Due to a large set of factors colliding — including but not limited to: my lifelong belief there were 21 days in February (??), the youth fiction book *Brigands M.C*, and a two day 4000km road trip I was on in the summer — I found myself (a) in Northern Thailand for much longer than expected (b) with an unyielding desire to drive a motorbike on the easy, gorgeous Mae Salong loop. After some flitting back and forth to Bangkok to get training, and some flitting back and forth between bike shops to get a bike, I set out on the mountain roads to Chiang Rai. #### one: life on the road I can't drive a car. I have a learner's with my name on it, which grants a set of driving permissions to a person who really should be doing more learning and less driving. So, as I opened the throttle to turn into Chiang Mai's busiest highway intersection, despite my inexperience, despite my knowledge everything was my first — my first ever turn, my first ever signal, my first ever time driving on a road — I couldn't help but feel that no words, and in fact nothing at all in the world, could accurately describe how stupid of an idea this was. ^2 The loop itself is fairly short, so I decided to do a quick detour as a warmup before starting on the road. Google Maps revealed something called a "Royal Agriculture Station" a half hour away — fortunately, the day before, I had seen an old friend's videos from a similar Royal Agriculture Station on Instagram, and figured that was worth a stop. Soon, I was coasting on narrow mountain roads, flanked by luscious trees occasionally revealing sprawling tea farms and tiny villages that buried within the tremendous green valleys. At the summit was the royal conservation area, which was actually panoramic views of well-preserved fields, which in turn contained the best-tasting strawberries I had ever eaten (kindly sold to me by a pair of twins who ran a strawberry/knitting business). Strawberries completely eaten, I headed back down to properly start the highway to Chiang Rai. I hadn't seen another tourist all day. Worth a stop. #### two: BANG! Whenever doing something enjoyable but mildly dangerous, oppositional forces of adrenaline and cortisol seem to ebb and flow in your mind. The first day, cortisol usually wins. The second day is when adrenaline finally overtakes the head start that parents, social conditioning, and general reason donate to cortisol. Overwhelming fear falls away, and the sheer freedom of what you're doing becomes clear. At least, that's what I was thinking about as I turned out of the gas station that did my final checks. My engine oil was good, brakes were working, and my tank was full. I was coming off 9 hours of sleep in a comfortable hostel. In the morning, I had driven through a national park to reach a beautiful mountain temple, which meant more beautiful roads and luscious valleys were all I was thinking about as I turned into the highway. Then I heard a long horn, and a BANG! I was thrown from my bike. All I thought was "there's no way this actually happened, and no way to me". Day two of driving, first ever accident. I got up, hands a little worse for the wear, but thankfully the thick jacket and long pants I insisted on wearing had mitigated most of the damage. ~ One thing I thought about a lot on the trip was the impermanence of any state in life. One moment might be an extreme high (coming out of your first rest stop, with everything on the bike working) and the next might be an extreme low. Getting hit by a truck is definitely tallied in the low category. Long story short — a roller coaster story, the kind that is a real testament to impermanent states, which involved an "emergency response team" that felt like a sports team, but for treating small injuries[^1]; the possibility of the Thai police getting involved, which my rental company informed me would probably exponentially increase my costs; and the kindness of other driver, who negotiated with the garage and even contributed a bit to reduce the amount I had to pay in damages — I ended up okay, just with a wallet a few hundred dollars lighter. Compared to what could have happened (hitting my already-tender[^3] cerebrally-edemic[^4] brain) I took it and moved on. #### three: food; mandarin My spirits had picked up a bit after my accident (the mirror repair was cheap; the bike seemed to be working as smoothly as usual; the mountain roads continued to amaze), but they were quickly murdered by the evening. I had forgotten how quickly sunset meant darkness, and I decided to catch the sunset at a famed mountain temple. While I did get a view of Myanmar, I also had to drive the last hour in complete darkness on a curvy mountain highway. To make matters worse, my lights were pitifully weak compared to the four-wheeled monstrosities that would barrel down the opposite side of the road, highbeams temporarily blinding me at each turn. I spoke quietly to myself, trying to stay calm, and kept the needle dead on 40km/hr. Eventually, I checked into my hotel in what was the largest "city" on my ride to Chiang Rai. The reality was just little homes and stores lining the major road. ~ My Mandarin is bad. Like, really bad. But it was enough to be the primary communication medium in another one of those long travel stories, where I located the "best" (also, only) breakfast spot in the roadside market by buying an Asian pear off a trio of extremely drunk Thai gentlemen[^5] at 8:45am. This spot was nothing more than four tables under a roof, with Thai characters (presumably dishes) essentially everywhere. I was still feeling a little down — possibly because post-collision driving isn't enjoyable, meaning driving a circle is just aimless discomfort — when the "waiter" (also the cook, cleaner, and owner) came over. I had to use my primary school Mandarin again to order, and the owner/cook/cleaner/waiter suggested he bring me his "favourite". I agreed in exchange for him cutting my Asian pear up. He brought a sliced Asian pear, a set of delicious, classic Thai dishes, and some steaming hot tea. Near the end of my meal (which was half of the huge portions) I sipped the now-cool-enough-to-drink-in-Thailand's-extremely-hot-weather tea. Tea was always what I drank at home, etc, etc; I had been away from home for nine months at that point, etc, etc; my parents didn't know I was driving and no one really knew I was alone in the mountains, dealing with a car accident, etc, etc. You can fill in the emotional blanks — this tea tasted really good, and was good for more reasons than just taste, etc, etc. In any case, I had a longer conversation, as long as my Mandarin would permit, with the jack-of-all-trades proprietor, and I knew what I was going to do that day. I took the rest of my meal to go. After stops at several tea farms, and a few mountain viewpoints which happened to be on the way (including Thailand's third largest mountain) I stopped for lunch overlooking a flower meadow. I cracked open the takeout container from breakfast, and realised why this place was the best breakfast place in Mae Salong — I had been given a completely new, different meal on top of my leftovers, along with an extra two eggs. Stomach full, I went back on the road. #### four: Chiang Rai's greatest meal I originally intended on hitting the touristy spots in this city (this time, an actual city) and leaving — after all, it was always about the journey, not the destination. I saw three differently coloured temples (White > Black ≥ Blue, if you're curious), jumped through various hoops to eat the local noodle dish with a retired French postal worker in a little restaurant, and saw Kung Fu Panda 4 in the local mall. I hopped around little teahouses, binged *The Gentlemen*, and got recommendations for Japan from a very kind matcha specialist. I had also planned to kill half a day by doing a cooking class, the same one the same friend from above had done when he was in Chiang Rai. Trying to navigate to the class the night before, I noticed there was a restaurant called Khaosoi 100year. Intrigued by what could constitute a century of Khao Soi, I clicked. The concept of the family-run restaurant is essentially omakase Thai food. Every ingredient was fresh, most were grown on site, and the menu is centered around the khaosoi, which is made from a slightly non-traditional recipe that goes back in the family a century. Each table is reservation based, they only serve lunch, and English speakers have to use the now-nonfunctional Facebook page to make a reservation. Something within me knew I had to eat here. I made an (!!) international call, and turns out their only reservation available conflicted with the cooking class. Why learn to fish, when you can eat the fish? This restaurant was another unmarked building, the interior decorated lusciously with green plants hanging from every crevice. I ate courses of noodles, pork, freshly steamed noodles, rice, curry, steamed fish, and plenty of fresh flowers and vegetables, alongside, of course, homemade iced tea and an absurdly good khaosoi (I ordered the traditional meat, chicken, and the owner/waiter/only English speaker told me "beef, pork, chicken, beef is best, pork number 2, chicken number 3. do you want to try again?". In other words, I ordered the beef). The casual chitchat with the owner in between courses eventually turned a bit competitive, as he would doubt I had any more stomach capacity (he was right) and I would focus on wanting to try more, equally delicious dishes. The chef showed me the menu after I tapped out after six dishes, where I learned I had made it roughly 40% of the way, and that the chef hadn't, as I had suspected, been making up dishes on the fly to challenge me. The dessert was a homemade ice cream topped with espresso foam (the restaurant is normally a coffeeshop outside of lunch). Not bad for 20 dollars. #### five: flights; sorry mom The drive back to Chiang Mai is a little more boring — roadside food stands, 7/11, and lots of highway. I decided to make one last detour to a viewpoint that was closed, both by a gate, but mostly by wild cows that made for interesting obstacles to drive through. Once I got back, I picked up the rest of my things that I had stored at various hotels, around this city I had spent so much unintentional time in. I dropped off the bike I had crashed back to the rental place, dropping off a bit more repair money as well. I ate one last meal at my favourite place in all of Chiang Mai, then headed to the airport, back in the precarious passenger seat. Over a bowl of noodles, I told my parents where I had been the last four days — that I wasn't, in fact, visiting tea plantations driven by someone else. My mom (probably somewhat desensitised to these things at this point) just said she was glad I was okay. And so I boarded a plane to Osaka, saying goodbye to the road, goodbye to Thailand and all the freedom it brought. ~ I think there's something to be said about how time finds ways to weigh you down. One day, I'll wake up, and I'll have more reasons to stay put — good reasons, physical limitations. These reasons slowly accrue, building & building. For just these four days, I felt, however briefly, that nothing mattered all too much. Everywhere I went, everything I ate, everyplace I saw, all of it was by a completely free choice, without downside, without anything unavailable. The strength of the dollar and the speed of the bike guaranteed that. The crisp, fresh air that pushes back on your helmet and the little excuses to lift your visor confirmed it. Freedom colours the world a bit differently; everything feels slower but time escapes you quicker. Now, it feels, regularly scheduled programming returns. [^1]: For what it's worth, I did take motorbike lessons for a whole week (according to our instructor, about six days more than was necessary, and six and a half more days more than the period of formal driving instruction that the average Thai driver receives). I also got licensed in Thailand, which means I became fully licensed to drive a vehicle in Thailand before getting to the second stage of a learner's permit in Canada. [^2]: Similarities included: sports jerseys as uniform, different "positions", and custom handshakes between "players". Again, this was a nationally sanctioned ambulance service. Patched up my cuts perfectly. I know my descriptors, which intentionally emphasise the incongruity of situations, could come off as acerbic – I promise, no complaints, more bemusement, verging on bewildered joy. [^3]: Yeah, I know *technically* this is not how the brain works, but from now on, I'm just going to attribute all factual errors to the persisting legacy of cerebral edema. Reader, I'm sorry for any misrepresentation in how the brain works — cerebral edema, can't control it, sorry. [^4]: Not a word. Blame the cerebral edema. Sorry. [^5]: There were more empty bottles of Chang than fruits at this fruit stand.