Thailand Notes Part 2: Chiang Mai to Mae Hong Son
Motorcycle fever had gripped me and made it easy for Natalie to talk me into the trip north to do a week long ride called The Mao Hong Son Loop. A very short version of this story found its way into Motocycle Mojo Magazine.
After much research, we rented our bikes from two different shops. Mine, from a larger shop that carried full size motorcycles with manual transmissions and the others rented scooters, Natalie and Willy rented “semi automatics” which were essentially clutch-less manuals. Courtney rented a true automatic. We agreed to pick up the bikes in the morning. That night we went to a very crowded street market, I felt very claustrophobic and was annoyed to see some of the items I bought at The Silk Factory in Bangkok were for sale for a fraction of what I paid. The food smelled delicious but I didn’t dare risk being sick the next morning. That night I also read up on common scams from rental agencies. The most predominant seemed to be trying to get you to pay for pre-existing damage.
When we got started the morning, I had brief moment of being everyone’s dad and somewhat forced everyone to get a full-face helmet. Thailand is littered with road-rashed tourists and I was hoping to not add to that demographic. All the rental shop helmets had some kind of damage on them ranging from scratches to full splits down the middle, which made for excellent visuals during my presentation. No one else seemed worried about that. We picked up the other’s bikes first, and Natalie was so uncomfortable, she asked me to drive the bike back to the hostel with her as a passenger. That was a nerve-wracking endeavor, she wore a helmet and I had a ballcap. It wasn’t rush hour, but there was definitely more traffic than I wanted to deal with. In my life, I have done some questionable things on motorized equipment, but that one made me the most nervous.
Once back at the hostel, I packed my bag, a 30L waterproof stuff sack, and picked up my bike. The only helmet they had that fit me, and had a visor in good enough shape to see through, had a big doobie on each side and “420” on the back. I found it funny but a little annoying. To avoid getting scammed, again, I took dozens of pictures of my rental bike and a video, when I left, the owner was well aware of every scratch. Once we all met up with our rides, we realized Courtney and I had the only bikes with phone mounts so I asked her to lead so I could bring up the rear. We were finally on the road at 3pm, which annoyed me greatly. Traffic out of the city was bad and Natalie was unfamiliar with bikes so her and I went slower than Will and Courtney. Somewhere deep in my memory, from an unknown source, was a belief that the most capable rider should bring up the rear. Sadly for our group, that was me, but I didn’t mind going slow and seeing the sights.
The only thing of note on the highway was a very large reclining buddha statue on the side of the road. A ways out of the city, we got separated enough that Natalie and I stopped at a run down shop for water and to contact the others ahead of us. Natalie ordered the fried chicken, looking at the state of the place, she will never have to prover her bravery to me. Though it did look crisp. We regrouped but the park we wanted to drive through was closed, we detoured to the town of Hot, the name felt appropriate given the absolute heat of northern Thailand. Courtney picked a hostel for us, and it was an absolute winner. It was little two bed cabins, with attached bathrooms and AC for 400 baht each. Will and I shared a room and I mused at the thought that I was paying $8 cad a night. We walked along the street and found a vendor selling noodles, this was my first Thai street food experience. It had, I believe, pork and fish balls in it (though I am not sure what part of the fish is the ball and I intentionally don’t think about what part of the pork that is), it was good and filling and cost 40 baht ($1.60). We went back to the hotel and sat chatting in the girls’ cabin, the power had gone out and we debated how to pass the time. Someone suggested cards. With nothing better to do, I walked to the corner store and purchased a deck, not realizing they were 375 baht ($15!). They are nice cards, heavy waterproof plastic and in a nice case, but that still pretty steep. By the time I got back, the power was back on and no one was interested in cards now that we had TV and internet. I went to bed thinking about how much nicer the roads in Thailand were than the roads in Nepal. I was also somewhat grumpy about the heat and our late start, I reminded myself that I am on vacation and shouldn’t worry so much about clocks.
We left Hot at the crack of noon. I was a bit frustrated to leave so late. From there we went on a very winding road and stopped at a temple but it wasn’t open to visitors. It was still interesting to drive up to it through the main gate and see the architecture. From there we went to Bo Kaio Pine Tree Garden. It was a nice forest walk, a smooth dirt track through well spaced conifers like we had driven through in Nepal. We also witnessed a bride and groom getting their photos taken. As we headed back to our bikes, it began to rain. We drove to a nearby restaurant and had dinner. It was chicken and rice on cheap plastic plates, and cups that didn’t look clean to me. I asked for the bathroom and got a lot of confusion and pointing and was eventually sent out back to an unlit outhouse with a squat toilet. The rain eased and we continued our trip.
Unfortunately, the rain came back even stronger, we were thoroughly soaked by the time we found a roadside shelter to stop at. After a long wait, it became clear the rain wasn’t stopping and it was now getting dark out. We packed our gear as best we could to avoid damage to electronics. I put my phone in a bag in my pocket and let the mapping app guide me via my headphones, Courtney did the same. Within a mile of leaving our shelter, we passed an overturned semi truck. We slowly snaked around it, it served as a reminder that this was real and dangerous, up to this point, in my mind, it was just uncomfortable. We continued on, driving as a team. Courtney was leading and would give hand signals showing when to pass slow traffic and when to turn. It felt so coordinated, high stakes, and the quiet concentration made it feel somewhat clandestine. It felt like we were a team sneaking into town. Looking back, it reminded me of being a boy and playing soldiers with the neighborhood kids. The rain slowed and stopped as we came into town. The residual heat in the pavement dried the water off in minutes. The steam filled the air like a fog. It was the closest I had been to cool since I had entered the country (both temperature and otherwise). We wove through back roads to find a hotel Courtney had picked before we left. Unfortunately, it was hard to find and when we did get there, it was full. She quickly picked another and headed toward it. We rounded a corner and suddenly I was driving on a main road lined with vertical lights, there were hundreds, all about 4 feet tall, like a vertical fluorescent bulb. They lit the road in an interesting effect and the steam from the rain made it look like a dream or maybe a rave. I could have driven back and forth for hours. We got to our new hotel, a white stone building, we parked along the street and went in to check availability. The place had no guests and the woman at the front had to call the owner to come in. He was excited and rented us dorm beds and told us to bring our bikes in off the street. As we backed our bikes from the curb and pulled into the court yard, Natalie dropped hers. I think it was just a result of the low speed and perhaps tired from the days riding. I lifted it back up for her. We parked in the courtyard out front and he closed gate to the street. We all had showers and gave our wet clothes for laundry. I spent the evening in a long sleeve shirt, underpants, and a towel around my waist. I guess only a single pair of jeans wasn’t a great strategy, but at least they got a wash. We sat outside and ordered food from the attached restaurant. We ate a variety, mostly fried, and drank sodas. We stayed up late eating, drinking, and telling stories and I went to sleep happy. This was the best slumber party I had ever been to and the days riding in the rain was a real team building exercise. Before this we were friendly, after this we were friends.
I woke up feeling terribly ill. Likely a result of supper the night before. After several trips to the washroom, I dosed myself with anti-diarrhea meds and hoped for the best. I bought toast with jam from the restaurant attached to the hostel, it was outright nasty. The bread was yellow and had a sour tang to it, it reminded me of bread I had in Colombia years before. To me, it tasted like it was made with rancid butter, but that cant possibly be accurate. Throwing the bread in the trash, I forced down a granola bar that had been rattling around in my bag and we headed to a café to get breakfast for the others. After a rather lengthy ordering and eating process we hit the winding road again.
The ride was really getting exciting, these curves are what the trip is known for and Thailand’s climate allows for road surfaces to stay nice. Natalie and I stopped for gas and found an odd self serve station. It was a small pump, inset on a wall on the side of the street. I put the nozzle into my tank, loaded my cash in like a vending machine and hit the green button. Immediately the gas started flowing and a little tune played. I was glad I had the nozzle in already, the handle did nothing to stop or start the flow, that could have been a disaster. I declined lunch that day as I still was not well. We rolled into the city of Mao Hong Son around 6pm and had no rain that day. We checked into a nice hotel with a pool in the courtyard. Courney and I went for a swim while Will and Natalie sat by the pool. Somehow a joke came up about Natalie and I doing the lift from Dirty Dancing. We never actually got to try it, until a year later in Guatemala. After the pool we went off in search of food. I was positively starving, and Thai food was getting the best of me. I requested that we go for western food, and somehow the few places that sold it were all closed. I was getting very down and outright frustrated, I was in that stage of hunger where I no longer felt hungry, and just felt grumpy. We eventually found a little restaurant and I had some kind of spicy rice-based dish. It was good but I could barely eat it. I went back to the hotel long before the others and relaxed. Truth be told, I was having fun overall, but in that moment I just wasn’t feeling it. Luckily we still had a few more days of riding to enjoy so I didn’t have to end on that note.
Posted in Motorcycle, Published Work, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Mae Hong Son Loop, motorcycle, Thailand, travelwith 1 comment.
Nepal Notes Part 7: Motorcycle Trip
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here. As always, questions and feedback are always appreciated, as is sharing my stories with your friends.
Before my trip, I looked online and had found a motorcycle club called “Hearts and Tears” in Pokhara that did tours. I had motorcycle fever since my divorce, and had the foresight to get my International Drivers Permit before leaving. This was what I needed to get out of my rut. I had looked for the physical location before, but wasn’t able to find it. Some locals pointed me to where they thought I should look and all I found was closed garage doors in an alleyway. Rita, of all people, told me she had found it. She had gotten stoned at breakfast and gotten lost getting back to her hostel and came across it. She walked me over, it was right where I was told, this time they were open. I went in and talked to the main guide, Prabin. I told him I was after just a day trip to get a feel for the bike, a Royal Enfield Himalayan, because that’s what I was thinking of buying back home. He suggested an overnight trip because he knew an interesting hotel that was a fun drive to get to. I exchanged numbers with him and agreed to go in two days time.
That afternoon, Natalie finished the Annapurna Circuit and met up with all of us at the Juicery, she also introduced me to her friend Renata (keen readers will note that Natalie and Renata have come to visit me here in Alberta and I have gone to Guatemala with them).
I asked Natalie if she wanted to come with me. At first, she said she wasn’t particularly interested, but later changed her mind. She also suggested that since we were leaving early the next morning, that she should just sleep in my room on the spare bed. I worried briefly if this was another case of someone using me for my generosity and what little money I had, but she paid her fair share of everything as a matter of her own principles.
The Bike Trip
As though the good lord has a sense of humour, Rita left town that morning, unfortunately she did so with a book I had lent her that I never got a chance to read. There was also an odd introspective moment for me the night before. I had known Rita was leaving but didn’t get a chance to say goodbye in person, Natalie asked me if I was sad about that… and I really wasn’t. I was ready for her to leave and for me to get out of my rut. Natalie and I started our motorcycle trip and that morning was a real pivot for me on my trip, this is when my plans went out the window and I went off script. This is when I started to reflect, learn, and heal instead of pine and brood.
We met our guide at the shop, he was 15 minutes late, but called to let us know he was late. We had loaded our gear into my little fifteen-liter day pack and strapped it to the back of my bike, I then put my water bottle in the tank bag. Prabin gave me a quick primer on Nepali driving: don’t trust signal lights, honk as you pass, and try not to stop. With that, we were off. The first challenge was following Prabin, who had Natalie as a passenger, down the narrow alleyway from the shop then through heavy morning traffic on roads that to my understanding, have no rules and no maintenance. It was absolute white-knuckle chaos at first, but then I fell into a groove. It was actually a bit intuitive, it felt like walking in a crowded area. Everyone was constantly watching and weaving around each other. The only hazard was stopping and interrupting traffic flow. My “no rules” theory was, somewhat, confirmed when we crossed a double solid line to blaze by two cops on a motorcycle who did little more than glance at us. Eventually we broke free of the city into the winding country roads along the edges of the steep foothills of the Himalayas. The roads were a variety of gravel, fine dirt, cobblestone, tarmac, and pavement. Most were in a state of disrepair. Tight switchback turns were the norm, which created blind corners that buses liked to take wide, I got in the habit of riding on the far edge of the road, and still had some close calls.
We stopped for lunch at a roadside hotel and restaurant. The guide checked on the kitchen and then informed us they just made fresh Dal Baht. This was by far the best meal I had my entire trip. The chicken was crispy and spicy, but in a flavorful way. As we ate we watched music videos on the TV and Prabin translated the songs for us. Their music carried a much more wholesome atmosphere than what we seem to get in the west. Our next stop was the main draw of our trip, The Kushma suspension bridge. To my understanding it is the highest and longest in Nepal. I have a normal, healthy, fear of heights. I let the guide know, to which he replied “I can drive the bike across for you, if you like”. In this situation, despite the almost comical length of the bridge, my ego had more pull than my fears. I wasn’t going to let another man drive my bike across for me, especially in front of a girl. Yes, its that fragile. Prabin and Natalie crossed first, I was told to wait until they were all the way across before departing. When it came my turn, I took a deep breath and slowly released the clutch. Every cell in my body screamed in terror, but I wasn’t about to stop, and this was no place to lock up. I looked out at the valley and suddenly felt very high above the hand rails while seated on the bike. I had to make frequent stops and crowd to one side when pedestrians and I crossed paths. Somehow a motorcycle/pedestrian bridge felt like it shouldn’t exist, but I was the only one who seemed worried about it. The view was amazing, but staying upright on the slick steel bridge took all of my concentration as a novice rider. The crossing probably took less than a minute but felt like ten.
On the far side of the bridge, we took a few minutes to rest and have some water, I did my best to hide my frayed nerves. While crossing I had passed an older woman carrying a large sack of potatoes loaded on her back and held on with a strap across her forehead. Me being a taller blond man, I stand out as a foreigner, this always leads to conversations, and this was no exception. Using Prabin as a translator she asked all about us and told us she was a proud mother of 8 and walks this bridge daily. A tuk-tuk taxi came to pick her up, and without a word or hesitation, Prabin grabbed the potatoes and loaded them for her. I already respected Prabin, but this little gesture told me a lot about him.
Immediately after the bridge, the road was beautiful smooth tarmac lined by spaced conifer trees. It felt like we had briefly left the country, I felt I was back in the Alberta foothills. Nepal is normally shrubs and rough roads. The last leg of our days ride was a return to the familiar rough roads, and a few water crossings that found my foot pegs well under water… on a public road, shared with buses. The only other time I had seen a bus cross water was in Iceland, and it looked a little more purpose built than the busses here. Towards the end of the day, the weather started to turn, we got rained on for a few minutes then hit with wind, which caused the dust and dirt to stick to us. Then with little notice, we took a right up a steep hill to a gate, honked, and were let into a large, well manicured, yard with a beautiful mansion on the far side, opposite the gate. The yard was amazing, and as soon as we entered, even the weather got better. It was like magic.
We were introduced to the owner, Mick. He had worked in New York for years and had English better than mine. He told us the story of his hotel. His great grandfather, a colonel in the army, had built the huge house. Then, the family retained the property but moved away from it, for two generations it sat abandoned. Slowly it crumbled under the hard monsoon rains year after year. When Mick was ready to come home and retire, he restored it to a hotel. He replaced the roof and said the support beams, eroded by rain, had been cut so cleanly it looked like a saw had done it. The brick walls and dark wood furniture created an amazing atmosphere of old-world cozy relaxation.
We were shown to our room, a large room with two single beds and a fireplace. We had showers, got changed and relaxed on the front steps before supper. An old, decrepit, Land Rover in the back of the yard caught my eye. Mick said he belonged to his dad and he was going to fix it up someday.
For supper we were treated to barbequed chicken and a sweet desert. It was some sort of small donut like pastry, think donut hole or Timbit submerged in sweet syrup. I tried to thank our server in Nepali by saying “Dhanyabad” which came out close to “dandi-bad”. She gave a confused look, said something to Mick. Mick looked at me and said “she just asked if you were asking for Dal Bhat.” The table erupted with laughter as I tried to explain I was extremely full and was just trying to say thank you. I decided I best just stick to English. A testament to Nepalese hospitality, I do believe that woman probably would have whipped me up a batch if I were serious.
After supper we had long and fascinating conversation. It turns out Mick and Prabin had been friends for over a decade. The hotel was a regular stop on the way home for longer motorcycle trips that Prabin guides into Mustang and even Tibet. After a few drinks came the stories of rowdy Australians burning patio furniture and Americans making midnight beer runs into towns, that shut down at 4pm. They also told us of the time Prabin and a client got food poisoning on their way to Micks hotel. They were so sick they needed to go to the hospital but there was an election so travel was banned that day to prevent people voting multiple times. Mick was able to reach out to the local police and get a permission slip to travel, but only because it was a tourist that was sick.
It was a nice cultural experience to spend time with two locals giving their perspectives on politics and telling us the history of Nepal. Prabin told us he was a porter first, then a cook, and he saw how well the guides got paid so he learned English. He was a mountain guide for years but got injured and decided to switch to motorcycles, somehow, they are safer. I think that tells me more the dangers of mountains than the safety of bikes. The only flaw with the evening was treating myself to too many cups of milk tea. The caffeine and excitement meant I didn’t fall asleep until nearly 3am, I should have had the rum instead, but I had recently sworn off drinking.
The following morning, I found myself a little green around the gills and not wanting to stray too far from a washroom. The reality was we had to get moving, so I swallowed a fist full of diarrhea meds and hoped for the best. The rumble of single cylinder engine was not ideal, but the distraction of the road and sights was a great help. As we passed through small towns, kids rushed out to wave and get high fives from us on our passing bikes. It struck me as odd because bikes are very common even in small towns in Nepal, maybe kids just don’t have much else to entertain themselves. I started to partake in the drive-by high fives… until… I stuck my left hand out for an enthusiastic young boy. As my hand made contact, he grabbed it. I pulled my left hand away from him and my right, on the handle bar, also pulled in. The bike swerved hard towards a parked car. I leaned hard left and saved it, but it definitely put a scare in me. In that moment, I had a quick thought about how far away a hospital is from here and how just how rough those hospitals had looked. The thought of getting loaded in the box of a stranger pickup and hauled across these roads for a few hours to an underfunded hospital send a chill down my spine. I gave my head a shake and carried on.
We made a stop in the town of Baglung to see the Kalika Bhagwati Hindu Temple. We parked our bikes and Natalie and I made the walk in. It was a wide cobblestone path cut into the forest. At the end were rows of bells and large brick buildings with beautiful sculptures of animals. A local woman grabbed us and forced us to dance in a large group with her friends. I don’t think that was religious, I think she did that for entertainment purposes. We looked around a bit, made a donation and Natalie received a Tika (red dot on the forehead, I’m told it’s a blessing/ well wishes/ safe travels). I declined as I was worried it would smudge around in my helmet, I guess my loosening up has its limits.
To my dismay and my companions’ entertainment, our next stop was for lunch at The Cliff. It is a resort that caters to adrenaline junkies with bungee jumping, sky walks, cliff-side swings, and all other sorts of fear inducing antics at heights. The catch was that we had to cross, on foot, another very high, and very long suspension bridge to get to the restaurant. This bridge had bungee jumping in the middle. Prabin joked he would pay for my jump if I wanted to go… Some small part of me considered it, just to say I did. My hand over hand grip on the side rails of the bridge explains why I didn’t take him up on the offer. After lunch we made the short trip back to the club house. I was sad it was over. I wish I had planned a three- or five-day trip instead but, my back was sore and my wallet was draining like there was a hole in the bottom.
Since this trip my fear of heights has seemed to subside, Natalie and Renata visited me here in Alberta and we hiked Crypt lake and I had zero trouble with it, unlike when I did it 10 years ago and was white knuckling the cables and crawling up the rocks. When I told my therapist I was going to Nepal and was going to have to face my fear of heights, she tried to explain to me that I don’t have to face all my fears. She told me its perfectly OK to just avoid things you are afraid of, and I just couldn’t help but disagree with her on that one point. I think I needed to face that fear, I think I need to face a lot of fears. One by one, I am working on them.
After getting back to Pokhara, I decided it was time, I had to get moving. I had planned on only spending a few days in Pokhara and then doing the Everest basecamp hike, I had, instead, spent nearly two weeks in a depressed confusing spiral of self discovery, all while on the mend for my pneumonia, which I still didn’t feel fully recovered from. I had to leave. I had to do something. It was time to get back to Kathmandu and get my trip back on track.
Technical
The motorcycle rental agency is called Hearts and Tears and if I ever win the lottery I will use that money to go on each and every trip they offer. Don’t tell my mom, but I am currently saving my pennies for their trip into Tibet, so if anyone wants to donate money to that cause… I am kidding, give money to charity, not people going on vacation.
The bike I rented was a Royal Enfield Himalayan 411cc. I did try to buy one when I got home, but the dealership in Vancouver that had them in stock was an absolute nightmare to deal with so I ended up buying a used Interceptor 650, lots of photos in my story here. It ended up being a smarter purchase, despite my soft spot for the Himalayan, it suffers from a lack of power that makes it less than ideal for the amount of highways we have here in Canada. That said, Royal Enfield Himalayans will always have a special place in my heart and someday when I spot a cheap one on the used market, it’ll be coming home with me.
In the first photos you can see some older style bikes, Prabin had told me they used to run the 500s before the Himalayan went onto the market, they just dont hold up as well as the purpose built adventure bikes. He did offer to rent me one of the bullet 500s to take a drive around town, in hindsight I regret declining the offer, but I am a far better rider now than I was then, so it was probably smart to decline.
I did bring my gopro on the trip, but I am inexperienced with it and its a less user friendly older model. As a result the footage is not great, I have it on Youtube here. If you jump to 4:42 you can see the bridge crossing, and at 2:00 you can see one of my close calls with a bus on a switchback.
If you want to get a better idea of what riding in Nepal looks like, there is an organization called Rally For Rangers. It is a charity where individuals buy motorcycles and then drive them to be donated to park rangers around the world. I actually saw them in Kathmandu towards the end of my trip but I didnt connect the dots on who or what they were until I watched a documentary about them on Amazon Prime. I found the trailer for it on Youtube, I highly recommend it, its an interesting watch.
Posted in Motorcycle, Photo Drop, Travel and tagged adventure, Adventure riding, motorbike, motorcycle, nepal, Royal enfield, travelwith no comments yet.
West Coast Road Trip
Since Nepal I have wanted to do a road trip to Vancouver, for no other reason than driving throught he mountains looks like fun. While I was in Guatemala, Natalie, Vanessa, and myself hatched a plan for me to come out and all of us to go on a big hike. With my new job being two weeks on and two weeks off, I was out of excuses not to do it.
I left my house before daylight and headed west, I layered up, zipped my jacket, and taped the vents on my gloves to try and keep the 14C air at bay. I was thankful to have a windshield but the reality was, it was a cold slog in a straight line along highway 16. After what felt like day, I stopped in Edson for breakfast and to thaw out. I remember feeling cold, sick, sad, and a little silly. I wondered if maybe I didn’t have it in me to motorcycle tour. Auto Trader is full of motorcycles for sale by owners who found out the hard way they didn’t care for life on the road. I stalled as long as I could justify, then hopped on my bike and kept rolling. I also switched to a far more upbeat playlist, I had started with sad slow county music, its like I wasn’t even trying to have a good day. I stopped for a light lunch in Hinton and was starting to feel a little more confident as the weather warmed. As soon as I could see the mountains my attitude improved. I felt pretty cool pulling through the park gates on my motorcycle and flashing my park pass tucked into my tank bag. The park staff weren’t as enthusiastic, for some reason. I decided to stop at the hot springs and have a soak, it was well worth the detour and I saw herd of sheep on the road on the way in. I had dinner in town and set up my little tent and got some sleep.
The next day was a bit farther but felt shorter, due to the mountain views, twisty roads, and all the other bikes I crossed paths with. I continued west and south to Kamloops where I treated myself to a very cheap hotel. It was a great ride with amazing scenery, but nothing too exciting happened. In the morning, I oiled my chain (not a metaphor), and hit the road. This was the day I was looking forward to, the final push to Vancouver, but I took the long way through Squamish. I stopped for breakfast at a little café in Lillooet. I took the opportunity to walk around town a little and see their local museum. It was nice, but me being the collector I am, owned a lot of the items they had on display, including a polaroid camera that I had brought with me on the trip! Having let my breakfast digest sufficiently, I hit the road again. The section of road to Squamish is one of the best in Canada for motorcycles… depending on traffic. I got stuck behind a pickup that struggled to maintain consistent speeds through the tight switchbacks which was a frustrating endeavor. I could smell brakes cooking and wondered if it was me or the truck in front. My question was answered when I rounded a corner and saw an F150 with a holiday trailer pulled to the side of the road with smoke rolling up off the drivers side front hub. To my amazement, he pulled out behind me after I passed… I’d have let it cool a bit more, personally. I stopped for lunch in Whistler, but I found it far too crowded and didn’t stay long. As I pulled into Squamish I found I was running a bit later than I would have liked so my only stop was for gas. I then immediately hit a traffic jam. There I was, sitting on a four lane highway, in full, dark, protective gear, straddling a hot bike in the sun. I shut the engine off while I waited, but that did little for the lingering heat of the engine inches from my legs. I saw a few bikes zip up the shoulder to pass the traffic and was tempted to join them, but I try not to break laws when I travel, even if its just another province. Eventually, slowly, we all made it through and I was treated to the sea to sky highway (in my case, sky to sea) that cut its way along the steep, rocky, shore of the pacific. The views were great, but the traffic was heavy and demanded my attention. I arrived at my destination just in time for Natalie and her boyfriend, Cole, to treat me to some sushi… Sushi, aren’t I just worldly?
Natalie’s roommate was out of town and was kind enough to offer me her room. It was nice to sleep in a proper bed after all that riding. My first full day in Van, we picked up Vanessa at the ferry and headed to The Museum of Anthropology. There were no tours that day, but luckily I’m a history buff/nerd and my companions were willing to let me drone on about everything I saw. I dont think they believed me about Fijian Cannibal Forks at first, but I wouldn’t lie about something like that. A trip to a museum is my ideal vacation.
Next day was Natalie’s idea of an ideal vacation, an overnight hike. This one was to a cabin at Elfin Lakes There were seven of us total, all various friend’s of Natalie and Cole, its a weird feeling to hike into the woods with six other people, only one of whom you’ve known for any length of time. Luckily, I doubt my organs are worth much on the black market at this time. It was lightly raining at the trailhead and the first few kms were gentle uphill along a wide gravel path. We hit a day use cabin with a big wood burning stove in the middle, but it was locked out with a chain and padlock, which felt kind of rude to me. We had snacks and got our layers sorted in the shack and pressed on. Soon the gravel ended and we were treated to heavier rain and hard packed deep snow that required ice spikes on our boots. I laughed to myself about coming all the way to the West Coast to hike in the snow. The views were sadly, minimal, as there was a lot of fog in the air. We first did some up hill, then some side hill, then some debating about which trail was the right one. In the end we found the trail behind a large downed log. It was a steep downhill all the way to our cabin. As we got closer, we saw the lake we had been told we could swim in.. it was ice bound save a ring around the edge that didn’t look very deep. Luckily I saved the weight by leaving my swim suit at home.
We got into the cabin and found some empty bunks. My anxiety started to redline a little. There were bunk beds all around, the top being single beds with low rails that gave me visions of tumbling onto the hardwood and the lower bunks were double wide and expected to be shared. I asked Vanessa if she wanted to share a bottom bunk, she politely declined and took a top bunk. I set up on a lower bunk and hoped no strangers showed up last minute to share it with me, luckily, no one did, but it was a concern of mine well into the evening. There was already another large group there, all younger and energetic, at one point they were doing chin ups on the rafters. I appreciate seeing people in their early 20s being rambunctious, gives me hope. After we all got our beds made, we all just kind of laid around and fell into an afternoon nap. It was one of those naps like after a day at the beach, no one announces it, it just happens. Eventually, we all got back up and running and made ourselves a massive dinner of various salads, sausages, and pasta. There were also several expeditions outside to gather snow for water. I didnt help much cooking, but I tried to at least be helpful by washing some of the dishes. We also invented our own rules for Crazy 8s and had a few games well into the evening. I finally got a chance to use the deck of cards I overpaid for in Thailand and carried needlessly on multiple trips since. I don’t know who won, but it definitely wasn’t me. We all went to bed, I dont think my snoring was a problem, but someone’s was because across the cabin, well into the other group, I heard some snoring followed by a very well connected slap that seemed to put an end to it.
In the morning we all had our own breakfasts, I filled out the guest book and thumbed through the other entries, a lot of great doodles in there. We got the other group to get some pictures of us and I took a polaroid photo for them, hopefully it turned out and hopefully they liked it. The hike out was much better weather and the only issue we had was one of the party had a set of ice cleats that were a size too big and kept slipping, binding, hooking, and tripping her. There is nothing worse for a hiker. I once had a set of snowshoes that kept hooking my pant cuffs and spilling me. It breaks your spirit and embarrasses you, then you get frustrated and it gets worse. For the record, every hiker hits these kind of problems and we dont judge, but when its happening to you, it can feel like you’re slowing everyone down. Eventually, one of the links on her cleats broke. I took a look and with my Leatherman put it back together a bit smaller, I then opened the links on the other side and did the same. I THINK it helped by making them less loose and sloppy on her feet. We made it to the trailhead without incident and went to a Mexican restaurant to celebrate.
The morning after the hike, I decided I had best head back ahead of some nasty incoming weather. My original plan was to go back along southern BC but it seemed they were expecting heavy rain and it was moving north. I decided to retrace my route. I didn’t waste much time on the road, I stopped again in Lillooet at the same café and this time had a chat with two other bikers who spotted my Royal Enfield and were curious about it. Its not a very common bike in Canada yet, and it looks a lot like the ones they made in the 1970s so it tends to get a lot of interest from fellow bike riders. As I was leaving I saw their big adventure bikes parked perfectly with some mountains in the background, I snapped a polaroid and brought it back to them in the café. I left before I could see it, so I hope it turned out. I stayed at a slightly nicer hotel in Kamloops and had a dip in the spa tub provided.
The last day was a long one and I didn’t take any photos. I think my travel journal I filled out at the end of the day properly conveys my feelings about it:
- Kamloops to Edmonton, just over 800km ride
- Ride to Jasper was nice, had pizza at Lou Lou’s
- Jasper to Edmonton was long and drawn out
- Hard crosswind made my windshield act like a sail
- 8 hours on a bike is achievable but undesirable
Technical Details/ Footnotes
I used my 2019 Royal Enfield Interceptor 650 equipped with a spitfire windshield, magnetic tank bag, luggage racks, soft sided saddle bags, and my hiking backpack in an airport bag. I wore a small backpack while riding that had a water bladder in it so I could drink without taking my helmet off. I find the convenience of it helps me stay hydrated which makes everything run smoother on a long day. I also brought a 1L fuel can but never needed it, it strapped nicely on my rear rack and wasn’t too expensive, to my surprise, it never leaked. I brought some basic tools and chain lube for my bike, and glass cleaner for my visor. One thing I debated was a clear or tinted visor and I was glad I went with tinted, my helmet has a drop down tinted lenses as well as the traditional visor and even with both tinted I found things a bit bright at times. I did bring clear safety glasses in the event that I did have to drive the bike at night.
Much like my Guatemala motorcycle trip, I really tried to focus on the concept of “I am ending my day there”, not “I am driving there”. This shift in attitudes really helps me slow down and enjoy the trip more. I take more time to eat, I stop at roadside attractions, and even take in museums. I am also a little proud of myself for socializing with people. It sounds strange considering the trips I’ve taken, but there was a time in my life were I would not have even considered a hike with 6 other people when I really only know one or two of them. I guess I am growing up and facing my social anxieties.
Posted in Hiking, Motorcycle, Travel and tagged backpacking, hiking, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith 3 comments.
Guatemala Group Trip Part 3: Lost on a Motorcycle, and Sick on a Boat
Part One Is Available Here and Part Two is Available Here
It was time for me to leave El Paredon. For months I was looking forward to these three days, they had come and gone so quickly. I was sad to leave, but I knew my friends would be at the next stop. Natalie and Vanessa had left on a bus that morning, two hours before I did. I was hoping they would make it to the Airbnb before me to make my check in easier. They definitely beat me there. It also turned out that their shuttle took them on one of the big boats across the river as well.
I loaded up my gear and drove down to the boats on the North end of town. I didn’t see Caesar anywhere, he told me he would be there at 10 and wasn’t. There was another man loading a woman and her scooter onto his boat. I asked if he had room for one more and the price, he said yes and 50Q, same as anyone. I agreed and we rolled my bike backwards up a ramp and onto the narrow boat. I suddenly felt like a real adventurer. I had seen lots of pictures and videos online of bikes with luggage loaded into narrow boats on tropical waters and always thought “wow, that looks cool”. Its a little thing, but it felt like a big thing. The boat fired up and we were off. I tried to make conversation with the woman on the boat but my Spanish just isn’t quite there yet. After about 10 minutes of admiring the scenery, I spotted a boat coming the other way, as it passed I recognized its driver, Caesar. I felt a bit bad, but if you dont show up on time, sometimes you dont get business. We hit the far bank, unloaded my bike, and I paid the man. I geared up and resumed driving. I had made a special playlist for riding on this trip and it was absolutely perfect. I cruised for hours on this trip just enjoying the music, the scenery, and the wind. I enjoyed the farms, small towns, and the half buried tires with “Pinchazo” painted on the side, telling passersby they could get tires fixed there.
I made a slight detour to see the town of La Democracia. Its big draw was large stone statues carved by the ancient Olmec, to look like heads. They were all in the town square and all had people relaxing around them. I didn’t feel comfortable taking a picture that would have locals in it, so I was only able to get one. I also noticed I was the only tourist there. I felt like I was invading their homes, or maybe something else that just wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t stay long, I had other places to be anyway.
My next stop was in Santiago. I was told the road from Santiago to San Pedro, my destination, used to be dirt and, when wet, would bog down motorcycles so bandits would wait in the trees and rob travelers. In recent years the road has been paved and I am told it is safe. The rental shop, however, suggested I ask the police about an escort. Some previous travelers had been told they dont need it. Others have been offered it for 50Q, the going rate for most services, it seems. I found the police station easily, but communication was a problem. Via google translate I was able to learn that an escort was possible and that two police on a blue motorcycle would meet me at the gas station. I then made a very rookie mistake. I searched “gas station” on my phones map app and said “this one?” which he replied “yes”. NEVER ask a yes or no question if there is any language barrier, the answer will always be “yes” and you will be lost. I drove the directions my phone gave me and ended up at shop downtown that sold tanks of gas for stoves and BBQs. I realized my error and decided to get back to the police station. Unfortunately, the roads in town were narrow and lined high with buildings, most were one ways and I simply got lost. Before I knew it I had gone way uphill in town, dead ended at a market, back tracked, got lost again, and ended up in a very poor neighborhood where the houses were made of tin scraps. Luckily all the locals looked friendly and it was still daylight. I know my mother would worry about me being lost here, but it was women walking about their day and children playing in the street smiling and waving at me. I was definitely frustrated, but not quite hopeless or scared. In a pinch I could flag a tuk-tuk and ask him to guide me, for a fee… probably 50Q. It didn’t come to that as I eventually found a way downhill and back onto the main road that I recognized. It took some thinking, some patience, and possibly some illegal road maneuvers, but I got there.
The same officer was there and I explained again and then asked him to find the gas station on my phone. He then directed me to a park. I drove there and found a gas station a block away. I pulled in and asked the attendants if the police ever meet people there they replied “sometimes”. I waited a bit, asked if they could call the police, they said they could but they didn’t have the number. I then asked if the road to San Pedro was dangerous, the man said no and looked a little confused about why I would even ask.
My phone was at 40%, it was 4:30 pm, and I was getting impatient. I decided to just go, I didn’t want to risk losing daylight or having my phone die as I relied on it for navigation. I came out of town fast and kept my speed up. I figured if I just don’t stop and keep my speed up, I would blow past anyone before they got a chance to rob me. After a few minutes it slowly dawned on me, this is actually the nicest, freshest, road I had seen so far, and in Guatemala, that’s saying something. The roads were lined with hotels, farms, people cutting lumber, and what appeared to be some kind of adventure park. Clearly things had changed and this was no longer a dangerous route. I relaxed a slowed down a bit.
I found my way into town and suddenly my maps dead ended at a narrow T intersection, both turns looked too narrow for a bike… practically, but not technically. I texted the girls and Natalie was kind enough to meet me at the road. Google wasn’t lying, I was supposed to drive my bike down that narrow path. I wiggled the bike between the house and a treelined fence, around a tight corner, between some houses, and then through a gate, up a curb and onto a small gravel pad. I was downright grumpy, way overheated, dehydrated, and a little embarrassed. I got my gear off and unpacked a little in the bedroom. After I had grumbled enough about google maps and calmed down, we went for food. We found a little restaurant and I ordered a pizza and the girls debated what to order. The waiter looked at me and said “chicas dificile” and walked away with a grin to gave us another few minutes to decide. It immediately became yet another running joke. After, we went for a walk around town and down to the docks to see the famous Lake Atitlan.
The following morning, I felt like garbage. The previous days riding and the pizza for dinner were not sitting well. I did my best to dose myself with diarrhea meds. We went for breakfast at the nearby hotel. It was beautiful, large glass windows and concrete construction overlooking the lake. To me it looked like a French sunroom. It felt like a place one would take tea with the Count of Monte Cristo. After breakfast Renata decided it would be fun to take a boat across the lake to Panjachel, then take a tuk-tuk to Santa Catarina. It was a good idea, had I not been sick. We bought boat tickets and I asked the driver if there was a bathroom. He pointed at a few nearby restaurants. None of them admitted to having bathrooms. I came back and mentioned it to him. Without a word he waved to me and started running, he was a short man but bounded the steps 3 at a time. We burst into a yet to open café and he showed me to a washroom, what a legend. I loaded on the boat and we started bouncing across the waves of the lake, my stomach immediately started to churn. My stomach felt like a dryer with a boot in it. After a few stops along the way, I asked permission to run ashore to use the washroom again, the captain allowed it and I sprinted. The little café charged 5Q for the washroom, one dollar well spent, in my opinion. When I got back on the boat I sat near the front, just in front of the small roof that doubled as a luggage rack. As we cut across the lake, my lucky travel hat blew off, but was caught by the luggage instead of lost to the lake. Today was not my day, I felt terrible and now for about three more stops and another half hour, I had to anxiously watch to see if I was going to be in the market for a new hat that day.
We finally made landfall at our destination and my hat had survived the journey, by some miracle. The walking calmed my stomach a little. We found a little café where Renata grabbed a coffee and I used the washroom. From there we waved a tuk-tuk and it struggle up the hill to the lookout where we stopped for photos, then it rocketed down the hill into town. We jumped out and explored town a little, it was mostly small booths selling textiles. Vanessa and Natalie had some lunch in a restaurant that was so small, they ordered food and the cook ran out the front, to the market, and came back with the ingredients to make it. It was impressive, but slow. I was still too ill to eat. As they ate, the stray dogs worked their way closer, giving us all sad looks hoping for scraps, naturally we caved. The ladies running the shop across the street were waving and showing us their table runners hoping to make a sale.
After sufficient wandering, we decided to take a truck back. I remember calling them Camionetas in South America, they were just a pickup truck with seats in the box. We asked the first one how much and he said for four people 150Q, Renata laughed and walked away. He tried to explain that was the normal price, just as a second truck pulled up. Renata asked him how much, he said 20Q for all of us. We hopped aboard, laughing the entire way. The truck was much faster, and more comfortable than the tuk-tuk.
We explored Panjachel’s street market a little before finding our way back to the docks. Luckily the ride back was faster as it was direct to San Pedro, the catch was that cutting across the middle of the lake meant larger waves. A local man on the boat gave us a tip that we could pull the emergency life jackets from the rack on the roof and sit on them for extra padding. It worked well. This time my hat stayed on. I was happy to be done with boats for the day. We had a nice supper that night at an Israeli place and played cards at the house we rented. It was a nice last night before I had to head back to Antigua and the girls were off to Tikal.
The next morning I loaded up my bike, hugged everyone goodbye and hit the road. Getting the bike out of the alleyway was far easier than getting it in. Getting out of San Pedro was a bit of trick, again, narrow streets and one ways. I finally made it onto the highway but it looked oddly familiar. I stopped and checked the map… I had driven 20 minutes in the wrong direction. Not being able to see my map was a real hinderance. I got back on the right track and then got lost again in the next town, this time the main road had been shut down for a festival of some kind and navigating around it was just impossible. I then realized the problem. When google maps would say “turn left” that would sometimes mean turn left down this very narrow alley, sometimes it meant take the next left, and sometimes it just meant the road was curving. I found it much easier to stop every few blocks and visually check the route, that little shift made life easier but travel slower.
I wound up on steep switchbacks into the mountains as I climbed away from Lake Atitlan, all the while unsure of what gear the bike should be in “2? no too low, 3? no too high, try 2 again maybe?”. Eventually the road straightened and leveled. It was a this point I hit some road construction. I filtered to the front with some other motorcycles and was told it would be about a 15 minute wait while they painted the lines. I watched as more bikes and cars came into the line. There had to be two dozen bikes and hundreds of cars. Suddenly I heard honking and turned to see a chicken bus had jumped the curb into oncoming traffic and was driving full speed as oncoming cars swerved out of the way. The construction workers angrily waved as he blew passed and jumped the curb back onto the right side of the divided highway. That diesel bus spit black smoke the whole way and I didn’t see a hint of him touching his brakes. After a few more minutes, with little warning, the workers jumped up and cleared the pylons. All of us bikers were standing beside our bikes stretching. Suddenly it felt like a pistol start at a race. We all jumped on, fired up, and raced off. It was an amazing experience. So many bikes just cruising down the highway in a group, some waving, some racing, and some just minding their own business. Eventually we all spread out and found ourselves among the regular cars and trucks of the road. A normal day for them, and fascinating experience for me.
As I came into Antigua the road took me through a few deep canyons that looked like they were carved out for the road. I was reminded of my motorcycle trip to Drumheller last year. It also rained heavily for about 15 minutes, at which point I passed an accident, a tanker truck had hit a scooter. There wasn’t a body anywhere and there were no emergency vehicles there yet. I hope that means it was low speed and no serious injury. When I got within a few blocks of the rental shop, I hit rush hour traffic. I made another mistake, driving like a Canadian. I was moving inches in minutes by pretending to be a car. Eventually, after an hour in traffic, an ambulance came through and created a path. I saw motorcycles following close behind and remembered where I was and what I was straddling. I started lane splitting, weaving between the stationary cars and even waving a few to back up so I could make space and cheat in front of them to the other side. Within minutes I came rolling into my destination, smiling, and was received by the owner’s friend. I think he was American, either way, his English was perfect and he was friendly. The bike had sustained no damages, I parked it, returned the helmet, took of my gear, thanked him, and left. I rushed through the return process, putting my borrowed gear away and stripping my bags off the bike. I was flying high from the lane splitting and just riding in general and didn’t want him to have to wait any longer than needed. I walked the few blocks and checked into my hotel, got some food, a mojito, and some sleep. I was thoroughly tired after a full days riding being lost, being hot, being rained on… I’d experienced it all.
The next day was my last day, my flight left that night. In the morning I went to Café Sole, a restaurant that shares a name with one in Edmonton where I meet with some motorcycle guys twice a week, if time permits. The food was good, but I just wanted a picture of myself in front of their sign to show my friends. I then got a text from the girls saying they had a bus change in town around noon and would have about half an hour for a visit. I was excited, but we ended up only having about 20 minutes where they drank coffee and tea as fast as they could before running back. I then bought some souvenirs for myself and some family members. I tried to nap in the afternoon but couldn’t, at 10pm the car came to pick me up and I was driven to the airport. The flights home were rough, I had terrible middle seats because I didn’t want to shell out $50 to select my seat and my layovers were long. I was happy when I finally made it through my door. 36 hours later, I boarded a plane to get back to work for two weeks.
As a rule, my family doesn’t like motorcycles. Primarily because they are dangerous. I, however, enjoy them, but more importantly, one of my biggest issues with traveling is actually the travel part. I have always had a hard time with buses. I find them usually stuffy, smelly, and crowded and I hate being at the mercy of someone else’s schedule for when I can use a bathroom. I also learned in South America that just because a bus has AC, doesn’t mean it works, and if it works, that doesn’t mean they will turn it on… As such, after doing some riding and some thinking, I decided to try renting a motorcycle to get around on a vacation and see if that made things better. I dont know that its a solution for every trip, and its certainly more expensive than bus tickets, but it is something I enjoy. At the very least, this trip has proven that a motorcycle is at least an option for me to get around when I travel.
Posted in Motorcycle, Travel and tagged adventure, Guatemala, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith no comments yet.