He does recall. A horse, but with wheels and a motor is what she told him. She'd ridden it across the desert. The resemblance is there, he can admit. It does look rather like humans saw a horse and a car, and asked what could be done to meld the two things together.

"I rode in a car once." He runs his fingers curiously over the saddle. Seat? It's leather, unlike the rest of the machine's body. "Wasn't bad, but I can't say I'd enjoy travelling long inside a box."

He also dislikes trips in carriages and wagons. Given half the chance, Geralt will always prefer being under an open sky. This is, on other words, an appealing alternative. The spark of interest is visible in his eyes. Look—perhaps he can admit, he had liked the...joyride. In the Impala. The feeling of it, anyway. The fact of the matter is, nothing in his world can ever possibly move at that speed. It's entirely new to him. The car had been too confined, too different from anything he's seen, for him to ever consider using one himself. But the shape of the motorcycle is much more familiar.