Right then, let me tell you about the morning everything changed. It was one of those crisp Saturdays where the sky over the Peak District looked like it had been given a proper polish—blue, endless, and absolutely begging for an adventure. I’d loaded the van the night before, chucked in a flask of tea, a packet of custard creams, and enough optimism to power a small village. Because today, mate, was the day I finally threw my leg over something rather special: the TYEMOTO all-terrain electric off-road motorbike.
Now, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been riding petrol-powered dirt bikes since I was tall enough to reach the pegs. I know the smell of two-stroke oil like I know the smell of Sunday roast. I love the rattle, the vibration, the whole mechanical theatre of it. So when my mate Dave rang me up and said, “Come try this electric off-road motorbike, it’ll blow your mind,” I was sceptical. Electric? For proper off-roading? I pictured something flimsy, something that would run out of juice halfway up a muddy incline and leave me pushing it home like a right muppet. But Dave insisted. And Dave, for all his faults—mainly his taste in football teams—is rarely wrong about bikes.
So there I was, rolling up to the trailhead just as the sun was beginning to burn off the dew. And there she stood: the TYEMOTO TYE3000. First impressions? Blimey, she’s a looker. It’s got that proper motocross stance—aggressive, purposeful, like it’s itching to kick up some dirt. The frame is this lovely forged 6061 aluminium alloy mixed with steel, and you can tell just by looking at it that it’s been built by people who actually ride. None of that cheap, plasticky nonsense. The lines are clean, the proportions are spot-on, and at 118 kilos, it’s light enough that I could lift it onto the stand without doing my back in. That’s already a win in my book—I’m not getting any younger, and my chiropractor sends me Christmas cards.
I walked around it, giving it the usual once-over. The seat height sits at 900mm, which is proper adult-sized, not one of those toy bikes that make you feel like a giant on a circus tricycle. Ground clearance? A generous 318mm. That’s over twelve inches of space between the belly of the bike and the rocks below. I looked at the MNT WP suspension—adjustable hydraulic shocks front and rear—and the proper knobby tyres, 21-inch up front and 18-inch at the back. This thing meant business.
“Go on then,” Dave said, tossing me the key. Well, not a key, really—more a fob. I swung my leg over, settled into the saddle, and reached for the throttle. Here’s where it got weird. I twisted it, expecting the usual braaap of a cold engine, the little cough and splutter before it catches. Instead? Nothing. Well, not nothing—there was a faint hum, like a fridge kicking in, and a little green light on the LCD display. That was it. No vibration through the bars. No heat wafting off an exhaust pipe. Just silence.
“That’s your lot,” Dave grinned. “Twist and go.”
I pulled in the clutch—yes, proper clutch and a four-speed gearbox, which immediately made me feel at home—and eased out. The TYEMOTO crept forward with this smooth, almost liquid motion. It felt bizarre. My brain was screaming, Where’s the noise? Where’s the engine? But my hands and my backside? They were loving it. The throttle response was instant. Not in a scary, wheelie-popping way (unless you wanted it to be), but in that perfect, I asked for power and I got it immediately sort of way. That’s the thing about electric motors, isn’t it? One hundred percent torque from zero RPM. No waiting for the powerband, no slipping the clutch to keep the revs up. Just… now.
We hit the first trail, a narrow strip of singletrack winding through bracken and birch trees. I dropped into first gear—old habits die hard, and TYEMOTO’s four-speed ’box with that proper clutch lever gives you all the control of a traditional dirt bike, just without the petrol headache—and rolled on the throttle. The acceleration was properly addictive. Zero to 100 km/h in 4.8 seconds, they claim, and I believe every bit of it. The front wheel got light over the roots, the rear tyre dug in, and we were flying. And here’s the mad part: I could hear everything. The tyres crunching over gravel. The suspension compressing and releasing with these satisfying whumps. A skylark somewhere above me. I’ve been riding for decades, and I realised I’d been missing half the experience because my ears were always stuffed with engine roar.
The powertrain is a 72-volt system, with a peak output of 12,000 watts—about 16 horsepower, if you’re counting. Doesn’t sound like much on paper, does it? But because it’s electric, that power is delivered differently. It’s all about the torque. A thousand Newton-meters at the wheel, they say. That’s enough to tractor up slopes that would have a petrol bike begging for mercy. I found a steep, rocky scramble—one of those nasty, loose climbs that usually ends with me dabbing a foot and swearing under my breath. Not this time. I picked my line, rolled on the power, and the TYEMOTO just… walked up it. No drama. No wheelspin. No clutch-burning stink. Just pure, silent traction. It felt like the bike had read my mind and decided, Yes, we’re going up there, and no, we shan’t be making a fuss about it.
By mid-morning, we’d covered a proper mix of terrain. Wet woodland trails where the roots were slick as ice. Open grassland where I could open it up a bit and feel that 125 km/h top speed (that’s about 78 mph in old money, more than enough to make your eyes water on dirt). A bit of rocky stream bed where the 318mm ground clearance came into its own—I was bouncing over boulders that would have had the sump guard on my old Honda ringing like a bell. The suspension, those MNT WP hydraulic units, soaked it all up. I stopped halfway through to adjust the preload on the rear shock—took me thirty seconds with a screwdriver—and suddenly the bike was dialled in for the heavier, faster stuff. Brilliant.
Let’s talk about the battery, because I know that’s what you’re worried about. We all are. “How far will it go before it dies and leaves me in the middle of nowhere?” The TYE3000 packs a 72V 60Ah CATL lithium battery—proper automotive-grade cells, the same stuff they use in electric cars. Range? Up to 150 kilometres on a charge, depending on how heavy-handed you are with the throttle. Now, I’m not exactly known for my restraint, but even riding it like I’d stolen it, mixing aggressive climbs with fast fire roads, I was on track for a solid day out. And here’s the clever bit: the battery swaps out in sixty seconds. Sixty seconds! Dave had a spare in the van, and true to his word, we popped the old one out, slotted the new one in, and I was ready to go before he’d even finished his sandwich. No petrol stations. No jerry cans sloshing about in the boot. Just plug it in at home, or swap and go if you’re in a hurry.
The smart features are a nice touch, too. There’s a Bluetooth app that pairs with the bike, and while I’m usually a bit of a Luddite about these things—just let me ride the thing, stop trying to make it a computer—I’ll admit it’s handy. You can check battery health, track your rides, switch between Eco and Sport modes. Eco tones things down a bit, stretches your range if you’re just noodling about. Sport? Sport gives you about ten percent more acceleration, which is precisely what you want when you’re feeling cheeky and there’s a nice straight bit of trail ahead. The LCD display on the bars is clear as day, even in bright sunlight, showing speed, battery percentage, gear selection, and all the usual gubbins. And the LED lights? Properly bright. Not that I was planning on riding after dark, but it’s good to know you could.
Now, I know what the old guard are thinking. But where’s the soul? Where’s the character? I thought the same, I really did. But here’s what I’ve realised after a full day on the TYEMOTO: the soul of motorcycling isn’t the noise. It isn’t the smell of unburnt hydrocarbons or the ache in your wrists from engine vibration. The soul is the connection between you, the bike, and the ground beneath your wheels. And on the TYEMOTO, that connection is somehow purer. You feel the terrain through the bars and the pegs more clearly because there’s no mechanical white noise drowning it out. You pick better lines because you can hear your tyres telling you what they’re doing. You notice the world around you—the wind, the birds, the crunch of stone—because you’re not enclosed in a helmet full of engine scream.
And the practical side? Oh, it’s glorious. No oil changes. No air filters to clean. No spark plugs, no carburettors to fiddle with, no exhaust packing to replace. The maintenance is basically: keep the chain lubed, check the brake pads now and then, make sure your tyres have air. That’s it. More time riding, less time in the garage with your head in an engine, covered in grease and regret. Over the life of the bike, you’re saving a fortune on fuel and servicing. Electricity costs pennies compared to petrol, and with the price of a litre these days, that’s not a small thing.
There’s a bigger picture, too, and I’m not going to get preachy about it, but it matters. Riding through those woods, knowing I wasn’t leaving a trail of fumes behind me, knowing I wasn’t going to spook every deer and rabbit within a five-mile radius… it felt good. It felt respectful. The trails we ride on are always under threat from noise complaints and environmental concerns. An electric off-road motorbike like the TYEMOTO sidesteps all of that. You could ride this thing at dawn on a Sunday and your neighbours wouldn’t even stir in their beds. You could take it through a nature reserve without a ranger giving you the evil eye. It opens doors that petrol bikes are slowly having closed on them.
Dave also had the TYE5000 with him—the big brother, if you like. Twenty-five kilowatts of peak power, up to 1,500 Newton-meters of wheel torque, and a range of 180 kilometres. That one’s gearless, automatic, just twist and go. It’s for the rider who wants maximum grunt with minimum fuss. We swapped for half an hour, and I’ll tell you what: it’s properly rapid. The acceleration is savage in the best possible way, yet because it’s electric, it’s completely controllable. No clutch to worry about, no missed gears. Just you, the throttle, and whatever terrain you fancy conquering. At 120 kilos, it’s barely heavier than the 3000, and with the same robust frame and upgraded suspension, it feels like it could tackle anything short of a vertical cliff face.
Both bikes carry an IP65 waterproof rating, which is worth mentioning because British weather is, shall we say, unpredictable. We rode through a couple of stream crossings—proper ones, where the water comes over your boots—and the TYEMOTO didn’t miss a beat. The smart BMS (Battery Management System) keeps an eye on cell temperatures and voltages, so you’re not going to cook anything if you’re working the motor hard on a hot day. It’s all been thought through by people who clearly ride in the real world, not just on sunny test tracks.
By the time the afternoon light started turning golden, I was knackered in that brilliant way that only a proper day of riding can achieve. My kit was dusty, my grin was permanent, and I’d fallen completely, utterly in love with a machine I’d been deeply suspicious of twelve hours earlier. I sat on the tailgate of the van, sipping lukewarm tea from my flask, and watched the TYEMOTO sitting there in the fading light. It looked like it was ready for more. It looked like it was saying, “Is that all you’ve got?”
And that, I think, is the magic of it. The TYEMOTO all-terrain electric off-road motorbike doesn’t ask you to compromise. It doesn’t ask you to ride slower, or go less far, or have less fun. It asks you to think differently about how you get your kicks. It gives you all the adrenaline, all the capability, all the mud-splattered joy of traditional off-roading, but it wraps it up in a package that’s cleaner, quieter, simpler, and in many ways, more connected to the landscape you’re riding through.
Would I buy one? Tomorrow. Without hesitation. In fact, I’ve already started clearing space in my garage. The old petrol smoker can stay—it’s got sentimental value—but it’s going to be sharing shelf space with something that represents the future. A future that, as it turns out, is an absolute hoot to ride.
So if you’re on the fence about electric off-road motorbikes, if you think they’re just glorified bicycles or toys for people who don’t know any better, do yourself a favour. Find a TYEMOTO. Swing your leg over. Twist that throttle. Feel that instant, silent, ridiculous torque catapult you into the next corner. Listen to the world around you instead of an engine drowning it out. Ride for a full day without once thinking about oil levels or whether you’ve got enough petrol to get back.
Then tell me it’s not brilliant. Go on. I dare you.
See you on the trails, mate. Quietly.
