Getting Small Again: A 67-Year-Old’s Love Letter to a 125

I’m 67, I’ve been riding bikes since before some of today’s influencers were a
twinkle in their algorithm, and I own three “proper” motorcycles: an Indian Scout,
a 26-year-old Triumph Bonneville, and a BMW F750 GS.

And yet, the key I will be often reaching out for belongs to a KTM Duke 125cc.

On paper, that makes no sense. The Scout has lazy, glorious torque and presence.
The Bonnie has soul, oil stains and a history with my name scribbled all over it. The
BMW will eat miles all day, two-up, with luggage and a self-satisfied whirr from its
electronics.

The KTM? Fifteen horsepower, a thimble of an engine, and technically aimed at
people who still live with their parents and revise for theory tests.

So why does an old bloke like me care so much about a 125?

Power, Weight and the Humbling of the Ego

When you’ve spent decades with “big bikes”, power becomes part of your identity.
You get used to the roll-on overtake, the lazy fifth-gear pull up a hill, the sense that
you could go far faster than you should.

The 125 throws all of that into the bin.

On a Duke (or any decent 125), power isn’t a background hum, it’s a finite resource
you manage. Every overtake becomes a conscious, planned act: “What’s the gap?
What’s the gradient? What’s the wind doing?” It’s less Top Gear fantasy, more
applied physics.

But then there’s the weight.

The Scout and the BMW are wonderful until they’re not – which is usually at
walking pace, on a cambered petrol station forecourt, or performing that awkward
three-point turn you didn’t plan for. At 67, you feel all of that in your lower back
and your confidence.

The KTM, by contrast, is like going back to your first bicycle after years of driving a
van. You can push it around with one hand. U-turn on a narrow lane? Easy. Feet up
almost the whole time. Gravel in a car park? Mildly annoying rather than cardiacevent territory.

Light weight doesn’t just change how a bike rides; it changes how you feel about
riding. It puts a chunk of confidence back in the bank.

Speed, Roads and Learning to Choose Your Battles

A 125 will sit at 55–60 mph happily, maybe more if the wind gods approve, but
that’s about it. You very quickly stop thinking in terms of “How fast can I get
there?” and start thinking “What’s the nicest way to get there, at 55 mph?”

That simple shift changes everything.

On the Scout or the BMW, there’s always a little temptation to stretch the throttle on
A-roads, to use the power that’s there. On the KTM, dual carriageways and
motorways are something you use sparingly or avoid altogether. You become a
connoisseur of B-roads and lanes, of back-way routes the satnav thinks are a
mistake.

At 67, that actually suits me. The joy now is in the journey: the hedge-lined lanes,
the surprise café, the sea suddenly appearing at the end of a road you didn’t know.
A 125 forces you off the big, angry roads and into the little human ones.

Is it slower? Yes.

Does it matter? Less and less, the older I get.

Not a Learner, But Still Learning

KTM didn’t design this bike with someone like me in mind. The marketing shots
are all sharp-jawed youth in skinny jeans and trainers, not a bloke with reading
glasses and a favourite armchair.

But that’s the quiet magic of a small bike: it doesn’t care how old you are.

As a non-learner, the 125 isn’t a stepping stone, it’s a deliberate choice. That makes
you ride it differently. You’re not dreaming of “moving up”; you’re asking, “What
can this little thing teach me?”

It teaches smoothness. Momentum. Planning. Patience.

It punishes lazy gear selection and rewards flow.

In a strange way, it reconnects you with why you started riding in the first place:
not to dominate the road, but to be on it – feeling every bend, every camber, every
gust of wind.

Bigger Than It Looks (And Better Than You Think)

The other lovely thing about the KTM is that it looks bigger than it is. To most nonbikers, it just looks like “a motorbike”. You don’t feel like you’ve turned up on your grandson’s scooter. You can still park it outside a café with a straight face.

For me, this 125 isn’t a downgrade. It’s a recalibration.

I still love the Scout for summer evenings, the Bonnie for nostalgia and tinkering,
the BMW for long, purposeful journeys. But the KTM has become my everyday
companion – the bike that makes a trip to the shops feel like a tiny adventure and a
150-mile day feel achievable, not exhausting.

At 67, with a heart that’s had negotiations with the cardiologists, that matters. The
light weight, the modest speed, the playful feel – all of it helps keep me riding, not
just remembering when I used to.

In the end, the 125 isn’t about age, or status, or cylinder count.

It’s about this simple, stubborn truth:

If a small, nippy, slightly ridiculous-looking bike keeps you out on the road,
grinning under your helmet, then it’s big enough.