Eldorado to the Klondike: Riding Inappropriate Motorcycles to Out-of-the-Way Places

De: Nick Adams

Narrado por: Nick Adams

Old or unsuitable motorbikes, distant places, poor weather, and gravel roads, these are the common threads in Nick’s motorcycle travels. He’d been hoping to ride out west a couple of years ago until a little heart trouble intervened. Two years later, a short "shake-down" trip morphed into a 9000 mile journey across the continent. Trouble free? Not exactly. Riding a 1972 Moto Guzzi Eldorado, a Suzuki Burgman Scooter, and a 1976 Moto Guzzi Convert (automatic), and ever optimistic, Nick heads for the Canada’s distant horizons, encountering friendly, generous people, wildlife, bike troubles, and inclement weather along the way.

©2019 Nicholas R. Adams (P)2020 Nicholas R. Adams

Moto Guzzi gold. Motorcycle dreams.

Risky solo travel on remote roads. If you breakdown what can you do? Clear your head with a ride in the deep, northlands. I drive a lot for work. I like to ride also. I’ve listened to this book twice already. Understated first hand narration without hyperbole.

Direction Without Destination? No Problem.

They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result. If that’s true, I’m guilty—I’ve just finished El Dorado to the Klondike for the third time. If that qualifies as insanity, it’s at least the comfortable kind—familiar, dependable, and worth revisiting.

What keeps pulling me back isn’t the destination. The Klondike is almost incidental. This book is about motion—about leaving with a direction, not a plan, and letting curiosity do the rest. Somewhere along the way, a “short ride” quietly turns into 9,000 miles, because why not proves to be a surprisingly reliable compass. That same ease carries into the listening experience—Nick Adams’ narration is paced, unforced, and quietly confident, as reliable as a Swiss clock, making the miles pass effortlessly and enjoyably.

His travels are built around unlikely tools: old Moto Guzzis, a Suzuki Burgman scooter, imperfect weather, gravel roads, and the steady confrontation between patience and modern efficiency. Mechanical trouble exists, but it’s secondary to people—to generosity, to raised eyebrows at outdated machines, and to the quiet confidence that arrives when you stop chasing the latest gear and start trusting what you have.

There’s humor in the mismatch—epic distance covered on improbably humble equipment—but it never feels gimmicky. Even the Burgman’s meandering return through Labrador, after a long and adventurous two-up journey with his wife, Chris, lands less like a point being made and more like time well spent: adventure isn’t scale or spectacle—it’s commitment to motion.

Having listened to Nick Adams’ entire catalog, this feels like a flagship book—not because it’s bigger or flashier, but because it’s settled. No bravado. No myth-making. Just sustained curiosity and the conviction that going anyway is often reason enough.