There’s a special breed of man who sees a road winding into the distance and feels the tug. Not just any road—the kind that stretches beyond the horizon, beckoning with the promise of something unknown. Ted Simon is that kind of man. And Jupiter’s Travels is the story of his response to that call—a 78,000-mile odyssey around the world on a 500cc Triumph Tiger that was more grit than grace, more heart than horsepower.
Not Just Some Travelog, Jupiter’s Travels Speaks to the Very Soul of Motorcycling, Adventuring, and the Human Spirit
This isn’t a ride report. It’s not a travel guide. It’s not even a pure adventure tale. What Simon gives us is something much richer, much messier. Jupiter’s Travels is a meditation on the open road, on the intoxicating freedom of being alone in the world, and the inevitable self-confrontation that comes with it. The book feels as raw as the roads he traveled, a four-year journey through 45 countries, with every inch of pavement, dirt, and desert leaving its mark.
Simon sets off in 1973, a time when circumnavigating the globe on a motorcycle wasn’t some bucket-list cliché. It was madness. He wasn’t chasing glory or sponsorship deals; he was chasing something far deeper, though maybe even he didn’t know exactly what. Early on, you get the sense that the trip wasn’t about proving something to the world, but about peeling back the layers of himself. And as he winds through Europe, Africa, South America, and Asia, he does just that.
What makes Simon’s journey so compelling is not just the miles he covers, but the way he lets the world wash over him. This isn’t a man flying past landmarks or ticking off destinations. He stops, he lingers, he experiences. And sometimes, the experience is bitter. Simon crosses borders and cultures with a wide-eyed curiosity, but he doesn’t shy away from the frustrations and fears that come with being a stranger in a strange land. Bureaucracy, language barriers, political unrest—they’re all part of the package, and Simon embraces it all, even as it wears him down.
Take, for instance, his travels through the Sahara. A place that many would describe in a handful of sentences, Simon explores with the kind of attention you only give to things that profoundly affect you. The vast emptiness of the desert isn’t just scenery—it’s a confrontation. He writes about it with an almost reverent awe, as though he’s finally encountering something bigger than his ambition. The desert strips him down, leaving just a man on a machine, against nature’s unblinking, indifferent face.
That machine, a Triumph Tiger 100, isn’t just a mode of transport in Jupiter’s Travels—it’s a character. The bike, with its quirks and failures, mirrors Simon’s own resilience. It gets battered and bruised, but it keeps moving, just like him. The Tiger was never meant for this kind of punishment. It was built for weekend jaunts, not traversing jungles or fording rivers. But it survives—barely—and Simon’s love for it grows with every fix and every mile. The machine, like the man, has heart.
The people Simon meets along the way are another heartbeat in this tale. He encounters hostility, sure, but he also meets with generosity so pure it shakes him. From African villagers to South American farmers to mystics in India, Simon learns that the world is a patchwork of humanity—some rough around the edges, some unexpectedly warm, all part of the great mosaic he’s piecing together as he rides. It’s these moments, these human connections, that linger long after he’s moved on to the next country. You can feel Simon’s wonder and weariness blending in those interactions. The road offers beauty, but it also asks a price.
There are stretches in the book where Simon reflects on the deeper meaning of it all, but he never gets too philosophical. He’s a man of action first, thought second. And his writing reflects that balance. You don’t find long-winded essays on the meaning of life here; instead, you get moments of insight born from hours in the saddle. Simon doesn’t preach; he observes. And his observations hit harder because of it.
In the end, Jupiter’s Travels is not just about a motorcycle trip around the world. It’s about discovery—both of the planet and of oneself. Simon went looking for something, though he wasn’t sure what it was when he started. By the time he finishes, neither he nor the reader is quite the same. The world is vast, unpredictable, beautiful, and terrifying—and Ted Simon, on that humble Triumph, found a way to embrace it all.
Check out this amazing video by Mototrek with Ted Simon:
