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On the road from Austin to Albuquerque on my 1984 Kawasaki 700 - Chinese travelers will log hundreds of kilometers this week returning to work following the New Year, on motorbikes a fraction of this size.

Geneva, Switzerland – One of the largest human migrations in the world, including what must be the largest concentration of motorbike travelers, will be replayed in reverse this week as Chinese head back to work following a 15-day New Year holiday.

Looking at scenes of the incessant biker traffic, particularly from the southern industrial zones, racing to arrive home before the start of the Lunar New Year earlier this month, I remembered what it is to be frozen to the seat of a two-wheeled vehicle with hundreds of kilometers laid out before you.

Listening to the interviews, I was struck by the sheer audacity of the Chinese travelers, logging 8, 9, 10 hours on motorbikes a fraction of the size I have toured on.

On one memorable trip from Austin, Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico – I made the 1,200-km trip several times over a three year period – I drove for five hours through a blinding rain storm, until the water crept up past my ankles and I was forced to pull over at a rest area to wait out the night in a public restroom.

I was traveling on a motorcycle for much the same reason as the Chinese trying to get home for the New Year, namely it was the only transportation I owned and I was too broke to buy a plane or bus ticket. And the first four or five hours of that trip were pure adventure, until I met up with a West Texas rain storm, and swore I would never do it again.

That was the first time, on subsequent trips, I was steeled mentally and knew the cycle of road depression as it were – freedom, destination firmly in mind, boredom, fatigue, exhaustion, numbness, autopilot.

West Texas Rainbow - shortly before a deluge inundated my bike on the highway.

Ironically, the chanciest moment on that first trip was on the morning after the storm, riding along a country road, thinking about how good it would be to arrive at my destination, when I fell asleep at the wheel and woke up with my front tire nearly pressed against the rear bumper of a truck, at 60 km/hour.

These days my motorcycle is still my primary transport, but I have the luxury of knowing that I can take a train, plane or car when it is time to “go home.”

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