In the morning, we awoke at Mediocre Towers. We breakfasted on caviar omelettes and lobster benedict, accompanied by a small champagne fountain, which was delightful. We packed our bags, revved our mighty steeds, made a rude gesture to the hotelier who smiled and waved and, after doing a small burnout in the parking lot, hit the road.

The road to Chiang Mai would be mostly on highway (oh yawn), but it actually turned out to be quite pleasant. The highway was a two-lane job stretching to four on uphill climbs (of which there were many). It was surprisingly lovely. We stopped for coffee and to stretch on cue.

We’d learned the hard way that the pauses are as important as the journey. Dalma suffered if we rode ever onwards, and consequently, I suffered. But the act of stopping is more than a mere physical necessity and a moment to stretch. On the surface, a stop is about safety and navigation, a practical response to the demands of the road and traffic. However, beneath this practicality lies a deeper, more introspective dimension. The road, with its unending series of challenges and stimuli, demands constant attention and decision-making, a process that is as mentally taxing as it is exhilarating. However, in these moments of pause, there’s an opportunity for reflection, a chance to step back from the continuous flow of sensory input and decision-making. It’s a brief respite for the mind, as much as it is for the body. These stops are akin to punctuation marks in the sentence of a journey. They allow the rider to absorb and appreciate the experiences thus far and to anticipate what lies ahead. Just as a comma in a sentence prompts a brief pause in thought or speech, a stop during a ride invites contemplation, appreciation, and coffee. It’s a moment to look back at the road travelled, to feel the satisfaction of the distance covered, and to look forward with renewed enthusiasm and a clear mind to the path that lies ahead. Stopping can be a moment of mindfulness. In the stillness, away from the hum of the engine and the rush of the wind, there’s a unique tranquillity. Riders often find these moments therapeutic, a meditative experience where one can reconnect with oneself and the environment. It’s an opportunity to breathe deeply, to feel the sun’s warmth or the coolness of the breeze, and to listen to the surrounding sounds of nature or urban life, often unnoticed while in motion.

Dalma says hello.

And so, we stopped. And rode. And stopped again. And rode and again. And the miles and hours passed. Eventually, our upward journey on the roads vastly travelled led us to Chiang Mai at about 3pm. On first impressions, it seemed like a large, typically Thai city. I knew my friend Mr Simmons lived there and waxed lyrical about it. I didn’t see what he saw until we got into the sois. A soi is a narrow street off a main street in a Thai city. They are typically narrow and winding. We did a u-turn and entered the sois of Chiang Mai and arrived at our pleasant hotel. It was run by an American and his Thai wife. The room was large and quiet and had good air conditioning. We settled in and then went out to see Chiang Mai. We’d arranged to meet Mr Simmons that evening, so we went out and had a late lunch, then chilled and passed the hours until we were due to meet him.

A cheeky dragon
Mr Simmons and I.
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