The phrase “born-again biker” conjures up a certain image…

At least, it used to when I’d see it bandied about in motorcycle magazines or heard it whispered behind cupped hands. “Born again biker” was almost a term of mockery, loaded with implication. ‘Don’t ride behind him. He’s unpredictable at best, bloody dangerous at worst. He had a DT125 for three months in the 80s and now look at him!’

Well, it turns out my prejudices were unfounded—because suddenly, I am one! And let me tell you, a born-again biker is nothing like the mythical creature described above. The bike? Not what you’d expect, either. I’ve just picked up a KTM Duke 125 (2025 model) from the brilliant folks at JD Racing. Yes, a 125! And no, I’m not planning to commute. I’ve got much grander plans in mind.

But first, a little history.

From Whence He Came

I passed my test at 23, on one of those (poorly named) crash courses. Seven days from hiring a 125cc to earning the coveted full license on a CBR600. Between 23 and 41, I kept my licence, never fell off (unless you count pulling away with the disclock still on), and rode like the proverbial bat most of the time. My last bike, a 2002 “Hooligan” ZX9R, would sooner spit in my face and throw me in a ditch than deliver me safely home. I was no stranger to a track day, either.

So, why did I stop riding?

Honestly, I started to feel like I was running out of “luck.” Every ride seemed to have a near-miss. So, I ditched the road bike with the intention of sticking to track days. That would have been fine, but life had other plans.

There’s no easy way to say this: my brother, best friend, and riding partner passed away. Not on a bike, but at the hands of the big C. He was only 52. I was heartbroken. Colin lived for riding. It was not unusual for him to have four bikes in the garage at any one time. When we knew time was short, he offered to leave me one. But I couldn’t. I never wanted to put on a helmet or leathers again. What was the point?

Grief is a tough road to navigate.

My brother Colin, doing his thing

Me doing my thing with slightly less colour co-ordination

Back to Basics

So why am I back on a bike?

Simple: I want to honour my brother’s memory, in a way he’d approve. This May, my brother-from-another-mother, Ben, and I will ride from Land’s End to John O’Groats in support of St Luke’s Hospice.

We will ride on back roads and cycle routes, astride our shiny new KTM 125 Dukes. That’s a solid challenge for any rider. Add in a decade-plus layoff (on my part), and the choice of a 125cc feels almost poetic. I barely got to know my learner bike before being thrust into the world of near misses.

The Duke of Cornwall

A run out to Widemouth Bay, the long way!

I’ve now clocked nearly 2,000 miles on the little Duke. We’re well enough acquainted for me to share some insights.

Handling

Wow. This bike rides like a big bike. Daisy (as in Daisy Duke) feels planted when you want, flickable when you need. The grin factor genuinely surprised me. I’ve found myself taking 30-mile detours for milk, riding from Gunnislake to Waitrose via Dartmoor, just because. Daisy is pure fun.

There are a few rules to learn when living with a 125cc as your main machine. Ride with intent—keep the revs high, don’t lean too far into those sweeping bends if you want to keep moving. These are the things a fresh minded 17-year-old adapts to in a flash. At 40 years north of that, I’ve had to unlearn as much as I’m learning.

But here’s the thing: I can’t help but think I’ll be a better rider when I eventually trade up after our challenge.

Equipment

Wow. This bike rides like a big bike. Daisy (as in Daisy Duke) feels planted when you want, flickable when you need. The grin factor genuinely surprised me. I’ve found myself taking 30-mile detours for milk, riding from Gunnislake to Waitrose via Dartmoor, just because. Daisy is pure fun.

There are a few rules to learn when living with a 125cc as your main machine. Ride with intent—keep the revs high, don’t lean too far into those sweeping bends if you want to keep moving. These are the things a fresh minded 17-year-old adapts to in a flash. At 40 years north of that, I’ve had to unlearn as much as I’m learning.

But here’s the thing: I can’t help but think I’ll be a better rider when I eventually trade up after our challenge.

Performance

OK, she’s not fast. You have to keep the revs high to make progress. Overtaking punch is non-existent, so you’re best off tucking in and enjoying the slipstream. But the lack of brute power is no problem. From the first press of the starter, the fun-factor is initiated. Know what this bike is—and what it isn’t—and you’ll never be disappointed.

New to Bikes?

You’ll learn a lot from the Duke. She’ll set you up perfectly for your first “proper” machine.

Got Other Bikes?

The Duke deserves a spot in your multi-bike garage.

Returning to Motorcycling?

Fall in love all over again—and pick up a few new tricks along the way.

My average speed over nearly 2,000 miles? 28MPH. Just six miles an hour faster, on average, than Ben and my last cycle ride to the Alps. That’s Duke’s magic: devouring roads with a grin, but without the constant whiff of danger you get from bigger machines.

Do you really need more than 400cc on the road? I’m starting to think not.

Touring

Hahahahahaha…

Well, we’re about to find out!

I’ve done a few three-hour rides and one five-hour stint on Daisy. The latter was tough, but I loved every bend and camber. Three hours is often not quite long enough.

We’ll be fine, I’m sure. Ben and I will split each day into two sections—about two hours of riding apiece—to cover the 3,200-mile challenge in a month. We leave in May. You can follow our adventures here. As for Daisy Duke—well, I think I’m falling in love…again.

Want to sponsor one of the bikes? Get in touch!

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.