Motorbikes (Part 1)

There’s little to fill the time here if not training twice a day. Training once a day is tolerable but missing both sessions is painfully boring. Ask any injured fighter; there are plenty of them walking, limping and dragging themselves around here.

There are two main categories of the walking wounded at the camp, those who have been injured while training and those who have been injured during extracurricular activities. Surprisingly, the majority of the injured fighters fall into the later category, injured outside of the camp. And the majority of that majority sustained their injuries while on motorbikes.

But motorbikes have become a necessary risk. The best and worst part about this camp is the location. It’s in the middle of nowhere. This is wonderful for training but the isolation and monotony become oppressive and as mentioned above, especially when not training twice a day.

Deciding to rent a motorbike was in itself a process for me. It’s not that I had to weigh the pros and cons as much as I had to become comfortable with the idea.

I walked to the grocery store twice a week. It’s about two miles away from the camp straight down a busy highway. As is custom, motorbike taxi drivers wearing red vests honk and try to persuade you to jump on the back, “Where you go? You want ride?” This happens so frequently that waving them off at the first honk becomes habitual, like using the polite “Khrap” to finish every sentence addressed to a Thai or willing yourself not to blink when a Patong lady swipes her hand up your butt like it was a credit card through a reader. But the walk isn’t particularly scenic and is often hot. Every time I made the walk, I resolved to save money by dismissing the taxis on the way there and catching a motorbike on the way back. But the onslaught of offers while walking to the store becomes so desensitizing that it feels more uncomfortable to accept a motorbike on the way back than it does to just walk the two miles while carrying the groceries.

After being here for a month without having a bike, it was difficult to get into the biker—er…scooter—mentality. Again, this is not a question of pros and cons, although those were weighed, measured and calculated with the utmost care. This was more a question of breaking through the established routine.

So I decide to rent a motorbike for the weekend and not commit to a monthly rate. I’d ridden motorcycles before. In fact, my first vehicle was a 1982 Yamaha XJ750K Midnight Maxim. It was black and chrome and weighed about 500 pounds. I loved it until the moment I wrecked it on an off-ramp. But I learned valuable lessons about two-wheeled riding from my experience on and under my old bike. How different can riding a motorbike be?

My maiden voyage on the motorbike was to the mall, Central Festival, so I could go to the Apple store to have my iPod fixed. [That should dispel any misplaced developing-nation romance that you my have attributed to this rugged adventure.] The traffic patterns were difficult to figure out because there was no clear rule of law; it was like taking a jetski down whitewater rapids filled with debris, except with alternating currents. And the only indication that you’re doing the right thing is if you haven’t been a part of creating any accidents.

I turned out of the camp and made my way to the central highway, which lead directly to Central Festival. I’d learned to drive on the right side of the road but quickly adapted to driving on the wrong side like the English. Motorbikes didn’t have a clear right of way but were treated by the cars like delicate invalids who were left to their own devices and should only be harmed if they stepped too far out of line. Maybe it was the Buddhist influence on Thai culture or maybe it’s the glut of motorbikes crowding the streets and spilling between cars that left the drivers so aware. In the States, the first thing you’re told about riding a motorcycle is, “Drive like everyone on the road is trying to kill you.” Often they are.

The feel of the bike was top heavy and the weight below me didn’t match my previous experiences with the Yamaha. I felt like a good gust of wind could have changed my direction. In the straightaways, the cars, trucks and vans would blow by the motorbikes on the right side, often pushing the smaller vehicles onto the shoulder. But the motorbikes would regain their positions at red lights by filtering through the lumbering stopped vehicles live a sieve. I was hesitant to drive aggressively at first but soon gained confidence that I would be able to handle my own when a motorbike carrying three school girls, each carrying a child blew past me.

The Central Festival sign crested the horizon and the road widened. I wasn’t sure which direction would take me to the main entrance so I followed the flow of traffic and made left turn. It soon became clear that the only way to get to the main entrance was to bust a U-turn at the designated spot and work my way back. I had a van bearing down behind me and it’s generally not safe for a motorbike to drive in the right lanes. I sped up towards the turn and cleared out of the way of the van. I slowed the bike before the turn and sped up into it as I leaned to the right.

The motorcycle-driving manual would have been proud of my technique but I wasn’t on a motorcycle. Motorcycles can corner. Motorbikes cannot. Over the years it seems I’ve developed a nervous tick before I put a bike into the ground, I look at the speedometer. This time it read 30km/hr. This didn’t seem too unreasonable a number for a quick U-turn but the bike didn’t agree and abandoned me by slipping from under my mounted position. I hit the ground with my right forearm, rolled onto my backpack and tucked my legs until I came to a full stop.

I was in the middle of traffic so I jumped onto the bike as quickly as I could, started it up and drove directly into the back of a parked car. A few bystanders pointed at me and laughed so I nonchalantly readjusted myself and drove to the entrance of the mall, making sure to clip the mirror of every parked car for half a mile.

My injuries were minimal. I had some gravel embedded in my forearm and my knee but I pulled it out and wrapped myself up. Now I was part of the roadrash club. All members of the club have put their bikes down in specific and often hilarious ways.

Anonymous member 1: “I was driving at night, right? And it was the turn for the camp, but I sneezed. My helmet visor was down on account of the rain and got filled with a spray of snot. I couldn’t see nothing. I missed the turn and careened off the road.”

Injuries: Cuts to left leg

Anonymous member 2: “I fell on the gravel. What are you asking for?” [Supplementary information: The driver had a passenger and they rode over some fresh gravel. The driver wasn’t used to the weight of the bike plus passenger so they sank. He panicked and pulled the throttle, kicking the passenger off and spinning the bike into the ground.]

Injuries: Gravel lodged in right knee and elbow. Passenger unharmed.

Anonymous member 3: “It was at night and I was following my friend real close. The road, right there, is right next to camp. And he swerved. I didn’t see the pothole and put my front wheel right into it. I tried to do a shoulder roll to get out of it but you know… Are valiums good for pain?”

Injuries: Broken collarbone

Anonymous member 4: “I was riding back from Patong and I was real tired”
Interrupting person 1: “Tired? You were drunk!”
Interrupting person 2: “Drunk? You told us you weren’t drinking!”
Anonymous member 4: “Well, I had a beer.”
Interrupting person 2: “You told us you had nothing!”
Interrupting person 1: “You mean 7 or 8 beer Chang!”
Anonymous member 4: “Can I get on with it? So I was riding back and I saw something in the road. I took it straight on and it launched me into the air. I hit the ground and the bike became wobbly and I was pitched off and skidded on my head off the road. Not that bad really.”

Injuries: Strained Acromial Clavicular ligament. Forced to wear pink sling for duration of trip in Thailand.

As for me, the following day I lost the key to the bike and had to pay to have a new one made. I returned the bike in the same condition it was rented to me. My injuries have since healed in full and my iPod has been replaced.