We left Petchabun determined, in the way of travellers for millenia, to do better.

In our case this meant taking more regular breaks. We strapped the bags to the bikes, sorted our stuff, revved our tiny engines, and left Petchabun in our dust. I believe Dalma may have even performed a small burnout. After an hour, we stopped at a 7-Eleven.

It’s hard to describe the ubiquity or the usefulness of 7-Elevens here. In Australia, they’re just another petrol station really. One without a toilet, which is annoying. Here, they become literal lifesavers. You see, coffee culture hasn’t really hit regional Thailand yet. And Nescafe is, as you know, merely a disappointing coffee-like liquid. But ask for coffee with your breakfast, and it’s invariably what will be presented to you, sometimes with a hopeful smile. We’ve taken to consoling our caffeine addictions with either bottled lattes or a strange cold drip filter coffee packaged in a cardboard coffee cup. Both can be purchased from Seven-11. Given Dalma’s attitude that “the responsibility of morning coffee is yours”, it has saved my life on more than one occasion. So, for my continued existence, Thai Seven-11s, I thank you. (They also sell cheap beer, so they’re clearly my bestest friends for ever).

After a brief stop to refuel ourselves and the bikes, we kept going. The roads got gradually smaller and dustier. We kept passing weird vehicles. Dalma told me once that it is a virtue in Romania to be able to fix things with just a length of wire. It seemed the same virtue applies in Thailand. There really are the greatest range of unusual vehicles here, from trucks powered by ride-on lawnmower engines inserted sideways to small articulated vehicles with a small engine on the front, a tray on the back, and a Thai person in the middle controlling the engine by long handlebars. I’m not being dismissive; it’s enormously impressive to see the creativity and adaptability of the locals and their home-built vehicles.

Interesting thai vehicles

We stopped for lunch, then took off again, this time on small rural roads that were brought to mind nothing more than a fairground rollercoaster. They’d go up up up on an 8% slope, and you’d get to the top, hit a quick corner, emit a startled squawk, and then go down the other side at a similar incline. Then at the bottom, it would start all over again. Rinse, wash, and repeat. I was impressed at how well the scooters handled it. They slowed down a little on these slopes to maybe 65kph, but they kept puttering away, like small clockwork toys with a very long spring. The only thing we needed to watch were potholes, which were increasing in numbers. Whereas the 21″ wheel of the Himalayan would have glided over most of them with no more than a bump, the potholes we started to encounter had the potential to do real damage to the scooters. We judiciously slowed down to 40 as roads continued to get smaller and smaller. Sometimes we’d see one of these weird vehicles, but for the most part we had these beautiful if bumpy roads to ourselves.

Finally, Google Maps advised us of our proximity to Chiang Khan. It was about four-thirty now, and we were dusty and tired. The sort of dusty and tired you get from a long day in the saddle. It comes with satisfaction, the anticipated pleasure of a cold beer, and a sore arse. It’s something that other motorcyclists understand, but most look at you as if you’re slightly insane to do this without air conditioning.

We’d booked into a Thai resort, which were to discover was a very Thai resort. It existed to accommodate elderly Thai tourists up for the weekends on bus tours. Indeed, we’d discover that even in the early week, when we were here, there were five or so tour buses every morning. After checking in (with a curt “no breakfast!” from the staff member entrusted with welcoming new arrivals), we followed a second staff member to our bungalow. Well, it was marvellous. The view made the kilometres and kilometres absolutely worth it. The Mekong rivers snaked around here. You could have, if you were fitter than I, have thrown a stone and hit Laos. Thai (or Lao) fishermen threw nets and guided small craft on the river in a picturesque fashion. We moved our astonishment to the riverside restaurant, drank several beers, had a fantastic dinner, and sat in silent awe at the beauty of this part of this part of Thailand. It felt like the ends of the world. And then I gained the smiling waitress’s attention and ordered another ice-cold beer.

The ends of the earth *has* be to be a little sophisticated after all.