There’s something quietly brilliant about riding a motorcycle in winter. Most people pack the bike away once the gritters come out and the mornings turn white, but that’s exactly when it starts to get interesting. Yes, it’s more dangerous. There’s no point pretending otherwise. Cold tyres, frozen fingers, and the ever-present risk of ice mean you have to be on your toes the whole time. But when you roll off the beaten track and climb into snow-covered hills, the rewards can be immense.

Winter strips the landscape back to basics. Colours fade, crowds disappear, and suddenly you’re left with wide views, sharp air and a sense of space that you just don’t get in summer. On a clear day, with fresh snow clinging to the hills, the views can be absolutely stunning. The kind of scenery that makes you stop, kill the engine and just stand there for a moment, helmet off, breathing it all in.

Riding in snow and ice is as much a mental challenge as a physical one. Every input matters. Throttle control becomes gentle and deliberate, braking is planned well in advance, and you’re constantly reading the ground ahead. Snow can be forgiving, but ice never is, and slippery mud underneath can catch you out when you least expect it. Still, that technical challenge is a big part of the appeal. It sharpens your riding and keeps you fully present. As long as you don’t fall off, it adds a real sense of achievement to even the shortest ride.

A few years ago, I took my old CRF250L up to the Peak District in the middle of winter. It wasn’t a grand expedition, just a day ride, but it’s stuck with me ever since. The forecast had hinted at ice and a bit of snow, and it didn’t disappoint. As I climbed higher, the roads thinned out, then vanished altogether, replaced by tracks dusted white and lined with dry stone walls. The bike felt perfectly at home, chugging along at its own pace, tyres finding grip where you wouldn’t expect it.

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I remember stopping on part of the Three Shires Head trail, the engine ticking quietly as it cooled, with not another soul in sight. The hills rolled away in every direction, dusted in snow, and the silence was almost complete. No traffic, no voices, just wind and the occasional crunch of boots in frozen ground. Moments like that are hard to come by, and even harder to forget.

It wasn’t all smooth riding, of course. There were plenty of sketchy sections where the front wheel wanted to wander, the obligatory drop of the bike and one or two climbs that needed a second go with a bit more momentum. But that was part of the fun. Picking a line, committing to it, and trusting both the bike and yourself. When it works, it’s deeply satisfying.

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Fast forward to today, it’s January 2026 and with forecasts talking about heavy snow in the coming days, I can feel the temptation creeping back in. The CRF250L has since been replaced by a 300L, and I keep finding myself wondering how it would handle those same hills in truly winter conditions. Part of me knows it would be sensible to stay home, make a brew and watch the snow fall from indoors. Another part is already planning routes and checking tyre pressures.

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Winter riding isn’t for everyone, and that’s fine. It demands respect, preparation and a willingness to turn back if things don’t feel right. But for those prepared to embrace it, there’s a special kind of joy to be found. Quiet roads, wild scenery and the simple pleasure of guiding a motorcycle through conditions that make you work for every mile. If the snow does come, I may just find myself heading back to the hills once again.