travellingbennetts

Thailand. A land of Wat ifs. Wat if we took a riding tour, who knows Wat we would see?

The SE Asia trip kicked off in Singapore for a couple of days, staying at the Fullerton Hotel which is not a particularly troubling place to anyone. The usual stuff to check things out; a HOHO bus, a big buffet lunch at the hotel, then a 3pm booking at the LeVeL33 Craft Brewery, the highest craft brewery in a building in the world. Which unfortunately included another big lunch a mere 2 hours after the previous big lunch, a bit of detail lacking on the booking site. Never mind, we’ll work those lunches off by eating nothing for the next three days.

After a dinner just to test how much the pants could take, we were prepped for the transfer to Chiang Mai. Our airline is named Scoot, not a name seemingly aligned with best-in-class airline performance, but owned by Singapore Airlines so it is. Cruisin’ into Chiang Mai, we had a reality check, Chiang Mai is a big place and has a big airport. Happily finding our Compass Expeditions rep holding a sign with our names on it, we soon headed into the Sabai Sabai hotel. The hotel décor is interesting – a combination of huge old masters, figurines, and Ming vases. Huge Chinese vases sit comfortably with what I guessed was a Turner painting of unsupervised sheep. The display cabinets have exquisite porcelain figurines, overhung by an enormous Chinese tapestry, I guessed the Qing dynasty based on that being the only dynasty name I can remember apart from the Ming. Not sure whether the hotel is practicing a “hiding in plain sight” strategy, if so the collection value could be in the trillions. Not to worry about that though, it was off to Sucking Stones Craft Brewery, then to a high-end shopping mall where we bought absolutely nothing.

Then it was Day 1. We started to see the likely gang members at breakfast, as they are always fairly obvious. Tanned, muscular, designer stubble in the 3-5 day range, tight motorcycle tee, handsome in a rugged sort of way. Unfortunately that particular bloke wasn’t with our group, so we just noted the likely others who were a pleasing mix of our age and younger. Then our fearless Compass leaders appeared, Pete and Ange and Jarrod, who we’d met at the 2025 Compass Reunion. Plan was laundry, only for us though, then the tour meeting and briefing at 1pm before heading out to Bike Tour Asia to collect the conveyances. The group was large by tour standards, with 24 participants:

• Compass Leaders Pete and Ange and Jarrod.
• Australians: Chris, Dean, Glen, Mick, Edward, Eric, Jarryd (son) and Darren (dad), Lachlan (son) and Wayne (dad), Ian and Jean, Cindy and Duncan.
• Canadians: Susan and Gary.
• New Zealanders: Angela and Darren.
• United Statesians: Marshall and David.
• George from Bike Tour Asia providing translation and support services.

Unusually there was only one pillioning couple – Ian and Jean, so there were 21 bikes, hence validating the conclusion that it was large. The bikes were a mixture of BMW R1300 and R1250GSes, a BMW F900GS, numerous Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro’s (easy for Cindy and I as this is what Cindy has at home), a few Honda NX500’s, and a Triumph Tiger Sport 660. All had their own names, and there were so many that we needed to have our name written on them as well. Mine was Layla, a bit Derek and the Dominos, but a new version of the 900 Tiger so a chance to learn all about it, one will be mine in the not-too-distant future.

The return to the hotel plan went off without a hitch, apart from a minor navigational drama when half went one way and half another. I don’t remember who the corner marker was, in fact no-one does. But we all made it so it isn’t important, let’s just move on. Day 2 was the official start of riding, with getting out of Chiang Mai not as bad as getting to the hotel. The general thrust of the riding was up, following Pete and Ange who happily let the group separate into its natural rhythms. Jarrod was bringing up the rear, with the rear further brought up by George in the van. First stop for a coffee – this was already civilised riding at its best – was to see elephants at Ban Kat. A great idea, cats are nothing but trouble, but the idea hasn’t yet transformed into a meaningful ban or destruction of the species.

A quick coffee and watching some elephants gambolling along the river, that’s walking with joie de vivre, not putting an each way on race 3 at Fanny Bay, and we went back across the highly bouncy bridge back to the bikes and kicked on. It was at this moment that the discovery was made that one member’s bag hadn’t been loaded at the Chiang Mai hotel, so George had to kick all the way back to collect it. The challenges generated by people and stuff is always exciting in motorcycle travel, we’ve seen Cindy’s backpack left 100km back in NSW in the late afternoon, Dave’s passport left 250km back in Spain, and Stan’s bike Carnet put in the bin by a room cleaner in Khartoum, Sudan.

Still climbing, until we could climb no more because we got to the highest point in Thailand, although the sign wasn’t actually at the highest point. We still had to park the bikes and climb to the highest point of the Doi Inthanon mountain, although climb is a bit of an aggressive verb to use for waltzing up a wheelchair friendly ramp. Once at the 2,565m top, it was noticed that it was bloody cold compared with Chiang Mai, 12°C in fact. The thin MX jersey, though garishly colourful, just doesn’t cut it in these temperatures as Roald Amundsen found out when stuck in the Antarctic ice in just a yellow, mauve, bright green and lavender vented Fox top on the Belgian Antarctic Expedition in 1897. But getting down from Doi Inthanon is a bit easier than getting north from Antarctica, so we did just that down into Mai Sariang to finish a fabulous first day on relentlessly winding roads in delightful temperatures.

But first, a refuel. With 21 bikes this can be a challenge, but the conga-line concept works well. To make it more interesting, Thai bowsers stop if the nozzle isn’t deployed for 30 seconds, so if we weren’t on the ball a lot of resets, arithmetic, and extra receipts could make it painful for the accounting. Out of the re-fuel, and Chaos somehow was appointed to lead the ride. Someone saw something they thought was a Pete, and off we went up a road for about a kilometre. Then we stopped. What’s going on? No idea. But Chaos decided we needed to do a U-turn, which turned out to be the first of about 1,000 for the trip. Back down the road for a few hundred metres. Then another U-turn. No sign of any leaders. So, we should do another U-turn, and head back into town. Into the side streets, and two or three more U-turns, we were getting good at these now. Then Chaos was booted and Pete led us to the hotel, which was about 150m from the servo. Don’t behave like mentally challenged sheep was the main recommendation from the Commission of Inquiry, and fuelling up in the morning a secondary recommendation.

Excellent dinner, bed, and up again for Day 3. The routine was already set; up about 6:15am, Cindy’s alarm tone set to “ADHD child dragging fingernails down blackboard while screeching a Kate Bush version of Wuthering Heights”, toilette, breakfast, into gear, charge Camelbak with two litres of water, luggage out for collection, and down to the bikes at 7:45am while making doubly sure the luggage had made it down. Mai Sot was the target, finally a name that was easy to remember. The day followed the mountain ranges that border Myanmar so the roads were again fabulous and winding. A stop for what was thought to be lunch at a Wat, then we swear someone said it was about two k’s to the actual lunch, which turned out to be about 46km. A lesson on these trips is ignore everything, and just follow like a sheep with a normal IQ.

The road is so close to Myanmar that there is a huge Karen refugee village. Not a “We all demand to see the manager!” Karen village but the ethnic group that have been in conflict with the Myanmar government since 1984. We stopped after a double U-turn, but couldn’t take photos or do much so we headed off.

Into Mai Sot, and our first “do it yourself” dinner. Next door with Susan and Gary for a drink, then inevitably into a restaurant packed with other team members, with 24 people and a limited number of quality establishments, we end up in the same places. Hilarity and many Happy Birthday songs to Gary later, we were done. Day 4 started with a border visit, the river just west of Mai Sot is the Myanmar – Thai border, and there is a Myanmar market on the east bank. Stalls are set up selling ciggies, spirits, beer, wine, and other stuff behind coils of razor wire. Signs tell the potential customers on the Thai side that purchase of alcohol and ciggies from across the razor wire is highly illegal and will result in fines and/or jail. The Thai military guard the border and wander up and down with their submachine gun at the ready. But no-one pays any attention to that and cartons of Chang beer are handed across freely.

It was getting hot, damned hot, so after a stroll along the razor wire and in a big market safely within Thai territory, we headed off. We hadn’t gone terribly far before having to stop at a checkpoint, we’d been warned to have our passport and International Driver’s Licence available for precisely this type of situation. The inspection was fairly cursory, in our Klim gear and on large bikes we collectively looked as though we’d snuck in from Myanmar like Beyonce looks like she was born a dugong, and soon it became about gathering for a group photo with the Thai police snapping away. A sip from the back of the camel, and away again.

We’ve done some good roads in our time, but the ride east up into the mountains was right up there. It was mainly two lanes so little restriction, very light traffic, and with the MotoGP coming up we got some much-needed technical practice in. Sweeping bends that demanded attention at the high speeds, it was a ball. A comment on the riding group here, one would expect that with such a large number the following essential jobs would be filled by someone:

• The “Ready in My Own Good Time”, or RIMOGT. The job description for this role is to take five very casual minutes longer than anyone else to get on the bike and be ready to roll. This role normally requires a lot of accoutrements; ear plugs, preferably buds with long and easily tangled cables to the smartphone or iPod, neck warmer or skull cap, sunglasses, tight gloves that require a lot of effort to put on and preferably come with inners that are nearly-but-not-quite ambidextrous so take two attempts, and a helmet that needs a lot of adjustment. The RIMOGT comes into their own in the tropics, when everyone is sitting in a pool of deepening sweat watching the arthritic snail preparation pace with multiple reverses – Oh forgot to put the buds in before I put the helmet on – oh dear silly me I must start again because I can’t put the buds in with my gloves on! Ha ha!
• The “I Can’t Go Until We Go”, or ICGUWG, this person has a terrible acronym. The leader will give a five-minute warning for preparation and leaving, or in the case of the RIMOGT a five-minute warning before starting to think about their ten minutes of preparation. This is like opening a stopcock (valve isn’t double entendre so I went with stopcock) on the ICGUWG’s bladder, only now can they go. What, 5 Baht to use the toilet? I don’t have 5 Baht! Does anyone have 5 Baht? You’ve all got your helmets on! You can’t hear me begging for 5 Baht! What, those are 2 Baht coins and that one is a 1 Baht? I have 5 Baht! I’ll just be a sec!
• The “Just One More Photo”, or JOMP, a better acronym. Having been at a scenic spot for an hour, the JOMP decides that the light has changed from totally unworkable to ethereal, and a whole lot of photos need to be taken over 4 minutes and 45 seconds of the five minute warning period.

Worst case scenario is that the JOMP is the pillion of the RIMOGT, or the RIMOGT is the same person as the “Everyone Will Always Hang About Waiting For Me In All Situations”, or easy-acronym EWAHAWFMIAS and no-one is leaving. But we literally had not one in any of the key roles, or even applying for them. Five minutes after Pete or Jarrod gave a five-minute warning, we were off.

Down into Tak for a coffee on the swollen and huge Ping River, and we finished the short day at Sukhothai. A choreographed circuit around the Elephant Wat with filming by George, and we lobbed into town for a lunch. While I’m in off track mode, the lunches on this trip were brilliantly done. South America with half the number of people in the group could be a nightmare, in Columbia in 2023 it took three hours to have lunch, and that was just a salad. But here it was sit down, pour water to drink, and the plates started coming out. The only person on earth who can’t eat chicken? Doesn’t matter, a plate of something else and a soup will hit the table at the same time. Literally 15 minutes after arriving, we would be done.

To the resort, into the public esky for a beer, and into the pool. That night we were into a completely unroadworthy bus, brakes only a concept. Off to a look around the Sukhothai complex of ruins, extremely impressive, then wander into the town in a rare downpour for a great dinner, and then back to ensure the bathers were drying OK.

Day 5. South and east, this was the beginning of the commute to the MotoGP which is held in Buriram, north and east of Bangkok. The roads were quite straight, often dual lane, so the progress was happily rapid in the low country heat. One very amusing U-turn occurred with Jarrod leading on this section. He demonstrated the joys of Garmin, Google Maps, and all other systems perfectly – his navigator decided that a short-cut existed down a narrow canal bank track. The problem lies with the average speeds set for certain roads, which is required for the calculation of shortest time to the destination. For example, Garmin has five road types, each with its own applied average speed.

Obviously no-one ever reminded Jarrod of that U-turn of course, brief pause in writing here while I send him another text with a heap of smiley face and laughing emojis. We then did a few smaller roads now that Jarrod was in the mood and had a break under a farmer’s verandah (permission pending) waiting for some slightly lost team members to catch up. We had a planned U-turn into the lunch restaurant, bizarrely the business has two restaurants, with one on one side of the highway and one on the other, and they only open on one side each day. George had called that morning and the wrong side restaurant was open, and there is no break in the median strip.

Another blindingly fast lunch in the uncomfortable heat and the rest of the riding day was spent getting to Pak Chong. This was a serious resort, and huge. Get driven to the room in a golf cart huge. But weirdly no restaurant, we wandered up the road into the town to eat at a place, unsurprisingly patronised by just about everyone on the team.

So Day 6 was a milestone, or the end of it was, with the target of our hotel about 40km south of the Chang International Circuit at Buriram where the Thai MotoGP would be. A few of the MotoGP-mad team members headed off at the crack of dawn for some early action, while the rest moseyed. Breakfast was at the far end of the resort, which was back in Chiang Mai or seemed to be. No walking possible. Then on the road, a stop for fuel, and then a stop at a lake, involving a U-turn. The best part was a local older man, on a maybe 150cc bike, full fairings, racing handlebars, and a rear tyre that was ¾” wide. He got into our group and I could not get past him no matter what. His line through the corners forced me wide. On the straights where the 900cc should have made short work he impossibly had the screaming stroker up to 105kmh and again wide to prevent the overtake. How the back tyre survived the speeds and cornering I do not know, but he deserved a huge round of applause.

Coffee is a highly evolved concept in Thailand, and in the middle of nowhere a café will appear that would not be out of place in the trendy suburbs of Sydney or San Francisco. So after yet another U-turn because Jarrod’s GPS said the café was 200m further up the road, we lobbed into one of the trendiest. It was good. Very good. The lunch was spectacular, and the coffee likewise.

The back roads continued for a while, then we found ourselves at the Phanom Rung Historical Park at exactly the same time as another huge motorcycle tour group. No worries, are you going to the MotoGP? Yes, are you? Yes. Let’s do this park then. No-one had an umbrella in their top-box. Except for one person. Everyone laughed at him. And then the rain started, and they saw him wandering through the ruins, oblivious to the towelling rain, and recognised his genius.

Finally to the Eireann Boutique Hotel, our home for three nights. Most went to the qualifying and sprint events on Day 7 but Cindy and I decided that the only thing that mattered more than motorcycle racing was laundry. As usual, the hotel did laundry, but we have avoided this like it was a Great White shark being ridden by Jeffrey Epstein since the Lima Peru disaster of ’23. Having $25 worth of clothes washed for $125 does that to people. So we google mapped, and headed off. It was a sweaty walk of shame for the first 800m down a busy highway, having to step off every time a scooter went by, but eventually we made it into the back streets and with a bit of confused staring found the laundry. An old lady with a Hot Sexy Baby T-shirt greeted us. She couldn’t speak a word of English but the son or grandson, now regretting that no-one in the family had quietly suggested to mother/grandmother that her T-shirt was so cougar that she could start preying on the local dogs, managed to convey pricing and timing for pick-up. Walking back via some very pleasant country roads, we rode back and collected the refreshed rags on the motorcycle at the designated time.

With the crowd back in the late afternoon, we could learn some things from them in preparation for Day 8 at the track over a few beers and wines around the pool. Off we went on the day, about an hour on the bus and we pulled up at the parking place. The transfer to the stadium and the big area full of merch tents was via very decorated trucks, with hay bales in the back for us to stand on. Won’t be doing that for the Brisbane Olympics in 2032 I’m guessing, but it was very effective. Through the gate, first thing in the way was the Aprilia tent where I got some flags and a tattoo. As we were early it was off to the stands to get a good seat, which we then gave up as the others had better ones. It was an excellent set-up, and very easy to get to the loo or grab a lunch or refreshment. Best of all there were an English couple sitting behind us and this was about their millionth MotoGP, so they could explain what the bloody hell was going on during the races. The Moto2 race was spent almost entirely turned around asking them because a bad crash happened on lap 1, which required a re-start, and then almost immediately again. So 22 laps became 11, and half points were awarded. The MotoGP program started with a Thai dance on the hot bitumen, we became suspicious why the dancers were mainly hopping on their foot that was in the shade. Then the bikes were out, with tyres wrapped in heating blankets and a lingerie model somehow engaged to hold an umbrella over the rider and technicians. Then ready, and off.

An important point about a MotoGP is the noise. Cindy’s Apple watch was constantly telling us it was too loud, and without earplugs it is painful. That is the price of seeing motorcycles travelling at 340kmh, with the Chang circuit one of the fastest due to the very long straights. But we had some plugs, so bring it on. An assumption that developed watching the Moto2 and Moto3 races was that only riders from Spain were allowed to compete, although riders from Spanish-speaking countries could be given a wild card entry but weren’t allowed to win. The MotoGP killed that assumption, with the Italian Marco Bezzecchi the winner, maybe he was born in Spain or something. Best of all he was riding my now-all-time-favourite make, Aprilia. Everyone wanted a tattoo like mine after the race.

Back to the car park via the decorated buses, a great day all round, and a lot of fun. The day finished unsurprisingly with a few beers around the hotel pool, and preparation for the return to Chiang Mai. But Day 9 was heading north, so we got an opportunity to stop for photos at the now-abandoned Chang racetrack.

The riding wasn’t too challenging heading due north, we were mainly on flat-ish and straight-ish roads. The heat was unpleasant-ish, especially when stopped but with the Camelbak dispensing cool-ish water it was no problem. The day finished after a mere 250km in Khon Kaen, which is a very big city and took some effort to get into the centre where the hotel was. Sweating like a pig living in Darwin in October, we hit the pool.

Cooled down, it was time for something important as it was the 2^nd March. Somebody’s birthday is on the 3^rd March, and so there was shopping to do. Khon Kaen is famous for silk, and right down the street was a shop selling silk stuff. So that was sorted and we were ready for Day 10, the Mekong.

It was still disturbingly sweaty as we were on the river flats, hitting the mighty Mekong River at Nong Khai for lunch. Just over the river is the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos, although everyone knows that when a country strings the three words “People’s Democratic Republic” together it means exactly none of those apply because it is communist. We couldn’t see how anything could be stopped from crossing the border, even while we were dining fishermen left one side and nearly got to the other.

Heading upstream for the rest of the day, the scenery was very pleasant. We stopped for a “find water and drink it/pour it down the shirt” break opposite the Laos capital Vientiane, we’d be over on that side in a few weeks. Then a final stop at a coffee shop which was unexpectedly closed, but had foolishly left an esky full of ice outside, we all grabbed bits and put them down into places that were very uncomfortable until it melted.

Into Chiang Khan to finish the birthday riding, literally everyone got into the pool. It was Makha Bucha Day, a Buddhist public holiday when alcohol sales are banned. But banned apparently meant freely available at discount prices, and of course because it was supposedly banned there was an outbreak of panic drinking in the pool, a lot of people on the trip were Australians after all. Down into the very touristy town main street for dinner, Dean did an incredibly gentlemanly thing and took the birthday girl’s broken glasses to a glasses shop – trying to think of the word for those – not ophthalmologist – optometrist – I don’t wear glasses so don’t need to know – unfortunately they wouldn’t help but still very much appreciated by B Girl. Not that I could see anything wrong with my quite fashionable electrical tape repairs.

Day 11 was the penultimate, starting with more Mekong but this heads north and we needed to keep westerly. Joyously the hills started again after a coffee in a very trendy café in Ban Mueang Prae, literally a pathetic older chap’s stone’s throw over a creek from Laos, and it was great fun riding along some very twisting roads again.

A bit of corner marking along this section heading to lunch. In the heat standing on a corner it isn’t great, there is rarely shade on corners. So there was a bit of corner marker relieving, which prevents some poor bugger getting heat stroke, and gives some photography opportunities.

Lunch was simply fantastic – a Pad Thai because that was the only thing on the menu we could say. The owner couldn’t speak a word of English. None of us could speak a word of Thai, and George was delayed, but with a bit of using the hands to get the message across – definitive with hard open parallel palms thrusting down, questioning with opening palms outward, submissive with meerkat hands, happy with a double belly clutch, or “is that the total cost or for each meal?” with both index fingers oscillating side to side over the bill, we paid and continued on. This road was unbelievable, we headed up into the mountains, and there were no corners to mark. Jarrod was leading and pushing hard and we had a ball. Up to the top, it highlighted another amazing thing about the group, I thought we’d be there waiting for ages but within minutes everyone was there. And many of them had never been on an adventure motorcycle before this trip dammit.

Down into Nan, not the Nan who bought you a birthday pair of Y-fronts in 1969, the Nan Boutique Hotel. Off to the 7-Eleven for refreshments as the hotel had neither a bar nor swimming pool, and then to dinner out on the road as there was no restaurant either. Just one more day to go on the bikes….

Day 12 started with more nice roads. Unusually for a last day, it was quite a long one, not particularly helped by the fact that we had a bit of a late start to kick it off. We were a well-oiled machine by now, no corners were missed and almost no U-turns were required. The plan included meeting up at lunch with Mai, a Bike Tours Asia rep, who had the responsibility for bringing us on home. Probably a good idea given our somewhat sketchy history of staying together in very heavy traffic.

Another lengthy stop-over at Doi Saket hot springs after some lovely roads and fast sweeping through the hills. The rule of not ever taking one’s riding boots off until the day was done unless river crossings need to be checked was broken, with the feet dangled in the hot pool. The stupidly hot pool was avoided, because it was already hot outside so it could only make things worse.

Why the boots are not taken off until the end of the day was remembered when trying to get rid of all sharp bits of Thailand off the wet feet and trying to get the socks back on over the aforementioned wet feet. But we managed before Mai took off. Increasing madness into Chiang Mai, a final refuel, and we were done. All the stuff removed from the top boxes, a few beers quaffed, a bit of Hi-5ing, and all that was left to do was go back to the hotel and prepare for the final dinner.

The end of another fantastic trip, which was a lot better than I thought it would be because I dislike humidity. The riding was fabulous, and the experience of a MotoGP live is something a now-die-hard Aprilia fan won’t ever forget. The riding group were universally excellent, interesting, always bloody hilarious, and generous when people needed help or things needed to be done. The absence of whinging was a great metric for both the quality of the punters and the trip, and as always these writings are dedicated to the Compass team of Pete, Jarrod, Ange, George, and all the group, now friends, who we will hopefully ride with again one day very soon.