I just finished Ewan McGregor's Long Way Home on Apple+. I've previously watched his and Charley Boorman's other odyssey's, You might know Ewan from his acting carrer, or Charley for that matter.
After three epic journeys spanning the globe, longtime friends Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman return with The Long Way Home, now streaming on Apple TV+. This time, they trade high-tech electric bikes for vintage motorcycles, embracing a slower, more reflective ride across Europe.
Starting in McGregor’s native Scotland and ending at Boorman’s home in England, the duo traverse over 10,000 miles and 17 countries—revisiting old paths, exploring new ones, and reconnecting with what made their original journeys so unforgettable: friendship, adventure, and the open road.
Love these guys and their adventures. When the last episode just now finished, it leaves you, it left me, a bit nostalgic. For that episode, this series, their former series traveling the world and my own. I wondered what my most epic motorcycle travel journey was and it doesn't hold a candle to theirs. But it is a candle in my own adventures.
I never made long bike trips. I've had three motorcycles. My first got me through my first year of college in 1980/81, a 1975 Honda 400. A bike I traded my 1967 beater impala to a guy for. A bike two cops once stopped me in the morning, in the fog, on the way to college told me was a death trap and I was going to die. And my USAF issued "bunny cap" (for freezing Chanute AFB, Illinois winters), that I was wearing at the time as a "helmet", was not after all a suitable motorcycle helmet.
Luckily, and apparently, I did not die.
My next bike was a 1980 Honda (again, not planned that way, just happened that way) CB750 Custom. After years with that it stopped working and I sold it to a guy who wanted a bike to work on. Then some years later I was talking to my (now ex-) brother in law who had a bike he wanted to get rid of and coincidentally it always was a Honda 1980 CB only this time a more powerful 900 Custom model that would do 145MPH (I got it up to 100MPH once and it scared the hell out of me, it being a rather older bike and all).
Then after some years, I finally decided (I could afford) to buy a Harley Davidson, a Harley Davidson 2006 FXDBI Street Bob, that my youngest nicknamed "Bulldog" because it just felt so powerful. Finally got ride of the Honda as it was confusing to switch bikes as their rider seating/shifting was so different and I was concerned it might lead to a sad mistake one day (as it almost did once or twice).
My longest was 174 miles from Seattle to Vancouver, Washington to see my girlfriend at that time in the early 1990s. She was an international law attorney and what an experience that was. As she was. She came from a family of money, and power.
I got there on a Friday; I rode home that Monday morning. It became its own kind of singular adventure.
To make a long story short, I rode up Friday night after I got off work at 5pm. We spent the evening together and the night. We got 6 hours sleep that first night and it became less over the weekend. Bear with me, this will make sense.
We hung out in Vancouver on Saturday and had a great day. That night we got 4 hours of sleep (it was a very good experience losing sleep). We woke to Sunday morning early about 6AM. We just luxuriated there enjoying one another and the moments of no need to be anywhere or do anything.
It had just finished raining. The window was cracked open above the bed. There was that fresh, cool smell of a rain that had just ended. A guy was walking down the street a couple of floors below the apartment. He started singing. Opera. He had an amazing voice. And it was very nice opera, like something out of a movie. We felt like we were IN a movie, just lying there in bed after having just woken up and even with a few hours less of sleep Friday night and a couple hours less the night before, we felt great. Tired, but very good.
We had another nice day, just lounging around, eating when we felt like it. I knew I had to get back home down south, in America. I said I needed to leave that night, but she didn't want to let me go. We didn't see one another that often and our relationship had been mostly on the phone and I was running up quite the phone bill.
We had met at a club in Pioneer Square downtown Seattle. She was there two other attorneys from her Vancouver office. They were in town to meet with a client and had taken an evening out at a bar to dance and drink and then return home the next day. I asked her to dance, and we did. Though it wasn't exactly asking, as our eyes were speaking for us. Finally, they had to leave to get some sleep before heading home in the morning and we exchanged phone numbers.
So that last night in Vancouver, she talked me into staying longer, as the minutes and hours ticked by. Dusk came, then night. Then we were in bed again. That night in bed, couldn't seem to get enough of one another. However, at some point I felt a need to sleep. I felt a little panicky as the night went on as I knew I had to get up early the next day, ride my motorcycle 174 miles south, and be at work on time by 8AM.
Most jobs I've had, I might have just called in "sick" or just take the day off but my boss was a hard case at the University of Washington Personnel Office. She was also an alcoholic and going through a divorce (I later discovered) which explained much of her stress and erratic behaviors. As for myself I had switched jobs from being Mainframe God working nights for five years to an about to be divorced father who needed to get on days and get some real office experience in a busy office. All of which paid off when I eventually got a job as a Senior Technical Writer at US West Technologies in Bellevue, doubling my pay after having doubled it twice over the previous five years.
To reiterate, I'd had 6 hours of sleep Friday night previous, 4 hours of sleep Saturday night before, and as it turned out, got only 2 hours of sleep that final night. In the morning, she tried to talk me into staying. It was raining again and the radio said we were in for a real storm. I was too tired, she said (I suspect that had been her plan all weekend long, but she didn't know me that well, yet).
In the end, I did get on my bike with my duffle bag sticking up behind and me acting as a makeshift back rest, all in my full rain gear, I rode off. Exhausted.
THIS was about to be, "the" story. That weekend was special, to be sure. Though I really didn't go into much detail. But the real story only began as I rode off into that rainstorm...
I rode out of the city of Vancouver and got onto the freeway. The rain was really coming down hard now. About 24 kilometers (15 miles) along out of Vancouver, about the same amount before hitting the US border, traffic suddenly bogged down. It was stop and go for a while, frustrating as I was now in a hurry and on a time schedule. I could still get to work on time, if only the traffic delays would cease.
After a while of stop and go on a highway, never fun on a motorcycle, less so in the rain, even less so in a pouring rain, I pulled up to what was ahead of me, a massive dump truck on the side of the road with an attached trailer and a very long boom connecting them. I saw movement and off to the side was a large ball of what appeared to be metal and plastic parts and a guy trying to climb it.
He found something to stand on and stepped up on it and looked down into the center top of the ball that was a bit taller than he was. It was then as we continued to stop and go by him that I realized he was standing on a bent, wrapped around bumper of a car and he was indeed, trying to peer down inside what once had been a motor vehicle that had been driving along the road I was on with all of the traffic still stopping, and inching forward.
That was when it all dawned on me and over the next few minutes worked out in my mind the possible explanation for what I was seeing. I realized ahead of the dump truck and trailer was a duplicate dump truck and another trailer. I looked back at the guy peering down into the big ball of metal and plastic. He seemed to give up looking and stepped back down, just staring at what could only be a wrapped-up automobile. With people in it?
The only thing I could piece together, as we slowly crept past the horrific wreck, was a mental image: somehow, the car must have ended up between two massive earthmovers—likely loaded with dirt or gravel—and been crushed and rolled between them. By the time it came to rest, it was nothing more than a mangled ball of death, tossed off the highway onto the grassy shoulder.
It hit me like a boulder dropped from a cliff—flattening everything in its path, including my breath.
My exhaustion reared its head. I'd been trying to not fall asleep but seeing such a nightmare of an accident only brought to me painfully clearly what I had ahead of me if I did not keep my senses and stay the hell away. Traffic began to pick up and before long we were up to full speed. I could feel the intensity and responsibility of staying awake weighing on me and so I thought about ways to stay awake.
Wearing my full helmet, I screamed. Literally screamed a few times, knowing no one could hear me. that stimulated me, waking me up some. That and the adrenalin from seeing the aftermath of that accident got me going. I was very motivated to stay alive. Awake. Awake and alive.
After a mile or so I began to get tired again. There was no putting this off, I really was exhausted. I could stop and sleep somewhere; I knew people in Bellingham just the other side of the border. Thirty-three point five miles (21 miles) other side of the border. I had a one-year-old I had to live for, to take care of, to pay child support for, but I also couldn't lose my job. Still. Dead. Solves problems, just not for him. Or me I supposed.
I thought of ways to stay awake. So, I started singing. I sang one song after another until I couldn't think of any. But by then I'd arrived at the US Border and Customs. Great. I'd been stopped there before. Never going into Canada (or at the southern border, never going INTO Mexico), only coming back into America.
I inched along with the other vehicles in line toward to the Border Guard booth window and though I must have been a real sight. I thought about my fully stuffed O.D. (Olive Drab) green USAF duffle bag and what they might thing was stuffed into it. I was sure they'd want to delay me even more and go through it to see if it was stuffed with drugs.
Finally, I pulled up to the window. I showed him my ID, fully ready for the resignation of the frustration at what was to come next and he said, "Have a nice day..." and waved me on. I was stunned. I quickly forced my weary attention to acting and put away my ID and rode off. I was in!
If only that were my biggest hurdle. But it wasn't. That had my adrenalin going again and I was good and awake until just about the first exit to Bellingham where I was getting tired again. But doing well. My bike, however, was not. In the pouring rainstorm, my plastic shield before my eyes were annoying enough as it didn't have windshield wipers, but my boke was now choking and slowing.
I looked at the speedo and realized I couldn't go above 45MPH. NOW WHAT? The motor was coughing and no matter what I did, I couldn't hit 60MPH. I passed the next Bellingham exit and I realized, I need to stop and see what's what. So I took the next exist. There was a large McDonald's sign and I pulled into their parking lot.
I got off my bike and examined it, working out the obvious culprit. It's wet out, really, REALLY wet out. It sounded like water was getting into the gas mixture and the engine was trying to burn water or something. So I took off the air cleaner cover and pulled the foam air filter. I squeezed it and it was like a dish sponge, water evacuated it onto my boot. What? Isn't this designed so water can't DO THAT?
And yet it was. What to do? I dried it as best I could (full well knowing it would just happen again) and put it back in place. Then I got a cup of McDonald's coffee and sat inside to wait for the rain to let up. By time I finished my coffee the rain had slacked, so I got up and back outside, mounted the bike and rode off.
I got back on the freeway. I got back up to 60MPH. Success! After about 2 minutes, the rain intensified, and I was back down to 45MPH. Sigh...
It was another 20 minutes of that when the rain eased off enough that it was no longer an issue and I tried to make up the time. Normally that drive from B-town to Seattle is about an hour and a half. I still thought I could make it but it wasn't long before I realized it was just a pipe dream. Still, I had to get to work.
There were no further issues. The entire time the bike had been a rock on the road, solid, never slipping once the tires had warmed up, about the time I had hit the highway outside of Vancouver. Finally, I saw Seattle on the horizon, then the freeway exits and then, MY exit. I got off I5 and hit the surface roads making my way maddingly to my apartment. I got off my bike, grabbed my stuff, covered the bike and ran into my apartment where I dropped my stuff in the kitchen and changed into work clothes for the office.
I hurried outside and got into my 1980 BMW. Loved that car, what a driving experience. I raced off he last few miles to the "Ave", University Way NE in Seattle's "U District". From my apartment to the office, I had to go up the road from Sand Point neighborhood, down the other winding side and then over side streets until I got to the Ave to find a parking place somewhere on the street, most likely blocks from work as I was late and all the good or near spots would be taken.
As I came down the other side of the hill however, my tires still cold in the light rain and on the cold wet roads, where the bike's tires had stuck to the road like glue, this was like driving on ice. I nearly spun out (yes, I was driving a little fast, kind of in a hurry as I was already late to work). I got control, regained my composure but before long,
I almost spun out again. I was getting frustrated. The BIKE didn't do this, and it only has TWO wheels! Each near accident in residential neighborhood had scared me and I was only more tired than earlier. I remember thinking I was glad school was in, no school kids were about but then it was still nearly 9am. I was at least 30 minutes late! I got it together and then, almost spun out again!
I gave up and just tried to drive safely and get there alive. Eventually I found a parking spot, lucking out and finding one closer than I'd expected (but still blocks away) and I hustled down the street to work (at least in this direction it was all downhill).
Finally, I burst into the front reception room of the office where prospective employment candidates turned in resumes and awaited Employment Representative appointments. I hurried up the stairs to the office and ran into my boss. Actually, my boss's boss, who I had referred to earlier. My boss was pretty cool an actually younger than me. We'd been up for the same job originally, but she had a wee bit more office experience than I. I had a degree, she didn't. Thus, I needed this job for the office experience on my resume to get a better job. Which, sadly as it turned out, never mattered.
I saw our boss, she saw me. I braced for a chewing out. But her face did something I'd never seen. It softened, her had cocked slightly to one side as if to say, "this poor child..." That was my queue. I glanced over her shoulder at the clock and almost swallowed by tongue, I was way late!
So, I started rambling, speedily trying to get out all I could in explanation about how I had tried but there was an unexpected rainstorm and a horrific accident but I had come all the way from Vancouver and on my motorcycle, but I had hurried as fast as I could and I was sorry, so sorry and...
She nodded and indicated with hands and word to just...stop. OK, here it comes I thought.
"I tried," I said, "I really tried to get here on time, I can't tell you..."
"I know, I know, it's OK. I can tell just by looking at you. You're...ragged. Look, just go home, it's fine, get some sleep. You really look horrible. It's OK, don't worry, get some sleep, get cleaned up and come back. Take the day if you have to. Don't worry about it."
"Really? Because I ...I'm ready to work, I'm here. I almost made it on time. I mean...I didn't expect a storm, and..."
"I know, go, just go home. See you later. Or tomorrow."
And so, I thanked her and left. I can't be sure, but I think she actually took things easier on me after that. As if I had proven something to her.
Anyway, THAT, is my one motorcycle adventure I'll never forget. Oh, and I did make it back that day. I caught a few hours' sleep and then went back and finished that day out at work. I had no problem sleeping that night.
Mostly though, I just liked to "tool" around, riding around the Pacific Northwest. No major journeys. Always wanted to go on a sleeping bag trip but it never happened. I miss that bike. Wait, not the 750 from the Canadian trip, maybe that 900 (so fast), but most assuredly, "Bulldog Harley Street Bob."
Oh, and that Canadian girlfriend? She was real. But in the end became a kind of small nightmare. Which was so weird, because every time we were together, amazing things happened around us. She had some emotional issues. Known issues I discovered, known about in her own legal firm.
And that's all I'll say about that for now.
I've done the 101 with a friend on our separate bikes. We rode from Suquamish, Washington (where Chief "Seattle" is buried, Seattle's namesake, and where I then lived on a couple of acres in the woods), down to Bremerton, past Belfair, up Highway 101 to Chimacum, across Hood Canal Bridge and back to Suquamish for a nice ride, for an 87-mile loop. Great short ride. Had a great seafood lunch. Also, another road stoppage on that trip as it turned out, due to another biker riding head on into a semi truck.
I've made the ride from Seattle to Portland, Oregon at 174 miles, and then back the same day (so 348 miles). Another nice ride. Rides around the mountains here are nice. Washington has some great rides, from mountains and forests to ocean beaches, to desert.
I took one of my adult kids from our home in Suquamish at the time, up to their new home in Bellingham, again, near the Canadian Border. We rode up to take the ferry in Port Townsend to Whidbey Island, across Deception Pass then over to I5 freeway. Nice short ride at about 89 miles. Spent the night and rode back alone the next day.
But nothing like Ewan and Charley.
Yes, “Long Way Home” is now streaming on Apple TV+. It’s a heartfelt, nostalgic return to the essence of the series: two old friends, some time-tested bikes, and a grand, scenic ride across Europe—no shortcuts, just the long way home.
What’s “Long Way Home”?
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The fourth installment in their celebrated Long Way series, following their previous, Long Way Round (2004), Long Way Down (2007), and Long Way Up (2020), it debuted on May 9, 2025 on Apple TV+
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It’s a 10-episode journey tracing a roughly 10,000-mile loop from McGregor’s home in Scotland to Boorman’s in England, traveling through 17+ European countries over ~9 weeks
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Unlike their last trip (Long Way Up), this season returns to riding vintage bikes, intentionally slower and more reflective, with a strong focus on scenic immersion and friendship
If you're a motorcyclist, or even if you're not, they are very fun, entertaining, informative and rewarding series to experience.
📺 Episodes & Highlights
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Episode 1 “Gears, Fears, and Tears” kicks off their preparation with Ewan restoring a vintage California police Moto Guzzi and Charley prepping a 1970s BMW R75.
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Episodes 2–6 span their rides through Netherlands → Germany → Denmark → Sweden → Norway → Svalbard → Finland. Highlights include bike breakdowns, Arctic landscapes, local events, and cultural exchanges.
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Later episodes cover the Baltics, parts of Central Europe, retracing earlier routes, and conclude through the Alps and France before arriving in England.
🔄 How Does It Compare to Earlier Seasons?
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Long Way Round (2004) covered London to New York across Asia and North America. Down (2007) was Scotland to Cape Town. Up (2020) meant electric bikes from Argentina to LA
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Up leaned heavily on electric vehicles, complex logistics, and charging challenges. Home shifts back to the classic, slower travels on familiar terrain and rustier—but reliable—old motorcycles
🧠 If You Loved the Others…
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You’ll find “Long Way Home” brings back the warmth, camaraderie, and spontaneity from Round and Down, without the high-tech intrusions of Up.
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The slower pacing lets you enjoy the scenery—from Norwegian fjords to Finnish forests—alongside genuine interactions and mishaps with the motorcycles
Yes, “Long Way Home” is now streaming on Apple TV+. It’s a heartfelt, nostalgic return to the essence of the series: two old friends, some time-tested bikes, and a grand, scenic ride across Europe—no shortcuts, just the long way home.
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