juggling a dozen charging cards was a discipline of its own. But now, thanks to the guys at SteckerBiker, I carry a sensibly short, light and compact charging cable that delivers full charging power. I activate the charging stations, which are popping up like mushrooms, via an app, and the battery in my Zero was replaced under warranty. The new one takes the bike a good deal further.
The industry has changed too: new brands have emerged, some of them remarkably successful. Think of Stark Future. On my rides I meet more and more people who are curious and well-disposed. Only social media is the same as ever: if you want to trigger drama there, just post something positive about electric mobility.
The drama instantly turns into comedy when I ask the following question:
Do you know your riding profile?
That’s when eyes open. Those of the adventure biker who rides a whole 1,000 kilometres a year. Those of the superbike rider whose knee only touches the ground when he’s washing his bike. And those of the luxury tourer who only commutes between the ice-cream parlour and the bakery.
I’ve known my riding profile for a long time. It no longer suited the Zero’s predecessor, the crazy Super Duke. I mostly ride short distances, rarely in a hurry and usually without a set destination. I take countless breaks, take a lot of photos and make notes for my writing. Basically, I wander around on my motorcycle, and the electric bike is perfect for that.
I don’t have to restart its engine two dozen times a day; the Zero just stays on. With a combustion bike, that really is annoying given all my stop-and-go riding. I don’t miss the clutch and gears any more than the engine or exhaust sound. I’ve worn earplugs for years and it’s quiet inside my helmet. Even on the Ducati.
There’s another revealing question: what do you remember at the end of a ride? Soulful vibrations? The characterful clunk of a botched gear change? Maximally emotional exhaust pops? Or the landscapes, the smells, the views from the mountain passes and the sweetness of the apple strudel you enjoyed up there?
Exactly.
What are you afraid of?
Let’s be honest: with the range of my Zero, I can ride for three, more like four hours in the Dolomites before I need to think about a charging point. Don’t believe me? Then read my fact check. And if I plug in somewhere during a toilet break, even just for the length of a cappuccino (there are plenty of charging points in South Tyrol, after all), I quickly gain another hour. So unlike the die-hard combustion fan, I don’t need to be able to fill up “in two minutes (sic!)”.
So of the list above, hardly anything is left for my own motorcycling life. That’s also why I’m puzzled by the vehemence with which “real motorcycling” is defended, once again, exclusively on social media. Could it be that these keyboard heroes simply can’t imagine giving up parts of motorcycling they’ve considered essential for decades? Could it be that they cling to combustion folklore because they just don’t want to deal with something new?
Could it be that most of them are nostalgics, and that the very things that make riding more complicated are part of that nostalgia? The warming up and the oil changes, greasing the chain, stirring the gearbox and the recurring ritual at the petrol station? And could it be that “real” bikers like being masters of their complex machines, and that’s why they reject an electric motorcycle that makes so much simpler?
Nobody HAS to ride an electric motorcycle. The beloved freedom to ride around loud, smelly and maximally emotional on a real motorcycle won’t be restricted, today or tomorrow.
But nobody needs to be bothered when others do.
This blog post was kindly provided by Jürgen Theiner and was also posted on the community page from SteckerBiker. You can find it and many others on Jürgen’s blog, MotorProsa – Geschichten aus der Kurve (Stories from the Curve). Take a look; they’re well worth reading.
