I’ve never agreed with an executive more…especially about trends in the motorcycle industry.
In a recent interview with Business Insider, Ducati North America CEO Jason Chinnock addressed the idea of autonomous bikes head-on. He told the publication that a self-driving motorcycle would “take away the entire reason to ride a motorcycle.” He didn’t hedge it or soften it. His statement was clear: “We are not building mobility. We’re building motorcycles. We’re building something for joy and for fun,” Chinnock said. “If it takes away the ability to operate it and experience it, then just get in a pod and go from point A to point B.”
That’s not something I say lightly. If you spend enough time around boardroom announcements and product rollouts, you develop a healthy skepticism toward anything that sounds like restraint. Growth is the default setting. Expansion into adjacent categories is the norm. Tech for tech’s sake often gets dressed up as progress. But after reading that piece about autonomous motorcycles—and Chinnock’s response to the concept—I found myself nodding along. The premise alone feels like satire. A self-driving motorcycle. A machine designed, engineered, and romanticized for rider input…removing the rider.
Why? Just, why?
Motorcycles are not cars with fewer wheels. They are not transport solutions first and lifestyle accessories second. They are vehicles that demand something, specifically from you. Balance. Attention. Judgment. They reward focus and punish complacency. Even modern bikes loaded with electronics still revolve around a human at the center of the equation. Take the rider away, and what’s left? (Pointless bullshit, if you ask me.)
The industry has already navigated waves of technological anxiety. Traction control was controversial. ABS was debated. Semi-active suspension once sounded indulgent. All of those systems share a common thread: they enhance the rider’s ability to ride. They do not replace it. Autonomy crosses a different line. A self-driving motorcycle would not be an evolution of rider aids. It would be a philosophical pivot. The machine would no longer exist to amplify human input. It would exist to operate independently of it. That feels fundamentally at odds with what motorcycling is.
There’s also the practical side. Two wheels are inherently unstable without dynamic input. A motorcycle balances because of physics in motion and constant micro-adjustments from a rider. Robotics research has shown that machines can be programmed to balance. Autonomous prototypes exist in controlled environments. Feasibility does not equal desirability. We can build a lot of things. That doesn’t mean we should.
I understand the broader context. The automotive world is saturated with autonomy debates. Investors like the promise. Tech companies like the narrative. Cities like the potential safety and congestion benefits. It’s inevitable that someone would look at motorcycles and wonder whether they’re the next frontier.
But motorcycles occupy a different cultural and emotional space. They are chosen, not a default. People ride because they want to feel the inputs, the lean angle, the throttle response, the mechanical dialogue between body and machine. Automation silences that conversation between (wo)man and machine. And for some of us, that’s the strongest form of communication we have, so to speak.
There’s also something quietly cynical about applying autonomy to motorcycles. The argument often hides behind safety. If you remove the rider, you remove the risk. However, the risk is inseparable from the reward. Riders accept that trade-off knowingly. Eliminate the need to engage, and you eliminate the reason many of us swing a leg over in the first place.
Chinnock’s stance, as outlined in Business Insider, doesn’t feel reactionary. It feels grounded. Ducati has always leaned into performance and emotional resonance. To pivot toward riderless bikes would be brand dilution at a structural level. And it’s not just about Ducati. Across the industry, manufacturers walk a careful line between innovation and identity. Electric platforms are one conversation. Advanced safety systems are another. Connectivity, navigation, adaptive cruise—those are incremental shifts that still preserve the rider’s role. Autonomy is something else entirely.
I’ve ridden long enough to know that the industry doesn’t stand still. It shouldn’t, of course. Progress matters. Cleaner engines matter. Smarter systems matter. Accessibility matters. But there are boundaries. If motorcycles stop requiring a captain, they stop being motorcycles in any meaningful sense. They become an experiment. A novelty. Maybe a delivery solution. Maybe a tech demo. Not the thing that built this culture. This is not a battle against advancement or evolution. I’m not anti-technology. I’m anti-misplaced technology.
So when an executive says, plainly, that not every automotive trend belongs on two wheels, I’m inclined to listen. Especially when that executive leads a brand built on rider engagement. Some ideas deserve exploration. Others deserve a raised eyebrow and a firm no. Autonomous bikes fall squarely into the latter category. We can admire engineering ambition without surrendering the soul of the machine. And in this case, restraint feels less like conservatism and more like clarity. Tell me I’m wrong.
