Introducing the Authors

Rewind eight years. A young man from the land of kangaroos crossed orbits with a Thai girl in Bangkok, and what everyone likes to call "fate" or "destiny from a past life" began right there. But the two of us think it was more like destiny on a rampage, ha ha — because there were so many differences between us: age, nationality, religion, language, way of life, customs and culture. On paper it looked like none of it could possibly work. Yet within all that difference there was something that fit together in the strangest way.

Not long after we started talking, we discovered that we were both natural optimists — people who love to laugh, goofy, a bit nuts, good-humored, world-class lovers of life's pleasures — and we both still had the heart of a child that loves to run, play, get into mischief, have fun, and hunt for new things different from the same old routine. It all just clicked, without either of us having to try very hard.

Eight years on from meeting Paul, today Natt works as a tour guide. She's her own boss, with a work schedule she can set herself, opportunities to travel all over, and chances to meet strangers of every nationality who come to exchange ideas and opinions.

Looking back to when Natt had just finished her bachelor's degree, she started an office job like everyone else — even though deep down she suspected she'd hate that kind of life. But since she hadn't tried it yet, she figured you shouldn't judge something before you've actually done it. After about a year, she knew for certain: this was not the life she wanted. Wake up, clock in, eat lunch, clock out in the evening, go home, sleep. Wake up, clock in... an endless loop with no way out. Some people might like it — but she truly didn't. She wanted a life with more freedom over her own time, time to do things other than work, work, and more work. And above all, she wanted to do work she genuinely liked or loved. But she only ever thought about it; she never dared to act, because everyone around her — her whole social world — worked for companies. Everyone lived that same life. Until she met Paul.

Paul had worked in an office too, you know. But he hated it, and he decided to step out of that hamster wheel and go freelance in marketing. It was this man who pushed and encouraged Natt to dare to step out of that loop herself — to go out and find her true self, and discover what she actually loved.

The two of us believe that every human being should have the right to choose their own path in life. Anyone at all — children, adults, women, men, people of the third gender, even people with disabilities — all have equal rights. Everyone is allowed to have a great big dream: a dream of what they want to be, what they want to do. They have the right to choose that path, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else.

But there are things that block people's thinking and decisions, things that keep so many from following the life path they've chosen — personal fear, family members who don't understand, and especially Thai society, which closes off opportunity, still divides people into classes and castes, and even discriminates by gender. Many times Natt heard this said to her face: "You're a woman — you can't do something like that." It rang in her ears so often she began to doubt herself. Maybe it really was true; maybe she couldn't. But in the end she came to understand: everyone has ability. What matters is what we love, what we want to be, what we want to do — more than what others say we are. Who we are is who we are; that's a truth no one can escape.

We both believe that a woman can climb Everest. A man can dance ballet. A child can teach adults plenty of things. A person of the third gender can be a lawyer or a judge. A person who is blind, or has lost a leg, can still tour the country by bicycle.

So once you know what you want to do and who you want to be — get moving, right now. Try to see your goal clearly. And if anyone belittles you — someone who has never done it, knows nothing about it, has not even a shred of experience in it — turn their words into fuel. Do it and let them watch. Prove to them that you can, and erase their insults. The only exception: if it's something that person has genuinely done before and they're warning you from experience, then listen and adapt — but never stop chasing the dream. Because once your dreams are gone, you're no different from a body without a heart.

The two of us hope this little book will help spark the inspiration for you to go out and "find" your dream — or go out and "do" the dream that's been waiting so very long — and see it through, with a determined heart and faith in yourself.

Nattaree Opasanon (Natt) — Paul Hamon (Paul)

Cycling All of Thailand, Winning All Its Hearts

Before you turn the page, we need an understanding between us: Natt is just an ordinary person with a playful streak — not arrogant, not stuck-up, not the serious type. So the language in this book is casual and friendly, to help you, dear reader, get close to Natt more easily. Sometimes the words may come out a little rude — please don't hold it against me, okay? And let me say upfront: Natt is no professional cyclist. She's just a woman who's scared of the hot sun, scared of getting melasma on her face, scared of her skin going dark, scared of going broke (literally "running out of butt," as we say), and who loves her comforts like anybody else. But she holds on to one thought:

Skin color? Leave it long enough and it fades back light again. Spots on your face? Protect yourself properly and they won't come. Money is a thing outside the body — as long as you're not dead, you can always earn more.

But the body's strength and fitness — that doesn't last forever. While you still have the strength to do something, do it, before the day comes when you can't. And all those comforts: if we never give some of them up, we'll never succeed. It's like the saying:

'No Pain, No Gain' — if you won't endure hardship, you'll never get the thing you want.

In the final reckoning, there is one thing that will stay with us until the day we die, something no one can ever take from us. And that is:

'Memories,' 'Experience,' and the 'Friendships' made along the way.

Come on — try cycling along with us.

START……..

I believe every kid loves riding a bike. We all start on four wheels, then a bit older we take the two small wheels off and ride on the two big ones — but only ever playing around the neighborhood. When Natt got to know Paul, it gave her a whole new perspective on bicycles.

Real cycling is on another level entirely. It's not just pedaling around for fun, day to day.

Natt started cycling seriously in 2007 (B.E. 2550) — right when she met Paul. Her first real ride was from her own house (Lat Phrao) to Paul's place on Sukhumvit (Nana). Honestly, it's not far at all. And the bike she used was a mountain bike — with gears! — so it shouldn't have been slow. But having never ridden more than 200 meters in her life, Natt took forever to grind through each kilometer. And here's the funny part: while she was pedaling along, there was this ancient old uncle — a hundred-something years old, surely (exaggerating much? ha ha) — I mean really old, riding an ordinary bicycle absolutely crusted in rust, no gears at all, with a crate of Krating Daeng (Red Bull) weighing it down on each side. And the old man rode faster than Natt. There's only one word for it: mortifying.

Whoosh... uncle's way ahead now. And then... gone from sight entirely. He was probably thinking: Oh, little girl... all that brand-new gear for nothing.

Think about the comparison: our bicycle was brand spanking new, the latest model. The uncle's bike was an old clunker about as old as the uncle himself. And we still couldn't keep up. Natt was too embarrassed to lift her face — she just kept her head down and pedaled. That day was utterly, completely humiliating. It destroyed her confidence on her very first long-distance ride — she remembers it to this day.

She'd never once had any desire to race anybody on a bicycle, because she knew perfectly well she couldn't compete with anyone. Natt just rides at Natt's own pace. But whenever she's out on a long ride somewhere and spots an elderly grandpa or grandma up ahead on an old bicycle, that shameful memory comes flooding back. And if you asked Natt whether, in her head, she ever feels the urge to overtake them — the answer is: ohhh yesssss (drag it out, nice and long). Her legs just go on their own, automatically. Full power, pedaling flat out, purely to get past that grandpa or grandma. And once she's passed them — pure bliss. A grin so wide her cheeks nearly split. We did it! Like scrubbing that bad memory clean out of her heart.

Paul, on the other hand, has always loved cycling. Back home in Australia, public transport is expensive, so he cycled instead — and getting from point A to point B by bike is often easier anyway. Plus it keeps the weight off. Once he moved to Thailand, Paul wanted to keep riding, so he invited Natt to ride with him. At first she wanted absolutely none of it. No, no, no.

"Not riding. It's hot. It's exhausting. I'll get cranky." But Paul said: "I already bought you a bicycle. Come on, ride." The man would not listen. He just kept pestering and pestering, until finally Natt went... "Ugh, FINE, I'll ride." — for her own health's sake, since she was starting to get chubby anyway, ha ha.

The reason she agreed to take up touring-style cycling (or just "touring" for short), even knowing full well in her heart that it would be exhausting, that there'd be moments of despair, that there'd be headaches the entire time — was this one thought of Natt's: in the end, we only remember the good parts. It becomes memory and experience that stays with us until we die.

It's a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Very few people ever get to do this. And no one can ever take these stories away from me.

Decision made, her first ever bicycle tour began: riding from Hua Hin to Kuala Lumpur. Truth be told, this trip wasn't planned at all. At the time, Natt was hunting for plane tickets to Australia to visit Paul's parents, and Paul said:

"Buying tickets out of Bangkok is expensive. How about this — let's fly out of Singapore instead."

"Huh... and how exactly do we get from here to Singapore?" Natt asked Paul.

"We cycle there, obviously."

"What... are you INSANE? Cycle from here to Singapore?!!!"

"Look, we'll plan it out. People have done it before. It takes about a month." Hmmm......

At first Natt refused flat out. It was far. It was exhausting. It seemed flatly impossible. But Natt is the type who, the more you forbid her, the more she does it — and then her own father said:

"No way. You're a woman. You can't do it." And Natt went: oh-ho... that's IT. I have to show Dad that I CAN. Don't you dare challenge me — just watch me do it!

The plan to ride all the way to Singapore ended up stopping at Kuala Lumpur, because Natt's knee gave out — she couldn't go on, the result of having her saddle set too low. So they packed up the bikes and took a bus from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore to catch the flight to Australia. But finishing that trip taught Natt something: along the way there is both good and bad.

Even when we fought, even when we weren't speaking — in the end, we remember only the good things. Look back at the bad parts later and they turn into comedy. How on earth did I survive that? Ha ha. Though at the time, mind you, it was deadly serious. Maximum drama. Nobody was laughing.

The Honeymoon Trip Across Thailand's 77 Provinces

Back in 2011 (B.E. 2554), Natt and Paul were talking about getting married. Paul asked: after the wedding, should we honeymoon in Paris? And Natt went, of course! She'd always wanted to go to Paris — she'd never been. Then Paul said, "Errr... but we'd be starting from Bangkok, yeah?" Natt said, "Sure, sure — so how are we getting there?" (Something about this felt suspicious already.)

"We cycle there, obviously," Paul said, completely straight-faced.

"ARE YOU INSANE?!!"

(Although, truth be told, a friend of Natt's had actually cycled to Paris before. It took one year.)

Natt stood absolutely firm: no. No, no, NO. At first she'd imagined just pedaling from the Paris airport into the city center. But cycling from Bangkok? That would take forever — and you'd have to ride through the Middle East: Afghanistan, Iran. Terrifying. She'd heard from friends who'd cycled through that region that everywhere you ride, you have a police escort shadowing you, every single day. Natt felt that was suffocating. No freedom. Dangerous, too. So she didn't want to go, and she told Paul: how about you let me cycle around my own country first? I haven't even seen all of it. Let me see my country first, then we'll go see other people's countries. (Honestly, it was just an excuse not to ride to Paris, ha ha.) And Paul went, "Yeah, okay, fine." (Yes! Right into my trap.)

Back when they visited Paul's parents in 2007, they'd come across a bicycle built for two — one person sitting in front, one behind — what's called a tandem bicycle. The two of them test-rode one in Canberra and absolutely loved it. When they asked the price, the owner said about three hundred thousand baht — before import tax. Oh... they were in shock over that price for quite a while. Because it was so expensive, Natt told Paul: if we ever had that bike, I'd go anywhere with you. She said it knowing full well that neither she nor Paul could possibly afford it at that price. Easy to talk big when it's hypothetical.

Then one day Paul announced: there's a shop in Hong Kong with the exact model we want — half price, down to one hundred fifty thousand. He asked, should we get it? Natt said no. But the man said: never mind, I've already emailed them — let's go pick up the bike. And Natt went, wait... then why did you even ask? You already bought it! Paul said, but look, it's half price! And you said if we had this bike, you'd come with me anywhere. Natt shot back: it's a hundred and fifty thousand baht — where is that money coming from? But the man said money was not the issue, don't worry about it. Natt said, I don't want it. And then he strong-armed her one final time:

"Plane tickets are already booked. Give me your passport number. We're staying at the Hilton." THUD...!!!

Well — you wanted to cycle all over Thailand, didn't you? And now everything's all arranged. What can you do? You go.

Let's Go

Nearly Face-Planting in the Middle of an Intersection

May 29, 2012 (B.E. 2555). Day one of our honeymoon cycling tour — and what an auspicious start it was, because we very nearly face-planted in front of the entire general public. We began in Surat Thani as our first province. Many people probably wonder: why start in the land of the giant oysters? Look at a map of Thailand: the South has two coasts, the Gulf of Thailand side and the Andaman Sea side. We started down the Gulf side to the southernmost point, then rode back up along the Andaman side — so we wouldn't have to ride the same stretch twice on the section between Chumphon and Hua Hin.

That morning, the two of us pedaled out of our lodgings full of focus and determination. The area around us was packed with traffic — cars, pickups, motorbikes — and every one of them was staring at the weird-looking bicycle and the weird-looking people on it.

What IS that bike? Looks so strange...

And right while everyone was staring at us and our strange contraption, Paul's hand left the handlebar — to tug his shirt down over his backside. The handlebars instantly lurched off balance, and with the panniers crammed full of stuff on both sides, we very nearly went down. Luckily Paul grabbed the bars in time. That's the moment we learned: you canNOT let go of the handlebars. Let go, and this happens. We nearly ate pavement. If we'd actually crashed there, the humiliation would have been total — there were SO many people watching.

The root cause of the imbalance: the stuff we brought on day one. There was a LOT of it... clothes, a notebook computer, a video camera, and plenty more. We brought practically everything, convinced we'd definitely use it all — loaded to the absolute maximum. The bags mounted up front weren't evenly weighted, so the second Paul's hand let go, the handlebars twisted, the wheel tipped, and the bike lost its balance — nearly nose-down. Natt hollered at Paul. Embarrassed, crowds everywhere — so awkward.

Let's Ship the Stuff (+ Natt) Back Home

After day one's near face-plant, Paul started thinking: the bike is just too heavy. He grumbled quietly: we haven't even hit the mountains yet. If we haul all this, we're dead. So we planned to ship some of the non-essential things back home.

That first shipment came to 4 kilograms in total. Most of what went back was the video camera and clothing — because in reality, Natt only ever wore a few pieces, mainly her cycling jerseys. The cosmetics? Profoundly unnecessary. At first she'd packed them "in case I want to look pretty," but once actually riding, she realized: put on makeup out here and your face turns into a greased frying pan in minutes. The sun is THAT brutal. Everything goes sticky and slick. And then... it turned out Paul wanted to ship Natt back home too, thank you very much. He figured it would lighten the load by a good few dozen kilos.

So I'm dead weight now, am I? Why you little.......... (seething)

The Aches — and a Muscle Never Used Before

After two days of riding, roughly 120 kilometers covered, the butt-cheek pain began to flex its power. Every pedal stroke: yowww... the butt... butt pain... SO much pain... hisssss... The glutes were working overtime, because we were using a butt muscle that almost never gets used in normal life. It was seizing up completely. On our bicycle, the person sitting in front — which is Natt — pedals with her legs extended out parallel to the ground. (If you can't picture it, see the photo!)

In ordinary daily life, no activity ever forces your legs to hold that position for long stretches, so this particular gluteal muscle has simply never been worked. Ride this bike, sit in that position for hours, and it hurts. Compared with a regular bicycle, it's a different kind of pain altogether — hard to explain. You'd have to experience it yourself to understand.

As for the aching arms and legs — that's just the normal fate of people who don't exercise much. Keep riding and the muscles adapt; the soreness fades on its own.

If you asked Natt: any back pain?

Answer: none at all. Because Natt's seat has a backrest, and we stopped often to stretch. But on the Kuala Lumpur ride, Natt had knee pain and back pain, because the bike hadn't been adjusted to fit her body. So here's a tip for beginners: take your bike to a shop for a proper fitting first. It's just like driving a car — you adjust the seat, adjust the steering wheel until it fits your body. Do that and you'll ride ache-free and happy for the whole trip.

Paul and the Chicken Feet

Our friend Ton (Patipat Chomanee) was a junior from Natt's university days — but since his face looks just as old as ours, we count him as the same year, ha ha. His home is in Nakhon Si Thammarat, and the moment he heard Natt and Paul had arrived, he drove over to pick us up for sightseeing and a meal. Ton brought us to a particular restaurant, insisting we had to eat there, and asked what we wanted. Natt said: just order — bring on the good stuff, we don't know what's what here. Ton seized the opportunity and ordered a full spread. Among the dishes: braised chicken feet. Paul beamed a telepathic message at Natt through his eyes: Is this wise? Chicken FEET? Normally Paul does not eat chicken feet. The man is frightened of them. Whenever he sees Thai people eating grilled liver, chicken knuckles, offal, that sort of thing, he asks: how can you put that in your mouth? That's DOG food!

So, back at the table: Ton picked up a chicken foot, sucked off the meltingly tender meat — tender enough to make a dog weep — and pulled the knuckle bone out, savoring every second. Paul watched, and his face began going red. Eyes welling up. How can he eat that? Poor chicken! The man was thoroughly grossed out. Could not handle it. No no no — I'm not eating it, I'm not — keep it away from me! — acting as though someone were force-feeding chicken feet directly into HIS mouth. There was one time Natt ate crab pincers in front of Paul, and his face went red and his eyes actually watered. His expression was so funny that she had to order them again just to watch it happen twice. Sometimes she deliberately orders bone-in chicken just to torment Paul. I love you, darling. But — HA. Ha ha.

Westerners generally don't eat chicken on the bone — they eat only the meat, like breast fillet. Natt explained to Paul: this is just how Thai people eat. Knuckles, joints, wings — it isn't exclusively dog food, honestly. So Paul had to learn from scratch what "bone" meant in Thai — the word kraduk — and how to order food without bones. Which brings us to one story Natt finds absolutely hilarious:

Paul adores massaman curry — pork, chicken, beef, all of it. One day he went to order massaman, and the man said:

"Massaman gai, mai sai pla duk" — "Chicken massaman, no CATFISH."

You read that right. He ordered it without catfish. The auntie at the stall was baffled: so... is this an order for chicken massaman, or catfish massaman? And anyway, whose massaman has catfish in it in the first place?! Natt was equally confused about why he was banning catfish from the curry. Paul said: I told her no pla duk! No BONE! -*- Errr...

Natt explained: kraduk is bone. Pla duk is CATFISH. Paul had meant to order chicken massaman with no bones, and instead ordered it with no catfish. You've got to laugh. The man's determination to order food in Thai all by himself is second to none — but Paul-version Thai gets us every single time.

The Little Kids Who Spoke English

On the way into Phatthalung town, heading for the provincial tourism office, we came upon a traditional southern-style Thai wooden house. Natt couldn't say exactly what architectural style it was or what it's called — but what she did know was that this old house was gorgeous. She wanted to thank the owners for preserving it all this time, keeping it for later generations to admire. Naturally, Natt didn't pass up the chance to stop and take photos as a keepsake.

While we were busy photographing, a whole crowd of kindergarteners came running out of the school nearby, charging straight up to us to chat. The little ones could barely speak any English, but they tried their absolute hardest to communicate with Paul. Now, normally Thai children are too shy to talk to a farang (Westerner) — so Natt and Paul were deeply impressed that these kids were brave enough to try their English on one. This is the future of the nation we've been waiting for! Paul speaks a little Thai, so he tried his best to chat back with the children — both sides giving it everything they had. The scene was adorable. Paul loved it too, and was amazed that Thai kids would dare come talk to him. They could barely understand each other — one word of Thai, one word of English, a sprinkle of sign language — while Natt snapped away taking loads of photos. She truly loved that moment.

Buffaloes Soaking in the Water

Since we'd made it to Phatthalung anyway, we planned out where to visit. Now, Natt happens to love buffaloes. She thinks they're adorable. She likes odd things, ha ha. And she'd picked up a piece of information: at Thale Noi, buffaloes come to swim. Cue the daydreaming — imagining swimming buffaloes, which would obviously be the most adorable thing ever (squeee...). She wanted to see swimming buffaloes so badly that we cycled all the way back toward Thale Noi, which meant crossing the 80th Anniversary Chaloem Phra Kiat Road bridge a second time. Worth it though, ha ha.

You might wonder why buffaloes go swimming at Thale Noi at all. Normally the owners open the pens and let the buffaloes wander off on their own to graze the grasslands around Thale Noi. Sometimes, when heavy rain floods the wetland, the buffaloes simply adapt — swimming, even diving down to graze the underwater grass. Natt was desperate to witness this. Maximum excitement. We pedaled all the way there, and—

THUD.........!!! (frozen on the spot)

Because the sight before us was: a cluster of buffaloes standing perfectly still, soaking in a big muddy shallow of the lake.

"Why aren't the buffaloes SWIMMING?" Natt wailed. Paul said: look at the water — there's barely any. How exactly would they swim? It was a total anticlimax. In her imagination the buffaloes were going to be swimming like this, or diving like that — guaranteed adorable.

So, in summary: we cycled all that way to watch buffaloes stand in a puddle. Ah well. Cute in its own way.

The Scotch-Tape Pannier

The tandem bicycle we ride normally carries two big panniers hanging at the rear wheel, plus another four mounted underneath Natt's seat at the front. The bags look a lot like dry bags you'd take diving, but with thicker, tougher, more waterproof material — depending on the grade of fabric, which of course affects the price too.

Here's the problem: for the front, we'd gone and used the big bags — and stuffed them FULL. They were heavy, so the bottoms of the bags sagged, and every time we turned, they scraped along the road. Scrape after scrape after scrape, and eventually the bottom of one bag wore right through into a hole. Luckily our route took us past the 'Choi Sen' bicycle shop in Phatthalung town, where the owner — a fellow bike lover — came to the rescue with his own repair design: he patched the hole with a piece of bicycle inner tube, then stuck Scotch tape over the top of that to keep water out. Fortunately it didn't rain afterward, so we never had to find out whether water would get in.

Time and again on this trip, the two of us came across bicycle shops whose owners shared our love of bikes and were glad to help without charging a single baht — because in their view, meeting fellow bike lovers and swapping stories and experiences was the payment. This is the ecosystem of bicycle people: a small band of touring cyclists rolls into town, finds kindred spirits, and gains brand-new friendships with total strangers, with the bicycle as the connector. It's something money can't buy. The only currency accepted is love and sincerity, exchanged both ways.

Sathing Phra — "Ja Thing Phra" — what does it even mean?

Normally, before you enter a district town, there's a sign announcing the district up ahead — you're arriving at such-and-such district now.

Riding into Songkhla province, we saw a sign reading:

'Sathing Phra District.' Seeing that sign, Natt thought — odd name, that. We kept riding and came upon a school called:

'Ja Thing Phra School' ("Going-to-Abandon-the-Monks School"?!). Riding on further, we found a temple called:

'Wat Ja Thing Phra' ("The Temple That's Going to Abandon Its Monks"?!).

A question naturally formed in Natt's head: what kind of temple has a name like that? Going to abandon the monks? Are they really abandoning the monks? Then this temple must have no monks at all! And where are the monks supposed to go, exactly? Is it an abandoned temple? "Going to abandon the monks" — it sounds so heartless!

Later we learned the real story: the district used to be named 'Ja Thing Phra District,' so the temples and schools took the name Ja Thing Phra after the old district name. Later the district was renamed 'Sathing Phra,' but the temples and schools never changed their names to match — so they still carry the old name, 'Ja Thing Phra.' Though Natt still doesn't really understand why it had to be called "abandon the monks" in the first place!

Riding all over the country, Natt constantly encounters strange names on signs — roads, districts, sub-districts, villages — and she loves collecting them in her head, because names like these must have a backstory. Then she lets her imagination run wild about what that story must be. For example, Natt pedaled past a village sign reading:

Ban Bang Wan ("Some-Days Village")

Eh?! So it's only a village on some days? What is it on the other days?? Ha ha.

Ban Rang Mot Daeng ("Red-Ant-Nest Village") — just thinking about it, we didn't dare ride in. If we cycled in there, we'd come out itching all over from red ants, right?

Ban Pak Sawa ("Foul-Mouth Village") — what on earth! Is everyone in this village rude?!

Ban Suk San ("Village of Joy")

Doesn't sound strange at first — quite auspicious, actually. But riding through, nobody looked particularly joyful at all. Eh?! Or maybe we just happened to pass through right in the middle of an argument.

But the funniest of all: Natt found the signs of FOUR villages sitting in a row, named — Ban Nam Phut ("Water-Springs-Up Village") — the water here must be just rising up.

Ban Nam Nong ("Water-Flooding Village") — this village must be soggy, water pooling everywhere.

Ban Nam Krajai ("Water-Spreading Village") — once next-door's village flooded, it spread over to this one.

Ban Nam Mot ("Out-of-Water Village")

And once the water spread out, it all disappeared — so this poor village has no water left to use. What an imagination, eh? Pretty funny. Ha ha.

Nearly Died

While the two of us were riding from Songkhla toward Pattani, the roadsides were all rice paddies, with towering coconut palms lining the shoulder. We were pedaling along contentedly, hugging the edge of the road, when out of nowhere a coconut came crashing down onto the ground — THUD — a seriously loud one — landing just a hair from the tips of Natt's toes. You could honestly call it a brush with death: if we'd been riding just two seconds faster, it would have landed squarely on a skull. Helmet or no helmet, that's a pitiful way to die for sure. Imagine the front-page headline: "Honeymoon Couple Dies in the Three Southern Border Provinces — Killed by Falling Coconut." Hilariously absurd (but mortifying, thank you very much).

The feeling in that instant was a full-body lurch of horror. Natt turned to look at Paul's face. I love you so much. Mwah mwah. We almost just died. Eeek....

That incident left Natt with this thought: any of us can die at any moment. A cyclist doesn't have to die by being hit by a car or skidding off a cliff — death can come in the silliest ways, like a coconut to the head. So many people love to assume that going somewhere far away is dangerous, unsafe.

They love to fear things that haven't even happened yet. Scared of this, scared of that, scared of everything. Natt understands that human beings fundamentally crave safety — but..... don't let that become the wall that blocks you from living. When a person's time comes, it comes — no matter where you are, near or far, anywhere, anytime. You can die sitting in your own house. Therefore:

Don't be too afraid to live. Whatever you want to do — do it now. This is all the life we get. There is not nearly as much time as most people assume. Far better that than to sit around later, heartbroken that you never did it.

Little Mu of Sakom

Before entering Pattani territory, Natt and Paul stopped to stay at Sakom Cabana (Sakom Beach), in Thepha District, Songkhla. The day's budget blasted straight through the ceiling — but never mind, it was necessary. A room here runs 800 baht a night, but honestly, worth it. The place is gorgeous: an all-wood house, hugely spacious, with a veranda right on the sea. The bed was exactly the right softness — guaranteed deep sleep.

The owners are a husband and wife from Bangkok who built this hotel after retiring; they're owner and staff in one. Brilliant. Seeing it, Natt thought: yes — THIS. When Natt is old, she wants to live exactly like this — to have a little seaside hotel of her very own. If you're ever cycling through this way, this place gets our full recommendation. We genuinely loved it.

Staying here is also how Natt met little Mu — a dog whose hind legs are paralyzed. A bigger dog had bitten him on the spine, displacing the bone and paralyzing his lower half. But his owners had a wheel cart custom-made for him, so he can lift himself and get around easily. The moment those wheels go on — ZOOM — he's off like a shot. A rocket-powered dog, ha ha. Natt is a dog lover, and meeting Mu — oh my, so adorable, so cheerful, positively bouncing with joy. We got in round after round of cuddles.

Looking at little Mu, Natt had a realization: hey — his legs are paralyzed, and the dog is still HAPPY. He doesn't let his handicap wall off his happiness. His heart fights. And then —

We're human beings. When we hit problems, are we really going to let a dog out-fight us?

Why not fight? Live your life with joy! Whoever out there is feeling defeated right now — Natt wants you to try fighting with your heart, just once. If standing up one more time kills you, then so be it — at least you'll know. Try shifting your thinking. Look at the positive side.

And you'll discover this world still has so very many places worth living in.

The Iron Rules — Before Entering the 3 Southern Border Provinces

On the road from Songkhla into Pattani, we met an old uncle out fishing. He was from Yala. He asked where we were headed. Natt answered: we're about to enter Pattani. The uncle said: do you two have any idea how dangerous it is? Then he circled the dangerous districts for us and handed down five rules:

1. When cycling, ride only between 8 and 9 a.m. Don't ride any earlier — because from 5 to 8 a.m. is when the monks go out on their alms rounds, with military escort units guarding the monks and the teachers. Ride then and you might get marked as a target along with them.

2. Don't go near any spot where soldiers are stationed.

3. Don't go near government buildings or government officials.

(Rules 2 and 3 are bomb-risk zones — we could be caught in the blast as collateral.)

1. Never eat at the front of a restaurant or near the road. Sit deep inside the shop — because there too you could catch shrapnel from a car bomb.

(But uncle, sitting that close to the kitchen, couldn't I die from an exploding gas cylinder instead? Honestly. -*-)

1. Ride only on the main 4-lane highway. Never take the old roads or the back roads. That's how you stay safe.

In summary: we followed all five rules. We understood the uncle meant well, and Natt had zero intention of playing tough and breaking his rules — because frankly, she was scared too. The infamous "Three Southern Border Provinces" — everyone has heard the reputation: three terrifying provinces, nothing but unrest, bombs going off like it's a game. But as it turned out, the situation carried us somewhere else entirely.

And the story of how begins with……

The Pattani Cycling Club

Before reaching Pattani, Natt had been in touch with P'See (Halem Mala), the photographer of the Pattani Cycling Club. She'd met him on the thaimtb web forum — she had posted a thread asking about routes, and P'See replied: whenever you arrive, I'll come meet you. At first Natt assumed maybe 4–5 people would show up. But when we pedaled up to the meeting point — WHOA! We froze on the spot. Nearly THIRTY members of the Pattani Cycling Club were waiting to receive the two of us. Every gender, every age, from little kids to seniors. We were so moved by everyone's kindness. Then they escorted us into town and put us up — free of charge — in the Honeymoon Suite of the C.S. Pattani Hotel for two nights, with the cycling club arranging absolutely everything. Oh, we felt so embarrassed to accept — but thank you all so, so much!

Because of the bad press, tourism here has withered; hardly any travelers come through. So when the two of us rolled in on our bike, the club members were beside themselves with excitement, bustling around us as if hosting visiting dignitaries. Every single person took such good care of us — so warm, so completely informal and welcoming. We hold different religions, yes — but that was never a gap that pushed the friendship apart, not even slightly. It's another thing about the people here that moved Natt and Paul deeply. Thank you all so much.

While in Pattani, we still had to set out at the crack of dawn each day, and the club members volunteered as guides, riding with us everywhere. They took us around the town; to see the Central Mosque, the heart of religious life for Thai Muslims across the South — its silhouette so like India's Taj Mahal, absolutely beautiful, we loved it. We also visited the Wadi Al-Hussein Mosque, the 300-year-old wooden mosque built in Malay artistic style, with its very long history — if you're curious, go ask Google, because if Natt starts telling it we'll never get out of Pattani, ha ha. And if you like a good shiver down the spine, you must visit the kubor (the old Muslim graveyard) — step inside and it's instant goosebumps, brrrr.... And having come to a land everyone calls dangerous, we didn't forget to stop and pray at the Shrine of Chao Mae Lim Ko Niao, asking the goddess to keep her children safe from all harm for the whole of the journey......

Beyond the sightseeing, the two of us had the honor of an audience with the Mayor, Khun Phitak Korkiatphitak, and the Deputy Mayor, Khun Samrit Naewbanthat, at the district office. We were so nervous — terrified of saying something wrong and getting kicked out of the province. Neither Natt nor Paul can do formal; we only know how to do laid-back. But the meeting confounded every expectation: both gentlemen were lovely — both totally chill. Especially the Deputy Mayor. Maximum chill. Ha ha.

And the funniest part: they took us to see the site of the recent car bombing from just a few months earlier. "Look, Nong Natt — this is the one that made the front page! See? See? The bullet holes are still here!" And Natt went errrr...... why have you brought me here? Are we doing a car-bomb heritage trail now? -*- Apparently this is Pattani's newest tourist attraction. If you visit Pattani, don't forget this stop, folks!

With the club members hosting us — taking us everywhere, feeding us everything, filling our days — sitting around overthinking the Iron Rules just wasn't right. Let it go. Worrying only buys you stress. Once you're out having fun, you forget the whole business completely. Better to spend the time harvesting happiness instead — don't you think?

The Adorable Soldiers

Naturally, going into the 3 Southern Border Provinces means encountering soldiers with rifles, military trucks, bunkers. It sounds terrifying. In reality — not even close. Especially at the road checkpoints. At first Natt assumed they were police checkpoints for catching motorcyclists without helmets — the things this brain comes up with, ha ha (I'm not used to it, I'm a Bangkok kid!). The truth is the soldiers were absolutely adorable. So many of them — one hand holding a rifle, the other hand giving us a thumbs-up. Some waved bye-bye to us. Every single soldier beamed smiles at the two of us. Some even snapped us a salute! It felt wonderful. The tandem bicycle fascinated the soldiers no end — that bizarre-looking machine with the strange-looking people aboard.

One soldier even teased us:

"Hey — is the one sitting in front actually pedaling, or what?"

EXCUSE me, sir! Are you accusing me of slacking? I am offended. ...But she only dared to grumble inside her head. Not brave enough out loud...... ha ha.

The whole way through the 3 Southern Border Provinces, we were met again and again with smiles from the people in green uniforms, cheering us on: keep fighting, you two! One more memory that will never, ever fade.

The Warm Welcome Parades

From Pattani we were headed into Narathiwat — and the Pattani Cycling Club had contacted the cycling club of every single district Natt would pass through, asking them to come welcome the two of us. Reading this, you're probably thinking: wait, seriously? There's a cycling club in EVERY district? Allow me to confirm: yes. Really!!

People in these three provinces are mad about cycling — to the point that every district has its own club, and they even splinter further down to the sub-district level. They ride seriously here, and everyone's on expensive brand-name bikes. Natt herself was amazed: she visited a local bike shop and it was wall-to-wall premium brands, more than you'd find in Bangkok, quite possibly. Southerners have money, let me tell you!

On the day Natt rode into Narathiwat along the main highway, the cycling club of each district — some even organized by sub-district — turned out in force, a great crowd of warm welcomes. Better yet, they rode along with us, escorting us to the next sub-district or district, where the next club would take over the relay. Every rider who joined said the same thing: "We can't possibly let you ride alone."

Sounds ominous, doesn't it? But the real meaning was this: if they didn't ride out and escort visitors who'd come to their home, it would be bad manners. About ten riders escorted us the whole way to Narathiwat. So the entire route, Natt and Paul were never lonely — we had riding companions, plus people pressing water, snacks, and food on us nonstop. That day's hundred-plus kilometers? The word "tired" never came up. Full bellies, full hearts.

Sweet-Talked the Whole Way

Normally, the 3 Southern Border Provinces have their territory divided into three zones per province:

1. White zones — no problems; not bombing areas.
2. Pink zones — occasional trouble.
3. Red zones — well.... you can probably guess.

As the two of us rode along, we had no idea which stretch was which color — just vague hunches, never certain. Entering Narathiwat we'd been in white zones the whole way. But approaching Yala, we weren't sure which route to take, so we asked the folks at the Narathiwat cycling club. They said: we'll ride with you. And they led us off the main highway onto small back roads, through Yi-ngo District, Rueso District, and Raman District before popping out at Yala town. And THAT is when we found out we'd been sweet-talked the whole way, ha ha. They explained the three-color system, and Natt asked: so the route we just rode — what color was that? They said:

"Pink verging on red — and red, the entire way." WHAT! Seriously?! Everything we just rode through was danger zone?! No WONDER nobody cycles that route! Thank you, P', for telling us afterward — otherwise we'd have had chills up our spines and our hearts in our throats the whole way. And while we rode, they never once mentioned anything scary or hair-raising, so we never felt afraid — we were far more preoccupied with the climbing, because the hills were brutal, sapping every ounce of strength. And the club guys kept up the con there too: "this is the last hill!" Then another hill appears: "no, THIS is the last hill!" Eventually we caught on — that's quite a lot of "last hills" now, P'! But they kept the trick running the entire route, ha ha.

In the ferocious heat, Natt's face was an oil slick. And yet at every stop, the various sub-district administrative offices (Or Bor Tor) welcomed us magnificently, each refusing to be outdone by the last — free water, free snacks, free food, all the way. The crowds were huge. One Or Bor Tor even brought out a video camera; swarms of people taking photos as if we were celebrities. Meanwhile the state of Natt's face at that moment was severely un-camera-ready, sob... T_T. Natt made sure to tell Paul: when we launch, launch CLEANLY — fall over here and the humiliation gets documented by a hundred cameras. Ha.....

A welcome like that left Natt utterly moved. Complete strangers, from a different region — and they received us so generously. So warm. So touched by everyone's kindness. Two years later, P'See from Pattani told us that people down south still talk about Natt — because her ride through inspired southern women to take up cycling in far greater numbers. Before, they hadn't dared. Hearing that made us glow: we'd become a cycling inspiration for southern girls! And thank you to the cycling clubs of Ton Sai, Yi-ngo, Rueso, Raman districts, and all the other clubs we haven't named, who rode with Natt and delivered us safely the whole way. This friendship will never be forgotten.

Before & After

Before entering the 3 Southern Border Provinces, the two of us carried fear and negative assumptions. We were terrified. Were we going to spend the whole time flinching at shadows? It HAD to be frightening down there. Afraid of dying, afraid of bombs, afraid of being shot — exactly as the news had taught us. The situation looked savage: bombings every month, never-ending. But then we sat and reconsidered: fear — we can't stop the bombs. If we wanted to ride through every single province of Thailand, we HAD to make it through these three "dangerous" provinces. And besides, Natt figured:

If it's our time to die, we die. You can't forbid it. Let it go.

Then we went in. We met the local people, the Muslim communities — and they were wonderful. They cared for two strangers of a different religion and a different culture with pure goodwill. Everything was the polar opposite of what we'd imagined. We once asked a local friend: what is actually going on here? Why does the news make it look so violent and terrifying? He said: Nong Natt, here's an easy way to read it. When there's a bombing with no deaths — that's not the insurgents. That's people manufacturing noise to demand attention. Hearing the whole story, we understood there are conflicting interests tangled up in this — complexities outsiders can't grasp, but which locals know inside and out, every shallow and every depth. They simply cannot fight the people who hold power. It's a problem with no easy ending, as long as human greed exists — people who never know "enough," who harvest profit without end.

Natt wants people from other provinces to understand this anew. The truth is, the people of the 3 Southern Border Provinces are nothing like the fear suggests. When they travel, some people — on learning where they're from — ask vile questions like, "Did you bring a bomb with you?" The way Natt sees it: different religion, different language — but Thai all the same, with good people and bad people like anywhere. Don't lump them all together as bad just because they come from these three provinces. Other provinces have shootings too. Murders. Bombings. Arson. Why doesn't anyone brand people from THOSE provinces as bad? Don't judge people by the outside. Judge the true substance of the heart.

It's a Small World

From the 3 Southern Border Provinces, next came Hat Yai. We stopped at the Tourism Authority of Thailand's Hat Yai office, collecting another signature for our logbook as usual — thank you to the staff for the local travel info and for signing our book! Then, naturally, we didn't skip the local bike shop. While waiting for the owner to sign the book, Natt noticed a woman sitting in the shop who looked intensely familiar — but the name wouldn't come. She asked Paul: do you know that woman? Paul didn't. It nagged and nagged at her — who IS that? — her brain straining through past lives, until the name P'Bee floated up. Natt walked over and asked: excuse me, are you P'Bee? The woman turned around and said:

"NAT, you little rascal — what are YOU doing here?!" Well — that settles that. Greeted like THAT, it's definitely her. Ha ha.

P'Bee (Saichon Homchuen) used to live directly across the street from Natt's house in Lat Phrao. Over TWENTY years had passed without them seeing each other — and now P'Bee lives in Hat Yai. Natt marveled:

How is the world this round?

Two people who hadn't met in decades, somehow reunited this far from home.

When P'Bee saw Natt's bicycle, she said: "That was YOU who cut in front of my car just now!" Hilarious — everyone recognizes our bike. These days P'Bee is the brand manager for Bianchi bicycles. Natt had no idea P'Bee loved cycling, let alone worked in the bike industry like us. Call it fate, call it arrangements from on high — either way, what luck, to cross paths again with a kindred spirit from the old neighborhood.

Walking the Bike for the First Time

Next station —------- Trang

By train it's easy — just the next station. By bicycle, with a mountain in between, not easy at all. Truthfully, the climb over the hill was only 300 meters — nothing (though at the time it felt like 300 kilometers). And the gradient wasn't even particularly cruel. But we'd already ridden 50 kilometers that day; the legs were fading, strength gone, the sun hammering down, barely any tree shade, ferocious heat.

This route is the hill crossing from Satun over into Trang. A while past Thung Wa District, the hill rears up ahead of you — dun dun DUNNN. We pedaled up a little way and... nope. Couldn't. Surrender it is. So we walked the bike up the hill, folks. Natt felt utterly pathetic — exhausted half to death. Just picture it: the load was heavy, the fatigue was total, the heat punishing — high noon, sun aiming directly at our skulls. In the end Paul pushed the bike up alone, because Natt was exhausted just walking.

Paul got snippy: what, you're not even helping push? Strolling along empty-handed? And Natt: EXCUSE me — I'm exhausted just WALKING. Why should I push? This trip was YOUR idea, YOU push it. Full female-rage possession: snap, lash, slash, collide — and then a genuine full-blown fight. Hair-flip, storm off, separate zones, do NOT come near me. Maximum drama. Two people equally incapable of backing down — don't hold your breath waiting for anyone to apologize. Each walked alone, each in their own personal space.

Thinking back later — we rode the North, mountain country, and managed fine. Why couldn't we ride this puny hill? It must be because at that point our climbing skills were still low: it was early in the tour, and our muscles weren't yet strong enough for hills. Lots of people assume you must wait until your body is perfectly fit before attempting a tour. In truth, there's no need to wait that long — riding the real road, your body adapts as you go, because you're riding continuously. It's like joining a gym: the first sessions leave you so sore you can't lift your legs, but keep showing up and the soreness fades, until eventually it's gone altogether.

Even with drama of both the body and the heart —

in the end, we remember only the good things.

Trang means.........

The road into Trang town rolls up and down, up and down, the whole way — like a series of waves — to the point where Natt felt: if I take a wrong turn here, I am NOT backtracking, no chance. It was exhausting. How can one town have this many hills?! At the tourism office, we asked: what does "Trang" actually mean?

Trang means... waves. Errr..... well, that explains it. The road we just rode could compete with the open ocean. That is TOO many waves. -*-

The tourism officer added: if you visit Trang, you must go to Koh Libong to see the dugongs — one of the true highlights here. But it takes 2–3 days on the island. So Natt and Paul decided..... not to go. Ha ha! Because Natt had a wedding to attend in Surin province and feared falling behind schedule — and anyway, we didn't want to rush it. If you visit an island, you should give it real time. Next time, baby dugongs — auntie promises.

So in the end we visited nowhere at all — even though Trang has multiple "Unseen Thailand" gems: Koh Muk, Koh Kradan, Koh Chueak, Koh Ma — all of them begging to be snorkeled. We made do with a hip indie café in town. Stylish in its own way! But rest assured: next time we are absolutely coming back to collect what we missed.

Leave Me Alone In Silence (I'm Going to Puke....)

From Krabi, onward to Phuket — but not by bicycle this time. This leg, we're going by BOAT, folks (we have cycled it before, mind you). We wanted a change of mood — sea views, face to the breeze. So we boarded at Klong Jilad Pier.

Passenger Ferry — the boat goes:

Krabi ----🡪 Koh Phi Phi, then from Koh Phi Phi ----🡪 Phuket.

Four departures daily: 09.00, 10.00, 12.00, 15.00. Arrive about half an hour early. Tickets from Krabi to Phuket: 600 baht per person; Krabi to Phi Phi only: 400 baht.

From Phi Phi to Phuket there are just 2 departures — 09.00 and 14.30 — also 400 baht per person.

As for the bicycle fee — our guess is it depends entirely on the collector's mood. We phoned the pier; they said there's no fixed rate, it's up to whichever staff member collects it. Sometimes it's 40–50 baht. Natt got charged 100. Hang on — where did my 50 go? So she asked: excuse me, which rate are you using? The staffer said: there's no rate, but I always charge 100. Who knows if that's even true — the person quoting prices wasn't even the same person selling tickets. Total chaos. And the pier had just told us bicycles board here all the time! If it happens all the time, why on earth is there no fixed rate?! Make it definite! Don't just wing it and charge by mood! And if it weren't a Thai walking up — if it had been two foreigners — would this bike have been charged 500? Grrr... infuriating.

Once aboard, the two of us chose the open top deck. Roast us to charcoal, fine (we've taken plenty already, nothing left to lose, ha ha) — because someone had to guard the bicycle. Natt tucked herself into a corner so the sea wind would hit her face, hoping it might take the edge off the scorching heat. But for some reason a queasiness began rising. Natt sat very, VERY still (one movement and the puke arrives, guaranteed). Her mood in that moment: nobody come near me. Leave me alone in silence. Otherwise I may spray something onto you. Mercifully, she did not vomit and create yet another public humiliation — but oh, the torment: clamping down breath and throat, refusing to be swayed by the swell. Which left her pondering:

Between cycling 80 kilometers in the blazing sun, exhausted — and sitting seasick on a boat for 4 hours — which one is actually worse......

Sukko Much Bliss

The two of us had the chance to meet Director Bang-onrat Chinaprayoon of the Tourism Authority of Thailand, Phuket Office, who recommended a massage at Sukko Spa — a spa drowning in awards: the Kinnari Award from the Tourism Authority of Thailand, the HAPA Awards from Malaysia, and a certification as the best massage spa in Southeast Asia, no less. If the TAT hadn't sponsored the treatment for us, it would easily have cost upwards of 5,000 baht. From sun-charred to porcelain-pale in one afternoon, surely, ha ha. Our deepest thanks to the Director of TAT Phuket Office, recorded here for posterity!

Sukko Spa is a full-service operation: rooms, sauna, traditional Thai massage, yoga, cooking classes, even Muay Chaiya boxing lessons. The staff told us: anyone seeking a full-body detox and total relaxation will find every box ticked here. Natt and Paul opened with a half-hour sauna course, followed by an hour of Thai massage for Paul, while Natt followed with an hour of oil massage.

The spa is divided into private rooms, with staff who advise you — and enforce your full allotted sauna time. Natt snuck out for a breather; the attendant said: your time's not up yet, nong! Natt said: I can't, P'! It's HOT! The attendant said: go shower to cool down, then back in for another round. After two sauna rounds, Natt made a break for the bathroom to declare the course over — and was intercepted. No no, nong — one more round. Natt joked: brutal! The attendant laughed: not brutal — it's just that if customers don't complete the designed program, they'll go around saying our treatments don't actually work! My my... adorable, truly. Did I make a mistake bringing myself here to be tortured? During the oil massage, the therapist massaged the chest too. Not used to that. Felt... odd. Hee hee.

Overall verdict: bliss — even if rather ticklish. Didn't dare laugh out loud; could only squirm and wriggle, legs twitching off on their own until the masseuse had to grab them and reposition them. I'm hopelessly ticklish, P'! Ha ha. By the end of the course you could clearly feel the body lighter and looser. Their stuff genuinely works.

One more secret laugh: Paul. For the sauna course they have you undress, and after the hot soak they hand you paper underwear. Paul stood there holding up the paper underwear in pure bewilderment — staring at this minuscule paper garment — how am I supposed to fit into THIS? He stood there dithering awkwardly for a good while, until a staff member strolled past and teased:

"Yours must be BIG, huh — that's why it won't fit."

Paul went scarlet. I may be a farang, but I have FEELINGS, okay?! Stop looking at my equipment! The man blushed to the roots. The punchline: the paper underwear was stretchable all along. Ha.... that staffer was wicked, leaving big Paul standing there dangling in the breeze, ha ha. And being a large farang, the guest robes didn't fit him — he had to wear a STAFF robe. When Natt saw him she nearly howled with laughter: he looked exactly like a little boy. A deeply comic — but adorable — sight.

Meeting New Touring Friends

Mention Phang-nga province and most people think of the sea first: Khao Lak, the Surin Islands, the Similan Islands and so on — because the sea here is genuinely stunning; even foreigners flock here. But because Natt arrived by bicycle, she got to explore Phang-nga town — and let me tell you, it's beautiful. A small town nestled between two mountains: pedal anywhere and you're looking at mountain views. The roads here are infinitely flatter than wave-town (Trang). A town rich in nature — yet not without comforts, because as a tourist province there's development too: cafés, cute cake shops, restaurants, resorts and homestays. Right now Phang-nga's tourism office is promoting Koh Phra Thong, an island where you can spot 24 endangered species — a major destination that we suspect most people have never heard of. Natt herself hasn't been; we simply didn't have that much time. Firmly on the list for next round.

Our lodging was a tiny guesthouse called Home Phang-Nga — another place that impressed us enough to make The List. Wonderful atmosphere, mountain views, sunrise views, and in some seasons a sea of morning mist. Staying here felt glorious — total relaxation — plus fun activities on offer: whitewater rafting, snorkeling, cycling, off-road driving. And the owner himself is generous and completely down-to-earth. Everything just fit. Take it, sir: Natt hits Like — and throws in five stars. Ha ha.

And by some mystery of fate, destiny steered us straight into our own kind.

Riding back to the hotel, we saw a foreigner crossing the road toward us, clearly wanting to talk. On closer look — well well, touring cyclists, just like us! They introduced themselves: Thijs and Liesabeth, Belgians, around 25 years old. This couple had ridden from Belgium — through India, Laos, Thailand — and were continuing to Australia, with their final destination New Zealand. Their odometer already read five-thousand-something kilometers. Seriously strong. Magnificent. Made the two of us look like rank amateurs, ha ha. They were the first touring couple we'd met on this whole honeymoon trip.

The Belgian pair were hunting for a place to stay, so Natt recommended our guesthouse, and they happily followed us back — no doubt pleased to find fellow touring cyclists, and a couple at that. Someone to talk to! That night the gossip ran long. Somewhere in the conversation we learned that Thijs and Liesabeth were also heading into the 3 Southern Border Provinces. So we're not the only lunatics after all! We have company now, ha ha. We traded endless stories and experiences — one more night for the memory books.

At the Highest Point — and the Most Beautiful Road

Morning in Phang-nga is gorgeous. Quiet and peaceful, mountains embracing the road on both sides, trees everywhere, hardly any traffic — so we collected photo after photo along the way. At a glance you might think every shot is the same place, but no: different spots, different times, all with nature this pristine.

For the ride from Phang-nga to Ranong, Natt had riding companions: P'Chai (Wara Sathon, owner of the Home Phang-Nga resort) and P'Tom (Thaweesak Thammarak). The two of them announced they'd escort us all the way to the highest point of the day. Which obviously meant climbing. Natt pedaled over hill after hill, until at one she thought: THIS one, surely, is the summit — P'Chai and P'Tom must be waiting at the top. But no such luck. The two of them just kept riding.

Wait, WHAT — it's not this one either?!

So on we rode, to the next hill — this HAS to be it — and again, it wasn't. Nearly two hours passed this way. Then P'Chai asked for the camera so he could shoot some keepsake photos of us. Natt thought once more: this hill, definitely. We climbed for a while, P'Chai snapping away — and then he pulled up alongside and said: "This hill is just the appetizer, nong. The real one is up ahead." Oh...... mother of mercy....

When we finally met the real one, it stunned us — because it doesn't look tall. Lies, all lies. You round a switchback and it keeps climbing; round another and it tilts up again. A road of endless hairpins you must climb without pause — turn after turn after turn — until finally Paul ran out of fuel and called a rest stop mid-slope. P'Tom said: two more bends and you're there! By then our energy bars were deep in the red, but we summoned one more surge, hauling up hill after hill on the hope that the summit was near (deceived the entire way, mind you).

When the two of us finally crested the top, P'Chai praised us: well done, you've reached the peak — the rest of the way to Khuraburi is easy now, nothing higher than this. (P'Chai has climbed Doi Inthanon on a bike, so whether he could be believed... unclear.) Let me just say: it was EXHAUSTING. We had to enter full collapse mode, letting nature's breeze blow the heat off us. Five minutes to recover, then farewells. Before parting, P'Chai gave us bread and chocolate bars in case we starved along the way, ha ha. Thank you so much, P'! We'll absolutely stay with you again next time — and don't forget you owe us another tour!

13 — The Cursed Number

The two of us set foot in Ranong — province number 13. My my, the unlucky number — and sure enough, it delivered. Mid-ride, Paul asked: the bike feels wobbly — Natt, did you shift wrong? Natt answered: no, I'm sitting perfectly still! Paul began to suspect: flat tire? While descending a hill into a bend, Paul braked to scrub off speed — and the bike snapped sideways and went down. Natt's backside skidded along the asphalt; bike one way, humans the other. Thank goodness she slid toward the shoulder — sliding into the middle of the road could have meant death. And more luck: no car was behind us, or there would certainly have been a collision, because we crashed exactly at a blind bend. And one more mercy: the roadside was grass, not rocks. Otherwise...... it gives me chills to say it. Eek! Our bodies took only minor scrapes. Thank goodness for gloves — without them, the palms would have been shredded.

Getting up to inspect the bike: WHOA! The front tire was flat as a pancake. Our theory: it had been leaking slowly for a while, nearly empty by the time we hit the bend — so the instant Paul braked, the wheel whipped sideways and down went bike and riders both. One pannier was flung off too, its bottom scraped raw on the asphalt to match. At first Natt felt no real pain, but soon her arm and leg began aching — the entire right side. She must have landed right-arm-first. Nothing serious though. As for the backside — unclear whether it hurt from the impact or from hours in that pedaling position. Paul, meanwhile, had NOTHING. Not a scratch, not a bruise. How exactly did the man dismount? (Divine. Suspiciously skilled.)

But the bicycle needed a new inner tube. Let this be advance notice for every touring beginner: learn to change a tire. Because near or far, you WILL meet punctures, slow leaks, and blowouts — guaranteed. Thai roads keep the surprises coming. Natt couldn't change a tire either, once upon a time. On the Malaysia trip she left it all to Paul — and he taught while he worked. Consider this: the flats came so often that Natt can now change a tire herself. One more recommendation: invest properly in good tires AND good tubes, the best you can. Constantly changing cheap ones isn't economical either.

Before fitting the new tube, don't forget to check the tire casing for embedded debris — skip that check and even a fresh tube can go flat again. Inspecting carefully, we found a tiny wire fragment, like a straightened staple — the kind embedded in truck tires for reinforcement. About 500 meters before the crash site, we'd seen the shredded carcass of a truck tire on the roadside — and we'd ridden right past close to it. We must have rolled over a fragment, and this was the result. Lucky we carried a spare tube, or we'd have been going nowhere. The number 13 is potent indeed.

The Father-Mother-Child Hot Springs

Reaching Ranong town, Natt and Paul visited the 'Raksawarin' hot springs — also known as the Father, Mother, and Child springs. These are springs the medical profession actually recommends for therapy, because the water is rich in important minerals — and this is the ONLY source in Thailand with zero sulfur contamination. No sulfur smell whatsoever, and so pure that it's directly drinkable, no filtration of any kind needed — one of only a handful of such springs in the entire world. Wow..... Anyone with joint pain, bone pain, arthritis, or paralysis: come soak at gentle temperatures in the small pools dotted around — multiple heat levels, take your pick. The locals love bathing here, since the water is clean and therapeutic for the skin too.

The other highlight: the springs are arranged as Father, Mother, and Child pools — and the Father pool is the hottest, at about 65°C. That one's for boiling eggs only, folks! These springs even forecast the tsunami about a week before it struck: the water changed color, the level rose, and the temperature went haywire — as if nature were sounding an alarm that something terrible was coming. Then came the earthquake and the tsunami. Genuinely uncanny.

Well... after a sales pitch like that, leaving without a soak would be a wasted trip, no?

Natt and Paul went early — by 8 a.m. people were already arriving; on holidays it must be far more crowded. We sank into the hot water with tremendous satisfaction. A touch too hot at first, but once the body recalibrated, it settled — pure comfort. Natt managed only half an hour, though. Couldn't take more. HOT. But climbing out of the pool, she could feel it instantly: the cycling-soreness in her legs had improved. Still aching, but relieved. Soak longer and it might vanish entirely. We got out too soon this time — next visit, a proper long soak.

23 Days, 12 Kilos

Of everything we'd hauled from the start until now — 23 days in — plenty had gone essentially unused. Such as Paul's hair clippers. Those things are HEAVY. Why did we bring them?! A barber shop cuts hair for 50 baht! Two pairs of flip-flops — why on earth TWO? And the heaviest culprit of all: the notebook computer. All we could do was grumble, because that couldn't be sent back — honeymoon or not, work still had to be done. Plus assorted others, blah blah blah... So before setting off for Chumphon, we mailed another load home: 4.2 kilograms.

That made shipment number three. In total, Natt had now sent back roughly 12 kilograms. Oof! Staggering. HOW was I carrying all that?! That much stuff! And after sending it off, if you asked Natt:

"Feels much lighter now, right?" The answer: "Not much."

Though she could sort of feel it was a little lighter — or was that pure imagination? What was certain: there would absolutely be another shipment home.

Friend John

From Ranong we aimed for Chumphon, bound for Thung Wua Laen Beach — 145 kilometers in total, arguably the longest single day we'd ever ridden. Normally we cover 70–80 km a day and then start hunting for lodging; even riding solo, 110 km counts as very far.

It had been arranged in advance that friend John (John Graham) — one of our sponsors, from the website www.bicyclethailand.com — would be waiting at Chumphon to ride back to Hua Hin with us. John is a former U.S. Marine who is bicycle-mad — a man with his own delightfully odd ideas, whose every inhale and exhale is bicycles, bicycles, and bicycles. He likes to ride in flip-flops — even a 100-kilometer day, he'll do in flip-flops. (How? Nobody knows.)

Natt was impressed by friend John because he truly understands the way of cycling. For instance: before a climb, John would pull alongside Natt and chat away about this and that, making her forget the mountain entirely. But if the hill ahead was genuinely brutal, John would go quiet and let us focus on the climb. John has ridden for many, many years — experience like a pilot with thousands of flight hours — so he has a rather deep grasp of cyclist psychology, adapting to each situation, gently conning us into relaxing the whole way through. And in the end, the miles passed in pure fun. Thank You, friend John!

The Kilometer Markers

When you're cycling, you naturally want to know: how many kilometers have we done? Where are we? Are we nearly there yeeet...? Natt, sitting up front, habitually watches the kilometer marker posts. On the stretch from Ranong to Chumphon, watching the markers, something felt... off.

From 121, counting down: 120, 119 — then suddenly 108, 107, 106, 105 — then a sudden leap UP to 120, then back down again, 119. WHAT IS HAPPENING. I am so confused by you, kilometer markers. And this wasn't one isolated spot — the whole tour we'd hit stretches where the numbers went scrambled and dizzy like this. Sometimes the markers simply vanished. Like on the way to Ayutthaya:

From 14, 13, 12, 11 — then suddenly 25, 24, 23, 22, 21. Errr... since when have I been riding BACKWARD?

The moral of this story:

Thai kilometer markers cannot be trusted, darling. Just keep pedaling. You'll get there eventually.

Hawk-Watching

Reaching Chumphon town, we naturally stopped at the tourism office for Director Uthai Woramaskul to sign our book. He told us he too used to ride bicycle tours back in the day — even sewed his own panniers! — but nowadays has no time to ride. A genuine shame. Hearing it gave Natt a quiet glow: here was a senior official who shared the love of bicycle touring. A fine omen, perhaps, for Chumphon to grow into a cycling city.

Natt didn't forget to ask about the origins of the names "Ranong" and "Chumphon." Ranong: the area was once rich in tin ore, so it was called 'Rae Nong' — "abundant ore" — which over time slurred into Ranong. As for Chumphon, Natt had wondered if it related to Prince Chumphon (Krom Luang Chumphon). The Director explained: the area once teemed with fig trees of the uthumphon variety, and THAT slurred into Chumphon. (Quite the journey of a word, ha ha.)

Around October each year comes the hawk migration, the raptors streaming over Chumphon and Prachuap Khiri Khan provinces — a true highlight of the region. Natt desperately wanted to see it, but it turned out we'd arrived too early; the hawks hadn't come yet. A pinch of disappointment mixed with regret — she'd so wanted to feast her eyes on hawks. At the time she figured she simply lacked the merit for it. But later, riding down from the North into the Central region — peekaboo! — hawks! Five or six of them soaring overhead, enormous, flying close enough to see in detail. Hawk wish: granted. Yay!

Southerners Are Lovely

With every province of the South now visited, it had all worked out. Yes, there were obstacles — but none beyond our strength to solve. Every town we explored had its own particular beauty, and the people were gracious everywhere. The truth is, southerners are lovely — especially the Muslim communities: quick to greet you, faces bright with smiles, waving bye-bye, attentive and caring. It defied everything we'd expected, fed as we'd been on media coverage of the South — "Muslims are scary," this and that. Meet them in person and there is nothing frightening at all. They're wonderful. They loved chatting with us and even gave us blessings — honestly we couldn't understand a word, but it was DEFINITELY blessings, ha ha.

But here's the strange thing. In Chumphon, most people warned us: watch out for Surat Thani people — Surat people are scary. Reaching Surat Thani, people said: careful in Songkhla — very scary, dangerous. Reaching Songkhla: watch out for Yala and Pattani! Every southern province Natt touched made a point of warning us about the people of some OTHER province (always within the South). And on actually arriving — nothing. Ever. Are southerners just frightened of each other?! If you're all scared of each other like this, who from outside will ever dare visit?! So allow me to issue an official statement right here: just GO. It is nothing like the fear suggests. It's merely as if a fog has been draped over these towns — and once you push through that curtain of fog, you'll see the beauty hidden inside.

The French Touring Cyclist

From Chumphon, the two of us took the coastal road from Bo Mao district into Prachuap Khiri Khan — entering the West now! This route is a small road hugging the sea along Bo Mao Bay, a decent distance, and let me tell you: stunning. Natt has ridden this road 10 times already, and every single time she meets touring cyclists, because this route is beloved by tourers both Thai and foreign — the views are simply made for cycling.

This time, Natt met a Frenchman named David Hiades, riding solo. He'd pedaled from France into the Netherlands, crossed Russia, dropped down through China, passed through Laos, Vietnam, Thailand — final destination: Australia.

Natt noticed he was hauling a LOT — panniers plus a trailer — so she asked what he was carrying. He explained: a tent, survival gear, clothes, the works — because his route was enormously long, spanning many months, and in some countries everything is expensive (Australia, for instance), so he had to keep costs down.

Hearing his story filled us with admiration. P', you are STRONG. Absolutely power-mad.... ha ha. Riding across that many countries, living on next to nothing, with focus and determination, making the dream real. Your heart is magnificent, sir. Two thumbs up.

Mountains and Problems

We met hill after rolling hill from Bo Mao district to Prachuap Khiri Khan town — and the exhaustion was real. It reminded Natt of the Malaysia ride, which had passed this exact same spot — where she'd sat down and cried from exhaustion and despair, wanting to go home, a full-blown whiny child. (Looking back, she laughs at herself.)

Every mountain is like a problem we have to get over. People love to run from problems — the fear arrives before the problem does. See a mountain: oh no, here we go again — already flinching. But once you've climbed it and rolled down the other side, a feeling arrives:

Hey... I actually rode that. What was I so afraid of?

Problems exist to test our hearts. Just TRY first. Sometimes a problem looks enormous, impossibly hard — when in truth it may be tiny and easy, if we'd only attempt to solve it. And crucially: be prepared for problems both large and small. Don't be careless and dismiss things as trivial — but cowering in excessive fear isn't right either.

That earlier experience, at this very spot, taught Natt how to face each approaching problem — each approaching mountain — and how to plan the fight for the next one. Prepare the body, prepare the heart, and we will get through.

Every mountain, every hill climbed is a lesson — a problem to learn from, built from our own mistakes — training the heart to be stronger, to refuse despair. And then we will step (pedal) our way through it.

Every problem always has a way out.

The Spectacled Langurs at Wing 5

On the way into the provincial town of Prachuap Khiri Khan, the two of us stopped at Wing 5 — the air force base at Ao Manao. Every time we pass this way, we MUST drop in on this gang of dear old friends. At Wing 5, near the Khao Lom Muak shrine, there's a conservation area for southern spectacled langurs. Natt has been 3–4 times now, and every visit with these ladies delivers something hilarious and strange.

Now, the spectacled langur plays hard to get. You don't just stroll in and meet them. Mostly they descend to mingle with humans in the morning, and again toward evening. And even when you DO meet them, don't imagine you get up-close contact for free, darling. You must bring goods for exchange.

You give me food — and I shall permit you to gaze upon my beauty. (Full celebrity-diva behavior.)

Anyone passing this way can drop in and greet the ladies — just come at the right hours so you're not stood up, hee hee. And once inside, don't forget the gifts! Most people see the spectacled langur's face and figure they're basically monkeys — surely banana fans. But little do they know: these ladies are far more interested in peanuts.

They are unbearably adorable. When you feed them nuts, one little hand holds YOUR hand steady while the other hand picks peanuts into their mouth. Some cling to your leg begging for nuts; some come cuddle up on Natt's head; some approach with the most innocent eyes imaginable — and the instant you're distracted, swipe the entire bag. And their fur! SO soft.... makes you want to SQUEAL...! Total meltdown material. Excessively cute (said in a high-pitched voice). But don't be fooled — they're proper little devils too: one once leapt onto Natt's back and PEED on her!!! Forgiven, though, on grounds of cuteness, ha ha. In any case, when you visit the ladies, remember: bring boiled peanuts, or dry-roasted, UNSALTED, okay?

I have fallen hopelessly in love with the southern spectacled langur......

The Bird That Played Dead

Along a stretch of road with very little traffic, we came upon a bird lying flat on its back, legs pointing at the sky, in the middle of the road. Another bird kept swooping down — fwoosh! — fast, right to the one lying belly-up, then flying — fwoosh! — back up, then swooping again. Three or four times. Natt figured: the bird must be dead, and the swooper must be its mate, diving down to hold a deathbed vigil.

What's wrong?! Wake up! Don't die! Don't leave me yet! That poor bird must be devastated. Then, as Natt pedaled close to the body — legs skyward, fully deceased in appearance — it BOUNCED upright in a flash. BOING!

And flapped — whoosh whoosh — away.

...WHAT! Excuse me?! Then what was THAT performance just now?! Hmm.... was it playing dead for attention, to make the other bird (and Natt, apparently) feel sorry for it? Or playing dead out of romantic spite?

You don't love me anymore... sob...... I'd rather DIE.

And down that rabbit hole Natt went, theorizing — what WAS that? hunting for explanations — maybe this, maybe that — for a solid half hour, until Paul said: you're STILL not done with this? -*-

But honestly, it was hilarious. The moment she saw the bird's act, the laughter just arrived — never in her life had she seen a bird fake its own death. Normally when Natt rides, there's a window of focus — and the rest is daydreams, drifting wherever. This was one such drift, because there's nothing to do but push pedals and let the brain float free. When the daydreaming wears itself out, focus returns — though the daydreaming, frankly, takes up far more hours than the focus. Ha ha.

Anyone with a similar experience — come share!

P'Shoot — to the Very Ends of the Country

Reaching the provincial town of Phetchaburi, we spotted a cyclist coming the opposite way, who then pulled up in front of a drink shop. Natt said to Paul: hey hey — let's go talk to him! We parked alongside his bike: oh my, panniers GALORE. Definitely touring. Soon the bike's owner emerged from the shop and asked:

"Are you the couple cycling your honeymoon around all of Thailand? I saw you on a friend's Facebook — I was just wondering whether we'd ever cross paths!" And he laughed.

The owner of that 7-year-old classic bicycle is P'Shoot — a young man of 31 who quit his job and decided to ride. He started from the northernmost point of Thailand, rode to the easternmost point of the country, then from the westernmost point, and was now heading for the southernmost. Simply put, his concept is one of a kind: ride to the true northern, southern, eastern, and western EXTREMES of Thailand. Total distance so far: over 5,700 kilometers. Magnificent, P'.

Natt talked with P'Shoot about all sorts of things, trading route experiences. His monthly budget: under ten thousand baht. WOW. Incredible! Natt's runs well over ten thousand a month — because Natt sleeps in hotels, thank you, a girl needs a little comfort — while he pitches a tent and sleeps wherever the road ends that day. Asceticism at its finest. And P'Shoot has some genuinely interesting thoughts about bicycles:

"Riding a bicycle opens a view of the world no other vehicle can offer — a view of the generosity of Thai people, the kind we've all heard about since childhood but hardly ever actually get to touch."

"I don't really understand why people show more kindness to a bicycle than to any other vehicle. Maybe it's because they see us spending our own sweat, our own muscle — and it moves them."

"Cycling is exercise. Whatever speed we ride is whatever speed we can carry ourselves — purely our own energy. We take nothing from the planet, burn no fossil fuel. Fast or slow, it's entirely up to us."

"About long distances — plenty of people told me it was impossible by bicycle. Even cycling club veterans said so. And yet when those same people talk distances, they talk in HUNDREDS of kilometers! Districts sit 30–40 km apart. Just keep riding, district to district — easy. The only question is whether you dare cross outside your own safety zone. When I rode along the river that divides two countries, I understood: the border line everyone talks about is just an optical illusion. Cross that river and you're in another country. Nothing physically stops you at all. The world is simply the world — in the old days anyone went anywhere without nearly the fuss of today. The only real border line between two countries, I think, is language."

Getting to know P'Shoot, hearing his stories, trading experiences and worldviews — Natt was deeply impressed. She'd never seen a Thai tourer riding to the four extreme points of the country like this. And he was the first fellow Thai we'd met who was out touring at the same time as us.

"Just ride. Just pedal. No amount of describing this can equal trying it yourself. The person recommending it may love it — and you may try it and hate it. That's possible too. But at the very least, you must try it with your own legs first."

— P'Shoot

The Tandem Couple

Now the two of us had reached Ban Pong, Ratchaburi province — where we got to meet a Thai couple who also ride a tandem! Theirs is the standard kind: two seats in a row, handlebars for both riders. If you can't picture it, it's like the two-person bikes you see people pedaling around Rot Fai Park.

Seeing this couple reminded Natt of a pair we'd met down south: an uncle and auntie on a tandem, towing a trailer carrying a big white SHEEP. Natt asked the auntie: why have you brought a sheep?! She said:

"We raise her like our own child. The sheep calls me Mom." Adorable! Seeing that, Natt wanted to bring a dog along next time.

Speaking of touring with pets — before this tour began, Natt (a devoted dog lover by nature) told Paul she wanted to bring a dog. She'd followed the story of a man touring across America with his dog: one man, one dog, and when they climbed mountains, each carried his own pack — the dog hauling its own food, the man hauling his. SO cute! (high-pitched voice) She wanted a dog along too. Two days into the actual tour, Natt said to Paul: thank goodness we didn't bring a dog. No idea how we'd have shipped it home. Ha ha.

Anyway — back to the Thai tandem couple, the second couple Natt met on this tour: P'Nisit and P'Sunee Sriburasuk, husband and wife, both PAST SIXTY, from Ban Pong. They love cycling, run marathons, race TRIATHLONS. Their physiques are pure athlete — outrageously strong, unbelievably cool. And sharing the same passion, they get to do it all together. Adorable, no? They take superb care of their health and never use age as an excuse for anything.

We can keep ourselves beautiful, you know.

No need to become some old auntie who's let herself go.

Whatever you want to do, you can do it — if it's good for you, makes you happy, and harms no one. P'Nisit and P'Sunee are officially among Natt's idols. When Natt is 60, she'll be exactly like these two. Ha ha.

Heading to Rayong

Normally, traveling to the beaches of Chonburi or Rayong means taking Sukhumvit Road — and 90% of this leg, Natt had to ride that very road. Let me report: traffic is INSANE — cars, vans, buses — constant vigilance against being sideswiped, or possibly flattened to death by the big-rig gang. Genuinely frightening, especially the ten-wheeler trucks boxing us in from all four directions in the gridlock. Look any direction: shipping containers. Exhaust fumes beyond measure — stinking, broiling. The stress was enormous.

Then came another near-death event: a car pulled up whose passenger rolled down the window to photograph Natt and Paul — right while we were grinding up a hill. The driver stopped watching the road entirely, letting the car drift over, squeezing the two of us gradually toward the edge — we were nearly forced off the road. Natt waved furiously at them to BACK OFF — and they apparently took it as friendly waving and waved back. It was NOT friendly. I am shooing you AWAY. And think about it: photographing Natt at her most haggard, mid-climb, while being squeezed off the road by your car — that face is maximum stress, strictly not receiving visitors. So please — photograph us on the DOWNHILLS. Natt will give you a proper smile.

I'm begging you. PLEASE.....

Who Is Sunthorn Phu?

Reaching Rayong, the two of us visited the Sunthorn Phu Monument, which sits about 5 kilometers past Laem Mae Phim toward Klaeng district, on the Klaeng–Laem Mae Phim road. Natt avoided Sukhumvit by taking the beach road along Ban Phe — which many of you surely know well, since it's the ferry pier for hopping over to Koh Samet, la-la-la! If you've never cycled this road: highest recommendation. Gorgeous views — a wide two-lane road tracing the beach, lined the whole way with casuarina pines, shady and beautiful. If only Thailand had MANY more roads like this.

Natt had planned to pose the bicycle in front of the Sunthorn Phu Monument for a keepsake photo, but crowds of people were there paying their respects — and there were rather a lot of stairs besides — so the dream shot was abandoned.

Paul wondered: who IS Sunthorn Phu? Natt explained: a towering figure — the master poet of the Rattanakosin era, no less, a high-ranking court official under King Rama II, author of the epic poem Phra Aphai Mani. Paul then asked: and who is Phra Aphai Mani? Natt explained, pointing at the statues: see — the one playing the flute is Phra Aphai Mani; that's the mermaid; that's the sea-ogress Phisuea Samut — all characters from the literature — and launched into the tale of Phra Aphai Mani... A lengthy, winding explanation later: the man understood NOTHING. -*- Ugh.... worse, he dragged Natt down into the muddle with him — the more she told it, the more SHE got confused, fumbling for the right English vocabulary for classical poetry, no idea which words would land. Explaining this stuff to a farang is genuinely HARD. In the end she had to just cut the story off.

The lesson here: don't over-explain. However long you talk, the man won't get it. If you want to know — Google it.

Auto Pilot — or Zombie Mode

There's one daily routine Natt never noticed at all until she read what Paul had written in his diary. Every morning, the two of us try to wake at 5 or 5:30 a.m. to get an early start. The instant the alarm goes, there is NO conversation. Paul wakes first and goes to shower, while Natt lies there negotiating with herself. You have to get up now. No no — I'm not ready to be awake. But if I don't get up NOW, the later it gets, the hotter it gets... A full internal battle of the will. (And if Paul hasn't gotten up yet, Natt is certainly not getting up, hee hee.) Trying to rise as slowly as physically possible. Because LAZY, that's why.

After showering, gathering our things, packing the bags to ride on — our condition at that hour is pure zombie: faces dazed, lifeless, eyes barely able to open, like beings without feelings. There is no dialogue whatsoever beyond: "Got everything packed?"

Once rolling, through the early riding, the two of us operate in full Auto Pilot mode — each pedaling in total silence, like a couple mid-feud. Until breakfast. The moment nutrients trickle down into the stomach, it's as though magic power surges through and awakens the body: from zombie state, we transform back into ordinary humans. Life force: resurrected. And only then does the first greeting of the day occur. When Natt read this in Paul's diary, she thought: that is SO funny — because every word is true. Laughing at ourselves, ha ha.

Non Din Daeng

From Sa Kaeo, heading for Buriram, we had already ridden 90 kilometers when we reached the foot of the Non Din Daeng climb. We started hunting for lodging, planning to attack the hill fresh the next morning. But asking the locals, they said: "You have to climb 3 kilometers over the hill — there's no lodging on this side. You have to get to the other side." (Meaning: cross the hill TODAY.) Oh no. Can we even MAKE it?!!

We were already deeply exhausted — but what choice was there? Cross today or sleep nowhere. Climbing Non Din Daeng was utter chaos: pedaling, pushing, shoving — Natt could barely even WALK herself up, let alone the bike. It was exhaaaausting (permission to drag that word out). And this road is a narrow two-lane with traffic in both directions, NO shoulder, heavy traffic — and all of it big rigs, practically squeezing us off the asphalt. Stopping wasn't an option. We simply had to drag our carcasses and the bicycle up.

Walking a bike needs a fair amount of lateral space, and Paul is a big man — we were terrified of getting clipped on the backside or the arm. Genuinely scary. Every vehicle coming up was driving FAST, with very little care. Maximum stress. Several cars honked at us as they passed — and Natt couldn't tell if they were honking us out of the way or honking encouragement. Sometimes Natt watched the overtaking cars with longing, pitiful eyes:

P'..... please take me with you......

Watching until each car vanished from sight. Siiiiigh.

Up on that ridge, although the roadside showed nothing but mountain and trees, there WAS a rest stop — somewhere to rest the legs, drop some food into the belly, and find cold water to pour over ourselves. Natt bought 4 bottles: drank 2, and poured the other 2 over her body. And would you believe — the moment the water hit the outer skin:

It SIZZLED.....

Like steam rising off it. Fsssshhh........... Every last pore must have been gaping wide open, as if fresh out of a sauna. Glorious.

After the descent, there were still 15 more kilometers to the lodging. Tears nearly fell. Natt wanted to HUG the resort owner — to thank him for choosing to open a resort out here. (She didn't actually do it. He'd have been very confused. Ha ha.) And let the record show: that night we slept EARLY. Shower, dinner, and lights out at SIX P.M., folks — straight through to morning. Bone-deep exhaustion. Put it this way: the bed was hard as a plank, looked thoroughly unsleepable — and we slept like the dead anyway. Draw your own conclusions. Hee hee.

P'James of Sisaket

The two of us had arranged to meet P'James (Ekkachai Parittothok) at the PTT gas station, Samrong Thap branch, Surin province — he was coming to ride escort into Sisaket. P'James is another bicycle devotee, with his home in Sisaket, and he played full Host: welcoming us, touring us around, taking care of absolutely everything.

And P'James didn't come alone — he brought his whole cycling gang along to join in. Every one of his friends had thighs like coiled rope; these people ride SERIOUSLY. And here's the comedy: riding into Sisaket, the group was FLYING. Natt normally rides at about 18–20 km/h, but this pack was rolling at 20–25 km/h. That is too fast, people. After 20 kilometers, we stopped for water, and Natt told P'James: please slow down, that's too quick! And P'James said: I'M exhausted too! I saw you glued to my back wheel, so I thought I was going too SLOW and sped up! (His normal cruising speed is also 18–20 km/h.) Meanwhile, from our side: we saw HIM speeding up, so we sprinted to keep his wheel, terrified of being dropped. For 20 straight kilometers it was essentially a game of relay tag — chasing, fleeing, chasing, fleeing — until every single rider was gasping like a landed fish.

WHAT even was that?!

The Mai Kham Tawan Group — Touring Veterans of the Highest Order

Before Ubon Ratchathani, members of the Mai Kham Tawan group ("The Props That Hold Up the Sun") came out to meet us and escort us into the city. These folks are old-guard touring royalty — every one of them PAST SIXTY. Four of them came. And despite being over 60, their legs would put 30-year-olds to shame, ha ha. Their normal touring day: 200 kilometers. Absolutely magnificent.

We rode 60 kilometers together, then stopped at a coffee shop. The uncles sat sipping their drinks in total serenity — not one drop of sweat, not one audible breath of fatigue among the entire group. HOW?! The strength is real. Utmost respect. Meanwhile yours truly sat there posing — performing not-tired-at-all with every muscle in her face. Be grateful I didn't ask anyone for smelling salts. Ha ha.

Cycling isn't about the brand on the frame or the price tag. It's about the heart of the rider: do you dare to ride? Will you fight? You can buy a 200,000-baht bicycle and ride it twice a year — useless. Conversely, someone on an ordinary LA-brand bike who rides every single day — even at an advanced age — if the heart fights, it gets done. As the saying goes:

No victory is as great as victory over your own heart. Don't you agree?

Baan Home Hug

'Baan Home Hug' — formally the Suthasinee Noi-in Foundation for Children and Youth — is a home for orphans who contracted HIV in their mothers' wombs. These children receive care for both body and heart, wrapped in the warm embrace of Mae Tiw (Khun Suthasinee Noi-in). Mae Tiw's story was once told through a Thai Life Insurance commercial — if you can't place it, search for the "Mae Toi" ad; they built that commercial on Mae Tiw's true story. Moving, isn't it? Watch it and the tears come. T_T

Natt had visited three times before; this was visit number four. Arriving in Yasothon, we made sure to go see the kids of Baan Home Hug. Natt still remembered every child she'd met before. These kids break your heart — all the more when you learn how the local community treats them. Many people display open disgust, and believe these children carry karma — that they were bad people in past lives. Natt finds that profoundly unjust. EVERYONE carries karma. Karma is a matter of a past that none of us can edit.

But right now, in this present, they are honest, innocent children. Given a choice, they would never have chosen this. Why not give them a chance — give them good things, with compassion? Yet the local community looks away, pretending not to see, ears in the rice field, eyes in the corn. Even the neighborhood temple — the one whose walls the local faithful donated money to build HIGHER — when someone asked the abbot why he didn't help care for the children, he replied: if we take the children in and people find out, the donations stop. Hearing that made Natt feel sick. Aren't you a MONK? How does a monk arrive at that thought? A monk, of all people, should know the words giving, loving-kindness, compassion better than anyone — why would fear of losing donations even enter into it? Total collapse of faith in any temple that prizes material wealth over the heart like this.

Baan Home Hug regularly receives strangers bearing donations of money and goods — but the majority are FOREIGNERS, people who see the importance, see the worth, give the kids a chance. And whenever a familiar face returns to visit again, the children light up. At first Natt assumed the kids wouldn't remember the two of us — but Nong Piang and three or four other girls shouted:

"P'NAT!"

— and ran into her arms. The tears nearly fell right there. So moved that they remembered. The kids asked: P'Natt, what are you doing here? Natt said: I came by BICYCLE. Look..... and she wheeled the bike over, showed them photos, spread open the map of Thailand and narrated: P' rode from Surat Thani, and then pedaled and pedaled............. — keeping the telling simple enough for children. And she took the chance to plant a new idea in their heads:

Don't let other people pass judgment on your life. Whatever you want to do — go do it.

Every human life is uncertain anyway. For all we know, I might die before YOU do. Don't think: "well, I'm dying anyway, so I won't do anything at all" — that's like deciding never to shower because you'll only get dirty again. That thinking is simply wrong. These kids have grown up among relatives and neighbors with cramped little minds: these children will never amount to anything; they have AIDS, they'll die soon; why bother with school, no need to study — and they've stuffed those poisonous thoughts into the children's heads. Children are white cloth: whatever dye is thrown on them is the color they become. However many years, months, days any of us has left does not matter. What matters is to make ourselves worth something — do good, collect happiness and beautiful memories. Whatever you want to do, do it NOW. Don't wait — so long as it harms no one.

Don't live a life that contains the word "if........." — that word means you haven't lived it fully yet.

Natt let the kids climb on and try pedaling the bicycle — Mae Tiw had a go too. The children LOVED it, forming a great queue for their turns. Before each ride, every face wore that half-brave, half-scared look — and the moment they were up and pedaling, every face split into an enormous smile. Pure joy. Natt had never seen the kids smile with happiness like that before. A shame no photos were taken — too busy standing there grinning along with them. But at least the memory is filed safely in the heart. Mae Tiw told Natt:

"Thank you so much for coming back. Most people who donate never return. But you came BACK — and that shows the children that someone still loves them, that someone still worries about them."

When the kids came in for hugs, Natt hugged them right back, without one thought about their illness — because Natt knows exactly what these children need: love.

And we — strangers — are perfectly capable of giving them love and warmth. Come take all you need from me, little ones. A stranger who loves you.

Another Blowout (Again)

Riding into Amnat Charoen, we stopped at a bike shop to buy spare inner tubes, then pedaled about 10 kilometers out of town. A light drizzle was falling — when suddenly: BANG! Natt's first thought was gunfire. But it was one BANG! and then silence — and within seconds the bicycle began to wobble. Mercifully we didn't go down. Dismounting to inspect: front tire, flat as paper. And lucky once more — just a few steps ahead stood a roadside pavilion. Saved! We hustled the bike in.

Now, when changing a tube — as mentioned before — you must first check the tire casing for anything sharp, and the casing must be in sound condition. Paul checked thoroughly: no thorns, no debris, nothing that could puncture. So he fitted the new tube and off we rode — and about 5 kilometers later: BANG! Again. But this one was VIOLENT — strong enough that we felt the blast of air hit our arms. Pulling the front wheel off, we saw the tire's sidewall had worn thin — rotted, you could say — letting the inner tube bulge out through it (rather like a person's hernia). Add rainwater, the weight of riders and luggage, plus the rubbing between wheel and brake — and finally the tube detonated. Torn clean through. The TIRE itself now needed replacing. And now what? Tubes: gone. Spare tire: none. Rain: intensifying. Location: outside town, nearly 20 kilometers from the closest bike shop. Couldn't go back; couldn't go on. So we sheltered from the rain in a roadside pavilion to think our way out. Rather a pile-on, no?

We couldn't sit out the rain forever — it showed zero intention of stopping. So we set out again, this time walking the bike. We walked until we came to a house beside the road and asked permission to shelter from the rain. The owners were lovely — welcomed us in and brought us drinking water. They asked what had happened, and Natt recounted the whole saga above, adding that we had no idea what to do next. Then the owner's son walked over and said:

"Want me to drive you to the bike shop? Buy what you need, and I'll bring you back."

Natt and Paul accepted, leaving the bicycle behind at the house. Tire purchased, he drove us back, the new tire went on, and the bicycle lived again. The kindness of fellow Thais — it truly moves you. We were total strangers, and he gladly drove us into town just so we could buy a tire. Without that house, we'd have been in genuine trouble.

Out of gratitude we offered money toward the fuel. At first he refused, but Natt insisted — please take it, for OUR peace of mind. Upcountry Thais: generous, kind beyond measure. Deeply, deeply impressed.

The old saying — 'Thais never abandon each other' — still holds true.

Why Is It Called Nakhon Phanom?

Speaking of Nakhon Phanom: in Natt's view, this is one of the more fascinating towns — small, quiet, peaceful, where life runs simple and easy. Being there just feels GOOD. The food scene is wide and delicious across the board, savory and sweet alike (yes, there are cute cake shops too, believe it). And you can cycle right along the bank of the Mekong River, gazing at the gorgeous scenery on the Lao side.

There are plenty of attractions besides — 'Phra That Phanom,' 'Phra That Tha Uthen,' 'Phra That...'

'...Sithi,' the 'Nakhon Phanom Governor's Residence Museum,' the 'Riverfront Embankment,' and 'Sri Khotrabun Golden Sand Beach'

— and that's just a sampling, because there's plenty more worth seeing.

When Natt rode into the town, the route was so FLAT it was puzzling. Why does Nakhon Phanom have no mountains at all? The word 'phanom' means MOUNTAIN — so "Nakhon Phanom" should be the City of Mountains, surely! When she asked the locals, they walked her to the bank of the Mekong and said:

"See the mountains on that side (the Lao side)? THOSE are Nakhon Phanom's mountains."

You see, in the old days (the era of the Sri Khotrabun kingdom), the land on the Lao side of the Mekong used to belong to Siam. In the reign of King Rama V, Siam was forced to cede that territory to France in order to preserve its independence. And so today, Nakhon Phanom is a nakhon (city) without any phanom (mountains). And there you have it.

The Road of Churches

There's another road, from Nakhon Phanom town toward Sakon Nakhon, that deserves a recommendation — a very strange road indeed: the roadside is lined with CHRISTIAN CHURCHES, a good dozen or more of them. And each one is lavishly, gorgeously built — one look and you know serious money went in. Which meant something out of the ordinary HAD to be going on around here, because Natt had ridden the entire country and never once met a road with this many churches.

A little research revealed the story: Catholic Christianity spread most strongly into Sakon Nakhon, Nakhon Phanom, Mukdahan, and Yasothon. And in Sakon Nakhon there's one Catholic community numbering in the tens of thousands: the 'Tha Rae community,' whose original Christians migrated from Vietnam around B.E. 2427 — that's 1884. See? We can do educational content too, ha ha.

If you're into church architecture, ride this road — you'll head home with a camera full of beautiful, stylish shots.

Incident at the Cornfield

We were riding along perfectly normally when Paul suddenly screamed: STOP! STOP! STOP! Natt, sitting up front, had no idea — stop WHAT? She turned around just as the bicycle veered straight for a cornfield.

AAAAGHHH — NOOOOO!

But the brakes caught in time. Ha ha.

The backstory: out of nowhere, the bolt fastening Paul's saddle to the seatpost SNAPPED. Snapped all by itself, it did (oh REALLY, chubby?) — dropping Paul's rear end backward, out of reach of the handlebars. Hence the screaming: stop! stop! Nothing but "stop, stop!" — while Natt sat there baffled. Stop WHAT, exactly? Stop talking? Stop taking photos? I don't UNDERSTAND, man!

On this bicycle, the brake levers sit tucked under the handlebars — so when Paul's body fell backward, his hands couldn't reach the brakes, and the bike was uncontrollable. He finally managed to tilt the bars back toward himself enough to touch the brakes. Mercifully, when the bike lost its balance it veered INTO the cornfield rather than OUT into the road — that direction would have been genuinely dangerous. And more luck: we had another bolt that could stand in temporarily — a bit short, not a true fit, but far better than pedaling standing up the rest of the way, thank you very much.

The Weigh-In

Natt had long harbored a curiosity: she wanted a weigh-in. Not of HERSELF, ha ha — she wanted to know what riders + luggage + bicycle, all together, actually weighed. But how do you weigh such a thing? All she could do was estimate: one person 60 kilos, the other a hundred-something, add the rest, so roughly...

And then, as if the angels read her mind: we rode straight past a TRUCK WEIGH STATION. Paul lit up: we should weigh ourselves here! Natt protested: that's for TRUCKS! Paul did not care. He walked the bicycle right onto the scale. The whole area was nothing but big rigs rolling in — couldn't care less, ha ha. Asked the staff to weigh us, completely straight-faced. Final reading: 220 kilograms. MOTHER OF MERCY! And this was AFTER having already shipped 15 kilos home!

The explanation: at almost every provincial tourism office, we'd receive souvenirs of that province. Hence the paradox — no matter how many rounds of shipping things home, the total weight kept creeping back UP.

Prediction: another shipment home, very soon, guaranteed.

The Baan Rot Teep Shop in Maha Sarakham

Maha Sarakham province could fairly be called the belly button of Isaan — it sits at the dead center of the Northeast, a hub of both Isaan culture and education. The locals live simply and lean on one another; lovely to witness. And Natt had just learned that this town has a gathering point for touring addicts too!

Visiting Maha Sarakham, the two of us got to know P'Tom (Kritsada Apiraksantikul) — touring cyclist and owner of the bicycle shop 'Baan Rot Teep' ("House of the Pedal-Bike"). P'Tom's shop carries an ENORMOUS range of cycling goods. Walking in was pure dazzlement — the feeling could not have differed much from a child entering a toy store. Eyes literally sparkling. Hard to believe this was a provincial bike shop; honestly, some Bangkok shops can't compete. On the record.

P'Tom's shop has everything — every style, every brand, accessories galore, plus the rare oddball items nobody else stocks. Here, they deliver.

Baan Rot Teep is essentially the clubhouse for the touring crowd of the whole Isaan region. And the shop's crown jewel: a bicycle made of WOOD, trimmed with rattan. Natt's first time ever seeing one — and it is GORGEOUS. All she could do was stroke and caress it. A blessing upon the eyes.

From the shop's inventory alone, Natt could tell P'Tom is a deeply experienced tourer — he understands what touring cyclists genuinely need, and he hunts down the goods that answer those needs. And Natt loves one principle of his: he opened this shop to be a CENTER for people who love bicycles. Ride whatever brand you like — it does not need to be a brand the shop sells. You're welcome in the gang regardless. THAT is the heart of a true bicycle person.

There should be no caste system, no segregating riders by brand. A bicycle is a bicycle. Expensive or cheap — it's a bicycle.

Deeply admirable thinking. And P'Tom presented us with a souvenir license plate: 'Por Ror 9999, Maha Sarakham.' Natt, smitten with her new toy, bolted the plate straight onto the bicycle. Riding through other provinces afterward, people kept calling out: "Oh, you've come from Maha Sarakham?"

Poste Restante to the Rescue

Long-distance travel breeds endless problems — bicycle-related and otherwise. Once, Natt's tablet died — while we were outside town, far from any repair shop. The solution: mail it to Bangkok for repair, via the postal service.

Natt asked her mother to handle the repair errand. Once fixed, Mom would mail it back — also by post. But the destination was no lodging or hotel. Which raises the obvious puzzle: then where on earth do you have your relatives send it?

The answer is...... the post office up ahead.

First, calculate: from our current position, how many days' riding to reach post office X? EMS delivery normally takes about 2 days. So, 2–3 days before we'd pedal into that town, Natt had Mom send the EMS — letting the tablet travel AHEAD of us and wait at the post office.

On reaching the destination post office, don't forget your ID card to collect the parcel — and the name on the parcel must match the name on the ID exactly, or the staff will suspect you of impersonating the recipient. Have the fee ready too: 1 baht even. Simple as that.

Some of you may be wondering.... how do we know each post office's postal code?

Just check the post office website — it lists everything. When addressing the parcel, besides writing the recipient's name clearly, add the line: 'Hold for collection at XXX Post Office, postal code XXXXX.' Guaranteed delivery.

This method solves the problem of essentials that need repairs, or missing equipment you'll urgently need somewhere down the road — and you get to practice your parcel-mailing skills besides. Total pro now. Hee hee.

Speaking the Local Tongue

From Loei town, Natt stopped for breakfast in Wang Saphung district. The grandmother who owned the rice shop came over for a chat — entirely in the local dialect. Word by word, Natt could follow — but the moment it became long sentences: I'm lost, granny! The grandmother seemed to know it, too. She laughed and said: can't understand grandma's language, can you? She explained this was the indigenous Thai Loei dialect, spoken only in Wang Saphung.

And although Natt couldn't understand the dialect, she LOVED it. It was lovely. The face, the eyes, the gestures carrying the words conveyed warmth and welcome that reached us perfectly well without comprehension. Since the trip began, nearly everyone we'd met spoke Central Thai; precious few spoke their own local tongue. So meeting this grandmother speaking pure dialect — then unleashing a FULL blessing upon us in Thai Loei — Natt understood not one word of what was being wished upon her, but knew one thing with certainty: it felt WONDERFUL. She walked out of that shop carried on happiness. Thank you so much, granny.

The Back Roads — Why Does Nobody Know Them?

Mueang District, Chaiyaphum -----🡪 Nakhon Ratchasima.

Natt asked the locals which way led onto the inner back roads. The answer, almost universally: "don't know" — or else they'd point us straight back to the main highway. Our observation: most locals (MOST, not all) know the roads within about a 10-kilometer radius of their own homes, and barely know the small roads at all — forever herding us onto the big highway. Eh! Or maybe they fear we'll get lost and have to stop for directions every 5 kilometers? But it baffles me — this is literally YOUR home turf; how do you not know your own side roads? I can FIND the main road, thank you — I'm just scared of the traffic. Have mercy on me!

Eventually we found someone who could direct us onto the inner route: from Chaiyaphum through Noen Sa-nga district and Phra Thong Kham district, cutting onto Suranarai Road and running it long and straight into Nakhon Ratchasima. And do you know what we found? The road is fully PAVED. Both sides: shade trees and rice paddies. NO cars. No fearing for your backside. Nothing but cows and buffaloes (with the quiet terror that the herd might unanimously decide to turn left, or right, and cross the road in formation — that's about the extent of the danger). A genuine cow-and-buffalo boulevard. Honestly, the atmosphere out here is PERFECT for cycling — the locals simply don't know it. Anyone wanting a properly chill ride, with cattle for company — loneliness guaranteed impossible — plus villagers waving encouragement as you pass: this is your road. You can download the GPS track for this route from Natt's website!

The Bicycle Hospital

In Nakhon Ratchasima, Natt was riding along when a strange grinding clack-clack began coming from the pedals. A few strokes and we knew: something was wrong. When Paul opened it up, the verdict: the bearings had shattered to POWDER. So off we went hunting for a repair shop — in the evening, with many shops already closing.

Then we found one: a shop called 'Jakkrayan Sam Lor' ("Tricycle Bikes"), directly opposite the Suranari Army Camp Hospital. We had a quiet laugh: one side of the road, a hospital for people; the other side, a hospital for bicycles. Because this place is COMPREHENSIVELY equipped — an actual operating table, walls hung edge to edge with instruments, spare parts ranked in rows. And the owner is brilliant — there is no case he cannot repair. Essentially a surgeon of outrageous skill.

He told us his story: he used to hold a regular job, and every evening after work he'd come home and fix bicycles. He loved buying tools; loved stockpiling parts. He loves bicycles, loves the craft of mending them — until at last he opened a shop of his own. Natt was moved by his commitment to doing the thing he loves: however much work piles in, he never feels tired, never feels that any of it is "work." And the longer we talked, the more she realized: this man is exactly like friend John — full of wonderfully odd ideas, completely his own person, with a magnificent hoard of toys.

He is the Thai-version John. Another human whose every inhale and exhale is bicycles.

On the Day I Was Sick

One day Natt caught a cold — nose running like a faucet — so she took some medicine. Now, Natt sits up front: legs pedaling, back resting against the backrest, a soft breeze brushing her face, carrying the mind gently aloft... And right in the middle of that lovely drift, Paul SMACKED her helmet — WHAP!

"I KNOW you're sleeping up there. PEDAL!" Hey! What gives! I'm not slacking — I'm SICK, you know!

How did Paul know Natt was asleep? Because normally Paul is the primary engine and Natt the booster. The instant Natt stops pedaling, Paul feels the bike grow heavier — immediately. When the pedaling suddenly turns inexplicably hard, the diagnosis writes itself: stoker asleep.

On climbs, the division of labor goes: Paul provides the opening power, Natt the finishing kick. When Paul has hauled us up, grunting, to the edge of empty, Natt adds one final (small) surge. If you've ever played fighting games: Paul is the main power bar, and Natt is the power-up that arrives fast and vanishes faster. Together we clear the level and cross the mountain. That's the system, exactly.

Therefore: on the day that I am sick, with no strength in me — you'll be soloing it for a while, Paul dear.

Paul Gets the Runs

Paul ate SOMETHING — who knows what — and came down with diarrhea in the night. Come morning, we were due to ride on, and Paul announced: babe... I've got the runs. Now, Natt's position is firm: a person with diarrhea must absolutely NOT cycle — the heat is brutal, the body's already losing fluids through sweat, and dehydration could knock him into shock. So we decided to stay one more night and wait for Paul to recover.

By afternoon he seemed cured. Next morning, Natt got dressed, sunscreen applied, ready to roll — and Paul shuffled over: it's back. And THEN the man refused to eat anything whatsoever except water — terrified of needing the bathroom again. In truth he SHOULD have eaten some rice, to flush the bug out and keep his strength up. But he wouldn't touch a thing. Wouldn't take the medicine either. STUBBORN beyond belief. Tell him to do anything — refusal. And the result? He just didn't get better.

Eventually we simply had to move, so we pedaled on gently, stopping to buy antibiotics — Paul still drinking only water, still refusing food — and pausing every half hour, because Natt feared the man would run dry and faint. This counts as Paul's worst illness of the whole trip. Though from another angle: an excellent excuse for THREE full days of sightseeing in Phichit town!

P.S. We took Paul to see Chalawan the crocodile, Phichit's famous landmark. Same mode as the Sunthorn Phu monument all over again: explain the legend all you like — the farang understands nothing in the end. -*-

Touring Sukhothai, City of World Heritage

If you're visiting Sukhothai with an interest in its history, stay near the OLD city — the area has plenty of lodging and sits right beside the Sukhothai Historical Park. Whenever Natt comes to Sukhothai, this is her regular base: wake up, and pedal straight into the park.

The 'Sukhothai Historical Park' is breathtaking — a single site gathering scores of ancient temples from the Sukhothai era, honored by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site. Highlights include 'Wat Mahathat,' the principal temple of the Sukhothai kingdom, with its great lotus-bud chedi in pure Sukhothai style; and 'Wat Si Chum,' home of the Phra Achana — a Buddha image in the Subduing-Mara posture — housed in a square mondop-like shrine. You surely know this one already: professional photographers' gorgeous shots of it circulate on every travel website and Facebook page. And there are many, many more temples awaiting your visit — because however well Natt tells it, it will never match feeling it for yourself.

Natt played personal guide for Paul, narrating the history of the Sukhothai kingdom — and we didn't forget to pay our respects to King Ramkhamhaeng the Great. Touring here, you can cycle, by the way! No bike? Rent one for 20 baht. The sites are fairly spread out, and walking might drain the fun. One more recommendation:

Go sip a coffee.

There is one café — the only one — whose setting is surrounded by the ancient temples inside the park itself. It's decorated in natural wood; straight ahead, your view is Wat Mahathat; beside you towers a great tree no younger than a century. Lush, green, shaded — utterly beautiful.

One sip and... BLISS!

Whose Fault Is THAT?

Accidents can always happen when people get careless. More than once, Natt has watched others nearly crash — because they were too busy staring at OUR bicycle.

In Sukhothai it happened TWICE in a single day! First: Natt was stopped at a red light when a pickup nearly rear-ended the car ahead — the driver was busy gawking at our bike, slowing gradually, eyes glued sideways at the strange machine parked next to him.

Hmmm..... what IS that bike? Weird! You can pedal it lying down?!

Then the driver's eyes returned to the road — and he SLAMMED the brakes, nose-diving the truck, passing through what they call a hair's-breadth moment. TRULY a whisker away.

Second: Natt was parked in front of a 7-Eleven near a junction. An uncle rode past on a motorcycle, spotted Natt's bicycle — and STARED. Clearly fascinated: so strange, never seen one. He kept his head turned, still riding — and at that exact moment, an auntie on another motorcycle cut across his path. Impact. CRASH!!! Mercifully both were going slowly, so no serious injuries — but down they went onto the pavement. -*- Natt jumped: hey! What happened?! Paul reported: they just collided — that uncle was looking at OUR bike. So... is this OUR fault?! We appear to be the root cause of this entire incident. Let it stand, then, as a cautionary tale for all drivers everywhere:

Both eyes should look at the road AHEAD, darlings.

Brush with Death (Again)

Since we're on a run of inauspicious stories — allow me one more.

While climbing a hill, we suddenly heard something hit the ground behind us. Mid-climb, stopping wasn't possible, so we pedaled on a little before turning to look — and there, lying exactly where we had just passed, was a HUGE fallen tree branch.

Ohhh......... by the grace of merit. A near miss from a split skull — knocked out cold on the spot, round two.

If we'd been riding even 2 seconds slower — no survival. In the South it was the coconut; now a giant branch. Is THIS your idea of a welcome ceremony, dear North?! Thankfully we made it through. And Paul walked back to drag the branch off the road, fearing it would cause someone else's accident. World-class good citizen. Each brush with death deepens the same conviction for Natt: life is uncertain — death is available at any moment. Therefore:

Hurry up and live your life to the FULL. Stop wasting time. So you'll have nothing to whine regretfully about later.

Gear Failure

The bad-luck streak wasn't finished —

and this episode came with a bill attached.

We were about to ride out of Sukhothai for Uttaradit when a problem surfaced: the gears refused to shift from the middle cogs onto the biggest cog — the climbing gear. Pedal and push the lever all you want: nothing. In stick-shift terms, it was like being unable to drop from 3rd gear into 1st — and without 1st, there's no torque to drive you up a mountain. (Hope that makes sense!) Now consider: from here onward, nearly every kilometer of every northern province is MOUNTAIN. That gear was about to become essential. So — repair time again, ha ha.

Someone recommended a shop called 'Excel Electronic' — which does not look remotely like a bicycle shop; walking in feels more like entering an appliance store. Not promising, repair-wise. Yet within minutes of examining the bike, the owner diagnosed it: probably the cable — the one connecting to the derailleur. He stripped the cable out and there it was: eaten through with RUST. Ohhh... clearly a veteran of too many hard campaigns. The entire cable had to be replaced. Enormous luck to have found this shop — and the owner was brilliant. Otherwise we'd have been well and truly stranded.

The Folk of Phrae Are Adorable, Y'Hear

Mention Phrae town and most people think only of 'Wat Phra That Cho Hae,' home of the sacred Cho Hae relic stupa, the guardian treasure of Phrae. In truth, the town holds plenty more: 'Wat Phra That Chom Chaeng,' which enshrines a hair relic and a bone relic of the Buddha's left hand; and 'Wat Phra Bat Ming Mueang Worawihan,' home of the Phra Phuttha Kosai Sirichai Maha Sakkayamuni — the province's palladium image — plus a replica of the Buddha's footprint inside the temple.

Three temples should fill the merit tank nicely — so let's wander the town itself. Walking around, you feel Phrae's deep calm: quiet, uncrowded. But when school lets out and offices close, the streets fill with people strolling everywhere — dressed in 'mo hom', the indigo-dyed folk shirt of the North.

Walk anywhere: mo hom. Even the tiny children: mo hom.

Utterly charming — and utterly distinctive, since only northerners wear mo hom. Better still, today's designs are modern and genuinely wearable — old heritage blended with new style, and the blend WORKS. One look and you want to buy a set yourself.

Natt asked at the local tourism office and learned something new: every Friday, the people of Phrae dress in mo hom — especially civil servants, teachers, and students — to preserve the culture, much as Chiang Mai dresses in northern traditional clothing on Fridays. And because the designs are fashionable, the teenagers embrace it too — it isn't frumpy or antique-looking at all. Natt thinks this is wonderful: keeping these things alive for the next generation to see and admire. Otherwise such treasures slowly fade until nothing distinctly Thai-folk remains — and what a loss that would be.

Whatever is truly distinctive always holds value. And this beauty isn't only external — it comes from within, brimming with the pride of wearing it, paired with smiles of friendship that swept two traveling strangers like us clean off our feet for a while.

The folk of Phrae are adorable, y'hear!

A Stop at Baan Wongburi

Beyond Phrae's temples and sacred places, we also went location-hunting for the TV drama 'Roy Mai' at 'Baan Wongburi.' Some of you are going OH! already — yes, the pink mansion of Chao Nang Noi from the show.

'Baan Wongburi' was built in B.E. 2440 — 1897 (genuinely ancient) — in the architectural fashion of the King Rama V era: a two-story hip-roofed (panya-style) house on brick-and-cement footings a meter off the ground, with high ceilings, a tall roof, and ventilation openings between the two floors to keep air circulating. The house faces southwest, catching cool breezes through the hot season. Construction took THREE years. It is truly magnificent.

Natt and Paul even got to meet the owner — a fifth-generation descendant — and learned from the staff that the entire house is built of GOLDEN TEAK, at a total construction cost of about 1,500 baht. Some readers will now be wondering:

Hold on! Typo? Surely not?!

Natt confirms: approximately 1,500 baht. REALLY. But remember — in that era, this was serious money. Quick scale: a mere 60 years ago, 25 satang bought a full lunch with a drink. Today 25 satang won't buy one piece of candy. Now stretch that math back over a CENTURY to when this 1,500 baht was spent... impossible to compute what it equals today. The house's grandeur lies precisely in that all-golden-teak construction: first-class timber that never shrinks, each teak tree no less than a hundred years old — nearly unobtainable nowadays.

Natt also picked up history about slavery in the old days, and saw rare original documents: a royal commission bestowed by King Rama V; 49 slave purchase contracts over 100 years old; logging concession papers; elephant and cattle registration certificates; and more.

There's far more detail than fits here — Natt wants you to visit Baan Wongburi yourself. Bring all five senses and absorb the stories; travel back and feel how people of that age actually lived. If you visit Phrae and skip this house — it's as if you never quite arrived.

P'Tu, P'Jan, and a Coincidence

In Nan town, Natt and Paul were out hunting for dinner when we spotted a man and woman eating wonton noodles — and parked close by, a TANDEM bicycle. Paul asked: should we go talk to them? Natt said: no, leave them be — they're eating. And so the two of us walked on past......

A little while after reaching the hotel, the phone rang:

Caller: Is this Khun Natt — the one cycling all over Thailand? Natt: Yes, that's me! Caller: I cycle here in Nan — I just saw you walk past us! Natt: Were you the couple eating noodles by the roadside? Caller: Yes, yes! I saw you pointing at us! Natt: The couple with the tandem parked alongside, right? Caller: That's us! I told my wife to hurry up and finish so we could chase you down — but too late, you'd vanished!

Natt laughed privately. How could we NOT vanish, P'? Our hotel was right next to your noodle shop!

Getting to know P'Tu (Ratthaphon Klaichid) and P'Jan (Phitchaya Klaichid) left Natt in awe. Both are guides like Natt — but their specialty is the forest: birding, wildlife watching — and the stories they tell! They know countless species, and they're passionate photographers whose skill, let me certify, is god-tier. P'Tu and P'Jan love nature profoundly, with a committed philosophy of sufficiency living: eat simply, live simply, grow their own trees, their own vegetables, even their own RICE — all chemical-free. Conservationists to the bone. They reminded Natt instantly of Khun Sueb Nakhasathien — and sure enough, we later learned Sueb Nakhasathien is precisely their idol. Once, P'Tu saved up to buy his very first bicycle specifically to RIDE to Huai Kha Khaeng to find Khun Sueb — to encourage him, and to tell him:

You are not the only one who loves nature.

There are others who love it just the same. And ever since, the two of them have lived in Khun Sueb's footsteps — riding their tandem around Nan until the whole town knows them, since nobody else in this city rides a tandem. Local celebrities, fully certified.

Thank you, P'Tu and P'Jan, for the knowledge, for treating us to two full meals, for the city tour, and so much more. But above all — thank you for making that phone call. If you hadn't called, the two of us would never have met you, never have had the chance to build a friendship this precious. Thank you, truly.

100 Days, Me and You

This wasn't a 100-day funeral rite.

It was 100 days of finding out whether the two of us could actually GO ON together. (Drama mode.)

Exactly 100 days into the honeymoon tour of Thailand, problems between us had piled high. The fights — don't even ask. Snapping, snarling, slashing, swinging — beyond counting. Here's the thing: before this trip, Natt and Paul were a perfectly ordinary couple — each with their own work, meeting up, going places together. Then came this tour, and suddenly we were together TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY. The true nature of the other person — the corners you normally glimpse only occasionally — came fully out into the light. Sometimes we hated that he was like this or like that; he equally hated that we were like this or like that. The questions started circling: why why WHY? Friction. Irritation. Arguments ping-ponging back and forth. As the days stacked up, even a single sentence could grate — and off we'd go again.

By this point we were fighting constantly — to where Natt sometimes wanted to QUIT the ride. Suffocated. Wanted to go home. It was a weak, fragile stretch; she didn't want to face the problem at all. But going home wasn't possible either. All she could do was sigh. Then, gradually, came the turn: letting go, beginning to see where the problems actually lived, trying to TALK — to communicate more, to reset understanding. If something bothers you, say it STRAIGHT. Don't store it up. This is essential for every couple alive.

What this episode taught Natt: touring like this is severely unsuitable as an actual honeymoon. If you've read this far and are thinking of inviting your sweetheart on a honeymoon bicycle tour like ours — Natt will issue the warning right now:

Maybe... don't, darling.

What Natt thinks couples touring IS perfect for: BEFORE the wedding — as a deep-core personality test. How much does this person really love me? Will they take care of me? Are they selfish — every man for himself? Can we truly travel through life together? Because every stage, every stretch of road you pass through will engineer situations that force each side's true nature into the open — obstacle after obstacle, testing whether the two of you can survive as a unit. Come through all of it, and you'll be equipped to decide:

Should we get married? Or — should we break up?

And if you're a couple married for years, who know each other's habits inside out: try a tour to tighten the bond. Not a bad method at all — you might just find yourselves giddy as newlyweds again, fresh rice and fatty fish, as we say. Hee hee.

Chiang Muan

The name "Chiang Muan" SOUNDS like it should mean fun and merriment, muan jai and all that. But the two of us were having no fun whatsoever. Riding from Nan into Phayao, you pass through Chiang Muan — and that's where the fun (muan) officially died, because the REAR BRAKE developed a problem: past a certain heat point, it would simply stop braking — and the pads were wearing thin besides. Which made the descents miserable. Instead of releasing the bike and enjoying the wind in our faces, we had to choke the speed down, feathering the brake constantly — because without slowing, we'd fly off a curve guaranteed, with only the FRONT brake still working. And the curves ahead? Endless.

But if your ride brings you to Chiang Muan, stop at the summit viewpoint — because it is genuinely SUPREME. Yes, the climb up is exhausting and hot and will happily make you furious. But reach the top, breathe the mountain air, take in the panorama spread out below — and everything hot, stressed, body-sore, and heart-sore is wiped instantly away, replaced by pure cool delight. Atmosphere like this is NOT easily found.

Nature therapy at full strength.

Phayao Town Planning

Phayao has remarkably tidy urban zoning. In most towns Natt visits, everything is jumbled together — homes, guesthouses, hotels, government offices, attractions. But Phayao is zoned with crystal clarity.

Draw a rectangle: along the top lies Kwan Phayao (the great lake). The left side: residential neighborhoods — call it the people zone. The right side: the government zone — every official agency packed side by side, so if you've got bureaucratic errands at multiple offices, you can clear them ALL in a single day; they're practically touching (assuming the queues cooperate). And the bottom edge: the superhighway. Which makes cycling here ridiculously easy.....

Up to the lake, down to the superhighway, left for homes, right for government.

Easy to memorize, no…?

Ram Wong for Health

Beyond Phayao's adorable town plan,

there's something equally adorable.

At Kwan Phayao there's an activity area for exercise. Central Thais favor aerobics — but northerners favor ram wong for health (traditional Thai circle dancing). You're picturing only elders and seniors, yes? WRONG, darling. Young men and women come dance too — truly every gender, every age. And they dance with FERVOR. It's lovely: ram wong keeps the mental health bright, the body strong, AND preserves folk culture all in one motion — building momentum for the younger generation to dare to come out and dance. This is not some antique no one practices anymore. Quite the opposite: NOT joining the circle is what's hopelessly uncool.

So — shall we ram wong?

Wash the Bike, Cleanse the Soul

After many days of riding — many battles survived — the time finally comes to wash the bicycle. Natt prefers to wash it ALONE. When Paul washes it, it gets clean to a certain level — but when Natt washes it, the bicycle comes out IMMACULATE. Fine, yes, I'm saying I wash it better, ha ha. But saying that out loud would be unkind — feelings must be protected — so Natt simply volunteers for the job every time.

This is MY work. Hands off!

Natt's washing method: slow, unhurried, the mind fully absorbed in the bicycle — scrubbing, rubbing, caressing — and chatting to the bike as she goes:

"I'll get you all sparkling clean. Thank you SO much for enduring all the way to here."

Before each wash, Natt has typically accumulated a stock of bad energy — stress, irritability, a scattered buzzing mind. But during the scrubbing and polishing, it's as though her own heart is being rinsed along with the frame. The cleaner she scrubs the bike, the cleaner her mind is scrubbed in turn. When the wash is done, everything feels

cleeear......

Light. Easy. Good-humored.

Don't believe me? Try it yourself.

The Planetarium Kids

Still in body-recovery mode after the heavy riding, the two of us stayed on in Phayao and wandered over to the planetarium — a science, technology, and astronomy learning center built around self-guided discovery. Stargazers take note: there's a dome observatory here too. Natt thought it looked interesting and dragged Paul in to see the exhibits.

While we browsed, three primary-school kids walked up and asked:

"P'! Want to watch that video? They're about to play it!"

House rule: each screening needs at least 10 viewers or they won't run it — so this little gang was out RECRUITING an audience. And Natt and Paul wanted to watch anyway. Final count came up 2 people short — but the kind staff played it regardless. The video was an educational cartoon about animal life cycles and how various creatures evolved. When it ended, we assumed everyone would scatter — but no: the same trio trailed after us and asked, "Can we be your museum guides?" Natt and Paul accepted at once — we had nothing better to do anyway!

These kids were WONDERFUL — explaining everything in a mix of Thai and English, sometimes intelligible, sometimes not, but Natt loved their courage in approaching us, their courage to try English on Paul. We asked why they came here, and they said: we come most weekends — the air-con is cold, and we love doing the experiments; they teach this stuff at school too. Listening to them, Natt thought: these children are hungry to learn and brave enough to express themselves. Every one a delight. THIS is the nation's good youth — they'll surely carry the country forward when they grow.

Before parting, Natt told them: we two are cycling around all of Thailand — want to try riding our bike? At first they hung back shyly — then immediately started playing rock-paper-scissors for first turn. While Paul took rider #1 around, riders #2 and #3 were already battling for the next slot. The instant #1 was returned, #2 leapt aboard. Natt asked the first kid: well? Fun? He said: TERRIFYING — every turn felt like crashing into whatever's in front! Ha ha. Watching the kids' joy felt wonderful — just like giving rides to the Baan Home Hug kids in Yasothon. At the real goodbye, all three said: thank you so much for letting us ride the bicycle! And Natt replied: consider it our payment for your guide services. Sweet, no? Thai youth who still love learning — and still have manners.

And then, right beside that fine group of youth —

another group of youth arrived for comparison.

While kid #2 was riding, Natt noticed two teenage girls passing on a motorcycle — when suddenly another motorcycle pulled alongside and KICKED the first bike over, dropping both girls onto the pavement. At first it looked like an accident. It was NOT. The girls who'd kicked the bike down dismounted and set upon the two fallen girls — one punching heads, another stomping with her feet. In front of everyone. Broad daylight. Open public space. Zero shame. Eventually a passing car leaned on its horn, and the attackers scrambled onto their motorcycle and fled.......

WHAT was that?!

We'd only ever seen such things in video clips — never imagined witnessing it live. Every one of them still in school uniform — junior high at MOST — stomping on someone's head like that. We never learned how badly the two girls were hurt. Paul missed the whole thing, so Natt recounted it. Paul's theory: fighting over a boy? Natt suspects exactly that — no other motive seems likely. Absolutely savage. Are today's youth really this far gone? All one can do is pray that the small, polite, learning-hungry kind of youth never mutates into THAT kind — and hope they stay the nation's good children.

Wat Rong Khun

In Chiang Rai — clear skies and perfect weather.

P'James-of-Sisaket's younger brother (Jumphon Parittothok) led our ride into Chiang Rai city, making sure to stop at 'Wat Rong Khun' (the White Temple) — going at first light, before the crowds. Most visitors fixate on the magnificent white ordination hall out front, queueing in enormous lines to view the interior — and every photo comes out full of strangers anyway. Natt will happily confirm: the place is stunning. And touring it crowd-free gave her time to slowly savor the Buddhist artistry — the architecture, the stucco sculpture — and, crucially, to visit the painting gallery reflecting the Buddhist faith of 'Ajarn Chalermchai Kositpipat.'

Now, Natt normally can't "read" art at all. But standing before Ajarn's works, she began to grasp some of what he was trying to say. These are not ordinary paintings — they carry meaning, and what you receive depends on what you SEE. Natt urges you to view his paintings, so distinctive and so valuable — every bit the equal of the artwork outside. Magnificent. If Natt ever met Ajarn Chalermchai in the flesh — and got his signature in the logbook — the rapture would be total. (Squeee!)

Paul asked: who is Ajarn Chalermchai? Natt explained: a famous Thai painter with a vast body of work — and the creator of this very temple. Paul pressed on: but how would I recognize which person IS Ajarn Chalermchai? Natt said: Ajarn likes wearing mo hom, and he poses like THIS... (Natt performing the maestro's signature pose). Then, wandering on, we ran straight into a mannequin of the man himself — THERE, see! EXACTLY like that!

Thanon Khon Muan (The Fun-Folk Street)

Chiang Rai's "Thanon Khon Muan" walking street has the same flavor as Chiang Mai's Tha Phae walking street — a road that gives ordinary people a stage. Some acts we'd never seen anywhere: old-style courtship singing, where a couple flirts entirely in traditional song. A genuine first for these ears — and their courtship pantomime was utterly charming.

Beyond that: folk games, dance, music everywhere. But what moved Natt most was a troupe of kids performing the sabat chai drums. Their teacher had seen these youngsters drifting with nothing to do — left alone, drugs could easily find them — so he gathered them up and taught them the victory drums, keeping Thai culture alive in the same stroke. A beautiful idea. Natt genuinely honors that teacher — such kindness, such hope invested in children. And the kids played in perfect unison, gorgeous to watch — ready, honestly, for the big stage, fit to perform for visiting dignitaries. Deeply admirable.

Strolling on, we found — the ram wong for health again! EEEEE! Adorable! And a huge stage this time, with an enormous crowd. Natt ached to join the circle, but didn't know the steps or the rhythm, ha ha. Watching them dance, she finally understood how this melts weight off: this is NOT the gentle ram wong of your imagination. It looked like tremendous fun.

Afterward, Natt ate fried CRICKETS for the first time. P'Ud (Phuriphat Santisanguansak), a university senior, hosted us — touring us around and steering us into exotic eating. At first neither of us dared. Finally we both tried — seemed fine, actually! Then, post-chew: hey! Something's stuck in my teeth. A probe of the tongue found it — something long, something thread-like... that's........ a CRICKET LEG!

AAAGH!

Natt also witnessed the cooking method: live crickets dunked in cold water, then dropped into a roaring-hot wok — ssssss.... — fried to doneness, lifted out, salted, served. Mildly brutal, that. And THAT was the first-ever cricket-eating experience. Unforgettable. -*-

The Hidden Beauty

Before leaving Chiang Rai for Chiang Mai province — as everyone knows, this is where the true mountain zone begins. Veterans of this route need no explanation. For everyone else: the stretch through Phrao, Pang Mapha, and Pai districts is climbing of the SAVAGE order. The route tops out above 1,400 meters above sea level, with sections that climb to 950 meters, plunge to 400, then seesaw up and down all the way to the summit. Consider: the Ban Luang and Chiang Muan climbs — a mere 700 meters elevation — had already half-killed us. The remaining mountains needed no further discussion. So we decided to send 70% of our luggage — repair tools, clothes, books, all non-essentials, 20 kilograms in total — ahead to Natt's aunt in Chiang Mai, and prayed that the remaining 30% wouldn't prove too heavy.

Entering Phrao district, Chiang Mai, the bicycle broke again: shifting to put the chain onto the big cog — no grip. The first repair had been the cable; THIS time the cog teeth had worn blunt, meaning the bike could no longer haul Natt AND Paul uphill together — one rider only. Repairs? No tools (sent to auntie). Though on reflection: even WITH tools, no fix was possible — we weren't carrying a spare gear cluster (who WOULD?). Middle of the mountains. No bike shop to swap the gearset. Of all the times to die on us. Cursed luck.

So now what?........ You WALK, darling. Ha ha.

Paul rode up alone; Natt walked the mountain slowly behind.

And there, amid sunshine and slowness, Natt saw beautiful things — balm for eye and heart. The roadside bloomed with wild Mexican sunflowers (bua tong), attended by butterflies in brilliant colors, themselves come to admire the blossoms. Traveling slowly is no defect at all — it presses you closer to nature, lets you TOUCH it. Head down, hammering the pedals, obsessed with arriving fast, blind to everything around you — you gain precisely nothing.

And one more highlight: riding along the ridgeline itself — mountains opening wide on every side, sky above when you glance up, foothills below when you glance down, a living panorama straight ahead. Ravishing. THIS is what cycling gives: intimacy with nature, mile after mile.

The Broken Chain

Little Chain was still feuding with Big Cog. We handled them with maximum tenderness — nursing them along, trying to keep things from escalating. But at a certain point the drivetrain began to seize, like a relationship reaching its breaking point — two parties who simply cannot continue together. The chain wedged itself BEHIND the largest cog (clean past it). We tried pulling it free — heard a ringing SNAP — and.... the chain broke clean through, folks. Now things were worse than ever. We DID own the repair tool — currently sitting at auntie's in Chiang Mai. No bike shop — we were deep in the mountains. The road seesawed up and down — thank heaven for the "down," because after pushing the bike UP, gravity could carry us both down without much effort. Had it been flat the whole way, we'd have walked ourselves sick across the full 15 kilometers, guaranteed.

Walking to WHERE, exactly?

To the lodging we had — for the FIRST time ever — booked in advance. T_T Sob... I want to cry. Muttering at myself: am I INSANE? Why did I book?! I never book! I always just wing it and let fate provide! We trudged past lodging after perfectly good lodging, gazing at each with mournful eyes, then lowering the head and hauling the bicycle onward. Ohhh.... what karma is THIS of mine?

We had to trouble auntie in Chiang Mai to DRIVE the repair tools we'd deposited with her all the way out to our lodging (poor auntie, inconvenienced again) so the chain could be mended and the riding resume. And since this particular tool had never once been used — the moment we pressed it down onto the chain link.......

It SNAPPED. In our hands.

Total faceplant. Auntie surely faceplanted in spirit alongside us: I drove all the way from Chiang Mai to deliver tools, and the tools are USELESS. Worse — the bike now had to be carried to the nearest town for repair. In the end a MOTORCYCLE repair shop fixed it for us. The method looked a touch violent, but the chain came back to life — though the big gear remained unusable. So: gentle pedaling, as before. Nurse it along. Never force it. If it can't manage, I'll dismount and walk. Whatever it takes to reach Pai.

Mae Ngat Dam, Chiang Mai Province

Reaching Phrao district, Chiang Mai, and about to ride into Mae Taeng district, we fancied a change of pace: a scenic boat ride across Mae Ngat Dam. Natt phoned the tourism office, who directed her to contact the raft-houses on the reservoir directly. Natt wanted a boat to collect us at a pier — but normally boats only circulate WITHIN the dam; there's no point-to-point pickup service. The raft owner had no boat that could fetch us from that far — but he gladly helped anyway, and eventually produced the number of a small-boat pilot who would collect us at the little Mae Pang pier and deliver us to the Mae Ngat pier, for 1,200 baht. Interested parties: call Khun Chon, 088-435-5902!

While arranging it, Khun Chon admitted he'd never come from that side either — no idea where in Mae Pang sub-district the little pier even was. But, he said, there's only ONE pier; ask anyone local and they'll know. Fine, thought Natt — one pier, how hard can it be? HA. In practice: almost nobody knew. Someone said it was near the police station. We arrived to find a large bridge over a river — except the "river" contained no water. Definitively not a pier. We asked at the police station, and the officer's opening line was: there's a PIER here? (Internal monologue: oh, MARVELOUS.) Eventually the directions assembled themselves: ride a bit past the police station, cross the bridge, find the dirt track on the right, follow it — right turn, left turn, keep going — pier. Closed out with: mind you, I've never gone that way myself — I spend my days at the station. Natt, internally: recently transferred, are we? Or just not a field-work kind of officer? Finally, following his route and double-checking with villagers at the track entrance, the truth emerged: straight down the dirt track (you'll see a sign for the Baan Un Jai Foundation), follow it to the end, turn right, continue a while, then turn LEFT — do NOT go straight, that's the road up the mountain — left, continue, reach a three-way junction, turn right, keep going... and there stood Khun Chon, waiting exactly on cue. If you ever use this pier: coordinate VERY precisely where he'll park the boat — because the "little pier" has no actual pier. He moors wherever he feels like mooring.

The vessel: a long-tail boat, no roof, engine bolted at the stern, gloriously deafening. Capacity: 4 people plus 4 bicycles. Life jackets provided! As for the beauty of Mae Ngat — it defeats description. The single best 1,200 baht of the trip. Water utterly still, mirroring the cliffs ranged along both shores. Ravishing. We spied a herd of buffalo grazing at the waterline — presumably owned by someone — including one ALBINO buffalo, white head to tail. Natt tried for a photo, but alas, too far away.

You can also overnight on the raft-houses in the reservoir — just forget all notions of luxury: no air-con, no internet (generator power only), but food and drinks are sold aboard, so no one starves, ha ha. We watched foreigners paddling kayaks, some fishing, some simply lounging at the water's edge. Foreign travelers journey here to find this happiness — while the locals themselves barely know the place exists. A shame. Sitting beneath that clear, open sky felt wonderful — and just imagine it at night, star-gazing from the water. THE perfect honeymoon spot, ha ha.

Reaching Pai

Say "Pai" and everyone pictures the romantic town where couples go to swoon. And fittingly, even the ROAD to Pai functions as a true-love proving ground — your chance to test the person beside you: if I get carsick and vomit, will they help me... or flee? Natt was lucky to arrive by bicycle; by car, she'd absolutely have run the motion-sickness true-love trial on Paul. First-timers, don't panic: the road to Pai is fully equipped with designated vomit stops, restrooms, and pharmacies selling motion-sickness pills.

On arrival, it turned out Pai has no bike shop — but someone directed us to a certain uncle, head of the Pai cycling club: Uncle Koson Chaolekha. Uncle had tools, spare parts — and the very LAST chain and cog in town. No prestige brand, but Natt wants to thank Uncle Koson from the bottom of her heart. What luck to have found him! And when Natt held the new cog against the old one, the mystery of the slipping chain solved itself instantly: there was simply NOTHING LEFT for the chain to grip. Ha ha.

The Whitewater Rafting Experience

Since the return leg from Pai to Pang Mapha district, Mae Hong Son, would retrace the same road, we wanted the outbound leg to carry some challenge — so: whitewater rafting. Natt booked a 2-day, 1-night rafting tour out of Pai, sleeping overnight in the jungle, with the bicycle delivered separately to the endpoint in Mae Hong Son.

Natt had never rafted in her life — only seen the video clips. TERRIFYING. The rocks! The water! She's a person who fears anything she cannot personally control. She dislikes platform diving — not from fear of heights; she's jumped before, which is exactly how she learned that the real fear is the inability to steer your own trajectory mid-air. Rafting, in Natt's mental model: fine while ON the boat, since the captain is an expert helmsman. But falling IN — that current looked far too fierce to swim against, Princess Mother's gold swimming medal or not. No chance.

Khun Kai, owner of 'Thai Rafting Adventure,' collected us at the hotel along with one other guest — a fellow Aussie named Rob — and we cycled behind him to his house for life-jacket fitting. Khun Kai asked all about our tour and requested photos with the bicycle. Seeing his obvious fascination, Paul offered him the front seat and pedaled him around — great hilarity all round. Incidentally: of everyone who has ever tried sitting in Natt's position, one hundred percent report the same verdict: terrifying — especially in the turns, when you feel certain you'll be flung out. Ha ha.

Before departure, Khun Kai briefed us on the rules. Paul asked how long the company had operated. Khun Kai said: we were the FIRST rafting company on the Pai River — and the only one still running it. The other 2–3 outfits you see don't raft the Pai; they raft the Khong stream. Plenty of imitators have set up, competing on cheaper prices — cheaper because of low-grade equipment: flimsy rafts, so-so life jackets, nothing durable enough for the Pai River. Natt's price with Khun Kai: 2,500 baht per person for 2 days, 1 night. Expensive? Somewhat. But it bought a memory for the ages — not one baht regretted. And what luck: our departure had only THREE guests — uncrowded, with better odds of spotting wildlife — whereas two days earlier Khun Kai had run a single group of 22. Jackpot. Fully exclusive service.

Before launch, Khun Kai walked us through the captain's command set — paddle, stop, back-paddle — plus the protocols for falling in: the safe floating position, what to do at branches, what to do at rocks. Commands 1 through 4: fine. After that, increasingly dizzy — Paul had to re-explain. Our captain was 'Mike,' of the Musoe (Lahu) people — crisp Thai, crisp English, licensed guide, 15+ years running this river. Before boarding, Natt patted Mike's shoulder and announced: we TRUST your boat-handling skills completely, sir. (Yes, she actually informed him. Ha ha.)

Day 1

The first hour was easy — still in village territory, small rapids, nothing scary. We stopped for lunch on the bank of the Pai River — a meal with a five-star view, beside a thin, shallow stream trickling down from the village above, the food wrapped in banana leaves: maximum nature. One hour's rest, then onward — and we suspect the schedule was engineered this way deliberately: cruise, refuel, THEN bring the hammer. Because everything after lunch nearly stopped our hearts. Rapid after rapid — outrageously frightening — like nothing we'd ever met. At the calm flat stretches, Captain Mike would clear us to swim, and overboard we'd leap — from roasting on the raft to instantly cool — everyone bobbing along, pure joy, the current itself carrying us downstream. As they say:

A river never flows backward.

Jumping in: easy. Climbing back ABOARD: hmmm.... considerably harder than advertised — to the point that Captain Mike had to haul us in by the life jackets.

Toward evening we camped mid-jungle — a simple bamboo camp, open-air, no doors, but blessedly equipped with mosquito nets, mattresses, and blankets. Capacity 30; occupancy 3 — luxurious sprawling room for all. Two camp keepers, both Musoe, watched the place. Natt asked if wild animals ever wandered in. He said: sometimes wild boar... but the PYTHON comes every year. Came last year. Hasn't come yet this year. Very big snake. No telling when it'll arrive. Natt, internally: come whenever you like — JUST NOT TONIGHT. Dinner was Captain Mike's home cooking — local dishes, absolutely delicious, plates cleaned by all — prepared over a wood fire, with an astonishingly long relay of joined bamboo pipes carrying clean stream water down for bathing and dishwashing. No electricity; candlelight for everything. Nature, undiluted. Drink deep.

While chatting with Rob, we noticed flickering lights — Natt's first thought: krasue ghosts! (the things this brain produces -*-). In fact: FIREFLIES, everywhere, clustered along the waterline like guide-candles. One flew close enough to catch. We talked a while longer, then turned in. Before bed, Paul wanted an extra mattress — and there it was, the sight nobody ordered: a TOKAY GECKO the size of a forearm, clamped onto the spare mattress hanging on the wall. Thank heaven we'd already rigged the nets and pulled our own mattresses inside before dark. Tokays are NIGHTMARE fuel. Paul knocked on the mattress to shoo it — and the gecko, reconsidering, relocated from BEHIND the mattress to the FRONT. Face to face. Genuinely unbearable. T_T

Day 2

Over breakfast Natt asked Rob: see the gecko last night? He hadn't — he'd spent the whole night lying awake gaming out what he'd do if the python slithered into his net. At one point his own arm brushed his own leg, and he jolted awake convinced the snake had arrived. We howled. Ha ha. Meanwhile Natt, mid-sleep, had brushed Paul's arm — and BOTH of them jolted awake in terror. Natt's defense: well, your arm is FURRY! I assumed wildlife! Ha ha.

During breakfast we heard gibbons whooping loudly — several, by the sound, though we couldn't spot them. Rob walked into the forest and returned half an hour later announcing he'd SEEN them, swinging around — and filmed it! But gibbons don't hold still, so he wasn't sure the footage caught anything. Playback revealed: not one single frame. Rob also shared his contingency planning: he'd been pondering what to do if a tiger or bear appeared mid-walk — and concluded he'd SLAP IT TAME WITH HIS FLIP-FLOP. Hmm…. The mental image alone is comedy: a farang attempting to flip-flop a tiger into submission, receiving a counter-swipe. Which of the two tames first, do we think?

9 a.m., rafting resumed. The early stretch stayed mellow — we even saw a hawk! Hee hee. But today's rapids outclassed yesterday's. Natt told Captain Mike: camera battery's nearly dead — please warn me before the BIGGEST rapid so I can film it. Approaching said rapid: from afar, honestly unintimidating. Didn't look strong. And THAT — the not-looking-strong — is precisely the danger, because it drops in TWO TIERS, and the height difference between tiers is well above normal. Mid-filming — the raft FLIPPED. Everyone else flipped clear of the boat; Natt, by some geometry never fully understood, surfaced UNDERNEATH the hull. She escaped soon enough. House rule: if you fall out, NEVER release your paddle. But Natt had set hers down to film — so the paddle had vanished to parts unknown. After swallowing several gulps of river, she surfaced, got herself floating — and directly ahead drifted SOMEONE'S pink paddle, escorted by a water bottle. Left hand: paddle. Right hand: bottle (refusing, on principle, to pollute the river) — without one moment's reflection on which remaining hand was supposed to do the SWIMMING. -*-

Floating along, she spotted Paul searching for her — thank goodness for different-colored helmets, easy to find each other. Paul shouted: swim to the bank! Natt shouted back: CAN'T! Current's too strong! ALSO I HAVE NO HANDS! Tragic beyond words. Paul fought his way to a branch, gripped it, and told Natt to extend the paddle so he could haul her in — but the current ripped his hand off the branch (mercifully uncut). He tried again, caught hold of Natt's life jacket — and SLUNG her toward the bank, the recoil sending HIM off downstream with the current instead. But the man had strength enough left to swim himself ashore.

Moved beyond WORDS....

Paul may be ridiculous and self-willed,

but he feared for my life — and gambled his own on one particular woman. I LOVE YOUUUUUU (mwah...)

In the end everyone reached the bank — including Captain Mike, who had righted the raft with blinding speed, vaulted aboard like the professional he is, shouted everyone ashore, and set off collecting the runaway paddles one by one. (Guests: kindly self-rescue. Ha ha.) Paul awarded Captain Mike the title 'the Rafting Ninja.' Yes, the raft flipped; yes, we scrambled for our lives — but what FUN. Once in a lifetime. A memory with no expiry date. And good thing we rafted NOW — any older, and who knows if the strength would be there.

Human Rafting

The Injection!

Itchy legs.........

No idea whyyyy.

The leg-itching launched a full summer-sale assault — scratch, scratch, fidget, repeat. Natt began to genuinely empathize with mangy dogs and their ceaseless scratching; the irritation must be maddening. She wondered: eh! Did I not shower properly? Next morning, post-shower, Paul saw her legs and yelped: hey! What happened to your LEGS?! Bumps EVERYWHERE! Natt said: I know — I itched all night. Probably didn't wash well. Paul: that's not it — allergy, surely? Or bites? So we bought Zyrtec antihistamines and prayed the bumps would subside by evening. Instead, by evening they had BLOOMED — now spreading to the torso, waist, backside, chest, arms — full-body coverage. So I'm to become Madame Lumpy-Bumps now, am I?! -*- The bumps were an alarming red — bad enough that Paul couldn't stand it and ordered an emergency call to Doctor Mint, with leg photos dispatched for review. Doctor Mint's verdict: probably an allergic reaction — doesn't look like bites — buy these 2 medicines plus a lotion. And if THAT fails: hospital, for an injection. Natt, internally: let that be the LAST resort, please. Injections are beyond me. The needle. Eeek.....

It ended, of course, at the hospital — because the required steroid medication is prescription-only. Natt arrived at Mae Hong Son Hospital around 09:50 to a healthy crowd. Stage One: new-patient registration. "About a half-hour wait, ka"...... forty-five minutes later, Stage Two. A staffer called her name and asked: height? weight? Errr…. why not simply MEASURE me? Will self-reported numbers be accurate, do we think? Closing question: waist circumference? A second errr…. what is that FOR? (Internally: have some shame — asking a lady's waistline!)

Patient card acquired, the staffer said: wait over there for blood pressure — and evaporated. Wait we did, brothers and sisters. Stage Three consumed an HOUR-plus. Why is no one calling me?! Three blood-pressure desks; surely my name sits at one of them. Investigation revealed it at the very last desk — an hour gone, with EIGHT patients still unmeasured ahead. How is anything this slow?! At last, cuff on, the nurse asked: what brings you in? Natt: rash, full body — exhibit A, the legs. The nurse's follow-up: and where did you park the bicycle? HEY! How do you know about the bicycle?! I WALKED here from the hotel! The nurse explained: last Saturday she'd driven back to Chiang Mai and passed us — saw Natt helping her husband push the bike up the mountain. Then: tired? where did you start riding? blah blah blah….. (Internally: TAKE MY BLOOD PRESSURE, woman.) Now, at every hospital Natt has ever visited, the blood-pressure station is exactly where they ask about drug allergies. Here, uniquely, the nurse chattered nonstop and then CONCLUDED ON HER OWN: "so, no drug allergies, yes?" EXCUSE me! YES allergies! Bactrim! — exhibit B, the official allergy card from Lat Phrao Hospital. And with that, Natt advanced to the Final 100 — wedged into the scrum outside the examination rooms, coughs hacking in surround sound. Sick people at a hospital; fair enough. But one young man strolled past wearing a cough mask — and each time a cough arrived, he PULLED THE MASK ASIDE to release it. Errr… young sir. The mask is for…?

Nearly noon, the queue nurse announced: doctor's lunch break approaching — only those seated DIRECTLY outside the exam rooms get seen this morning; everyone else, lunch, return at one.

Nooooo.............

At this rate I'll be examined TOMORROW. Natt waited until the crowd had nearly drained out, then approached the nurse: P', my name is....... it's a leg rash, I know it's not urgent, but could I possibly cut the queue right now? (Bald-faced, yes.) The nurse: oh sure, sure — wait outside Room 4. Sometimes you must deploy the secret weapon, or wait forever. And thus: the championship round. The final stage. The DOCTOR.

The doctor examined the legs and asked: what have you done these past 2–3 days? Any idea what triggered it? Natt: cycling around the whole country, new bed every night; four days ago, whitewater rafting and a night in the jungle — but nothing until two days ago. Doctor: take these meds; if no improvement, come back for an injection. Natt summoned her courage and countered: doctor, I resume traveling TOMORROW — is there anything instantly decisive? Doctor: instantly decisive, you say? THEN INJECTION IT IS!!!!! Natt: just ONE needle, right, doctor? Doctor: happy to do SEVERAL if you like! Oh, hilarious. One needle already turns me gray. His closing remarks: the shot will make you woozy — rest here before walking back to the hotel. And in 3–4 hours, if you can't breathe, if you're dizzy — call 1669 immediately, because that means you're allergic to something beyond even this drug's power. WAIT, WHAT?! So I'm investing in one needle, with a forecast of suffocation and possibly a SECOND needle?!

Nonetheless: face the tiger bravely. Er— the NEEDLE.

Natt went to settle the bill, credit card drawn and ready to bleed — drugs plus needle, surely a fortune. The bill: 123 baht. Injection fee: 20 baht per needle. Ohhh.... at THESE prices, should've ordered several! Heh heh — listen to me now....... At a private hospital this bill runs four figures, guaranteed — though four figures does buy you a thirty-minute visit, to be fair. At the pharmacy window, the pharmacist handed over the medicines with: "so — no drug allergies, correct, ka?" Errr… nong. Did you READ my chart? It says Bactrim, right there. She checked the sheet: "oh! So you ARE allergic! No problem — none of these contain Bactrim." Right…. survived again.

At knife-fall — er! NEEDLE-fall — the dread was total. Natt fears needles to her marrow. Childhood dentistry meant endless anesthetic shots, fear compounding into bone-deep phobia. In high school, friends dared her to donate blood with the Red Cross — where she watched a nurse spear a friend's inner elbow, EXCAVATE for the vein, withdraw, and re-stab. The full-body shudder.... Another friend got harpooned in BOTH arms, with an enormous needle. Planning to drain her entirely, were we? Phobia: upgraded. At 18, an ovarian cyst meant surgery — a season of being perforated like a pincushion. Everyone said surely THAT cured the fear. It did not. It got worse. Mom knows the protocol: needle time means full drama detonation; Mom holds the hand, makes conversation, soothes her baby completely. But today: no Mom. Only Paul. Something essential, missing. Oh well — Paul will do. Before lying back, Natt gripped THE NURSE'S hand and declared: P', my needle phobia reaches the brainstem. Please be gentle with me. The nurse laughed: you're FUNNY, nong! (Internally: funny HOW? I am DYING here.) Paul held her hand and made conversation — while laughing his head off (enormously helpful -*-). The nurse: relax, nong — I haven't injected anything yet, just finding the vein. SHE was finding; I was already feeling the alcohol swab at my elbow — and that swabbed spot became the single convergence point of every nerve ending my body owns. But this nurse had GENTLE hands: one stick, done. Natt lay there, tears leaking. It HURT. T_T

Paul asked: you okay? Natt: okay... but woozy. Paul: no surprise — you're talking INCREDIBLY slowly — and laughed again. Presently Natt remembered the 1669 instruction and labored to brief Paul: if anything happens... call 1669, okay? Her English, by now, was not performing to specification. Heavy wooziness. Whatever she said, Paul replied: huh...? What? Say again? Call 1996?? Natt, internally: I'm entrusting my LIFE to this man — will I survive? He seems deeply confused. Paul then asked: by the way... what's the name of our hotel again? Can't remember. Natt, internally, again: I am definitely not surviving this — the man cannot recall WHERE WE LIVE. Paul, apparently reading her mind, offered: don't worry — if anything happens to you, I'll get a bystander to call 1669 for us.

Okay. A small light at the end of the tunnel.

Verdict: the needle worked BEAUTIFULLY. Three hours of deep sleep; woke with the itching gone — bumps still alarming, but shrinking steadily under the oral meds. Fine. At least no NEW bumps. We'll take it.

The Rest Stop at Pang Mapha

Riding from Chiang Mai to Pai and on to Mae Hong Son — or returning from Mae Hong Son to Pai — Natt recommends splitting it into 2 days, resting overnight at Pang Mapha district:

From Pai: Day 1, Pai 🡪 Pang Mapha. Day 2, Pang Mapha 🡪 Mae Hong Son. Returning: Day 1, Mae Hong Son 🡪 Pang Mapha. Day 2, Pang Mapha 🡪 Pai.

Since Natt had ARRIVED in Mae Hong Son town by raft, the return began with riding from Mae Hong Son back toward Pang Mapha. Whichever direction you start, two days of riding will show you the two distinct species of mountain here. Species one: relentless up-down-up-down, viciously steep in places, summiting at 1,400 meters. Exhausting beyond reason — practically homicidal. Paul declared:

"I'm SICK of mountains. I don't want to ride anymore." Natt, internally: YOU planned this route, dear — and now you complain? But fair enough; the man was exhausted. Once the exhaustion passed, the complaining stopped on its own. Species two: one long climb to the top, one long drop to the bottom — found on the Pang Mapha–Pai stretch. Much easier riding. And though Google Maps shows it writhing with switchbacks, the switchbacks actually make it EASIER, since the gradient stays gentle — barring 2–3 hairpins too steep to pedal, where we pushed (cutting to the far lane felt rude, and oncoming traffic was a worry).

The summit of this stretch is Doi Kiew Lom, at 1,431 meters above sea level. The views are ravishing — a full sea of mist blanketing everything, a wide grass terrace up top for photos, and even a fresh-coffee shop! Nobody who arrives here may pass without coffee and view-gazing — because by the time you've PEDALED up here, you're at death's door anyway. A rest is one million percent mandatory. Am I right?

We refueled for 45 minutes on coffee and instant Mama noodles. For the record: tom-yum-shrimp Mama eaten against a backdrop of rolling mist is DELICIOUS — the mist seasons the noodles up to restaurant grade, ha ha (excessive? perhaps) — and no restaurant on earth has this view. Exquisite.

While we sat recovering, a man approached: GOOD GRIEF! You CYCLED up Kiew Lom?! Natt: yes ka. Him: from where? Natt: Pang Mapha. Him: wowww… impressive! But — tired? (Internal monologue: hmm… how to answer. I have just bicycled up a mountain THIS steep. If I am not tired, I am not human.) Outward answer, served with a smile: a little tired, ka! As we lingered over coffee, the mist thickened and thickened — too thick to dare descend, the road completely invisible — then, soon enough, thinned away. Cue the non-stop descent, with P'Bird's classic playing in the head: "Thin mist and smoke look so alike, sometimes you cannot tell them apart..." Wooooo!

Natt filmed the descent — but it ran so long the memory card filled before the bottom. And with this arrival in Pai, hear ye the official proclamation: I and Mister Paul have officially conquered, by bicycle, the route Mae Taeng – Pai – Pang Mapha – Mae Hong Son, COMPLETE.

Oh… here come the tears. T_T

P'A of Thai PBS

Descending from Pai toward Chiang Mai, we spotted a man sipping coffee at a café, a bicycle parked beside him — so we pulled in to say hello. P'A beat us to the greeting: "It's Khun Natt — ISN'T it? The honeymoon-cycling-all-of-Thailand Khun Natt!"

P'A (It Seripak) explained he'd heard from P'Blue (Kasidit Kasemsawat) that Natt was about to ride into Bangkok. He himself had just traveled up from Bangkok to Chiang Mai to START a bike trip — currently bound for Mae Hong Son, over a Friday-Saturday-Sunday window, tent packed, prepared to sleep anywhere. It was already late afternoon, with a VERY long road ahead, so Natt briefed him on the route — including some friendly menace about exactly how brutal it gets — since he was new to touring and ought to ride alert and well-prepared.

Natt loved seeing someone tour even a modest distance. This is a sport for WHENEVER — no need to carve out weeks or months. Three days is enough.

Cross one province line, and congratulations: you're touring.

From that day to this, P'A has graduated from short hops to riding around ASEAN. Start from one small point, and proceed to the enormous ones. The only variable is WHEN you begin.

Route Recommendation: Chiang Mai – Lamphun

Natt hereby recommends — gold star attached — the Chiang Mai–Lamphun road. Because (using the connective properly, see: recommendation, then reason)... it's a two-lane road, paved end to end, flanked by towering trees several CENTURIES old. The road of every cyclist's dreams. Wouldn't it be glorious if Thailand had just one road like this running the length of the entire country?

Yes. Dream on, indeed. -*-

From Natt's observation, most Thai roads USED to be tree-lined. Then car traffic swelled, roads were widened — by felling the trees — and we got bald roads.

Those trees labored for DECADES to grow — some a full century — felled to make hot, parched asphalt that bakes the very villagers who use it. There were plenty of alternatives that didn't require killing trees. Replanting takes generations, and the regrowth may never match the original beauty. What nature grows on its own is always lovelier.

Green roads: how many more years must we wait? Or will there simply be none left?

Lying in Wait

From Lamphun into Lampang, Natt recommends the inner route: first ride past Doi Khun Tan on the Chiang Mai–Lampang highway (Route 11) for about 20 km; before Lampang town, cut across onto Route 1035 toward Hang Chat district — light traffic, runs straight into Lampang town just the same, zero big-highway stress, safer besides — and it's the ONLY road to Hang Chat anyway.

While riding this stretch, a man pedaled up alongside: "Khun Natt, right? I'm HAI — from Facebook!" Natt startled: P'Hai?! What are you doing HERE?

"I live in Lampang. I came out to LIE IN WAIT for you. At first I assumed you'd take the main highway, so I staked it out — but you never came. Then a friend reported you'd taken the inner road, so I chased you down."

P'Hai (Auphan Phiwlueasawat) then led us to his bike shop, 'I Love Bike' — vast selection, including (yes) cycling UNDERWEAR. What a strange and lovely thing: a person we had never once met, determined enough to ride out and intercept us — nearly missing us entirely, yet finding us in the end. And his friend network! Someone actually SPOTTED Natt turning onto the inner road and phoned it in. Is our every movement under surveillance?! Hilarious. Thank you for caring, truly. ^__^

P'Hai's Gang

The day we rode out of Lampang, P'Hai and his friends from the Lampang Bike club came to escort us partway. We expected one or two people. Instead — WHOA… a standing crowd of twenty-plus. In the RAIN, no less. One member was 78 years old — and looked tremendous: fit, firm, packed with muscle.

Uncle told us he'd just cycled back from LAOS. Understand: anyone who can ride Laos is extraordinary — that country is wall-to-wall brutal mountains; only the genuinely strong survive it. Natt still doesn't dare. Listening to him was deeply moving. Uncle said:

A person may age in number only. The HEART must never age. And when the heart doesn't age, the body doesn't either.

Natt sees so many people deploy age as the excuse — no exercise, no activities, nothing. And the less you do, the less strength remains — like machinery left idle, quietly corroding toward ruin. Therefore:

GO DO IT!

Warmth at P'Tun's House

Before entering Tak, Natt was contacted by one of this tour's most devoted followers: P'Tun (Phunsri Rotsuphot), inviting us to overnight at her house. Natt and Paul squirmed with politeness-anxiety — because historically, the state of our hotel room at checkout bears no resemblance whatsoever to its state at check-in. We feared wrecking the poor woman's house.

Riding toward town, we assumed our route wouldn't pass her place at all — figured we'd reach Tak city first and find a hotel. But Paul chose the route through Ban Tak Ok, across the bridge to Ban Tak Tok, then the old road into Tak city — far less traffic, shadier, smoother, hugging the Ping River the entire way. Gorgeous — a different universe from the main road. Anyone riding Lampang-to-Tak: THIS is your route. Nearing town, we phoned P'Tun — and discovered this road runs DIRECTLY past her front door, BEFORE the city. Completely off-script: we'd ridden straight to her house by accident. Ha ha.

P'Tun was waiting out front on her own bicycle — without which we'd certainly have sailed right past. She installed us in the GUEST HOUSE — a fully separate building — bedding already laid out. Paul and Natt conferred and concluded: refusing such kindness, offered at this scale, with a house this lovely, would be plainly disgraceful. Heh heh.

We stayed one night, cared for in lodging and everything else — she even COOKED for us. Nothing fancy, and yet it out-delicioused expensive restaurants. Thank you, P'Tun and family, so very much. We'd never met before — yet, honestly? Sleeping there felt like sleeping at HOME. Warm. Safe. In a hundred-plus nights of hotels, Natt has slept the deep, total sleep of home exactly TWICE: the first at P'Bee's house in Hat Yai — and this was the second. No exaggeration. The difference between a night in a home like this and a night in a hotel — you can FEEL it.

A Day — Divine Timing

While in Kamphaeng Phet, mid-ride, Natt spotted someone waving energetically from the opposite side of the road — so she waved right back. Shortly after, his car pulled up alongside, and he asked:

"You're Khun Natt and Khun Paul — aren't you?"

Yes, Natt confirmed. And then his story: he had been reading the LATEST issue of A Day magazine — open to the very article about Natt — when he glanced up from the page... and saw the two of us cycling past in the flesh. Instant full-body goosebumps. He U-turned at once, stopped to buy us water and cold towels, chased us down — and asked for photos. The whole thing beggars belief.

What are the ODDS of timing that perfect?

A man reading A Day magazine — mid-article, OUR article — looks up, and there we are.

And this wasn't even a high-traffic road. As if that weren't enough, he went to the trouble of turning his car around just to meet us.

Coincidence... really?

Anyone curious to read our interview in A Day: issue 145, pages 112–113!

The Metropolis of Phetchabun

Arriving in Mueang district, Phetchabun province, we saw huge roadside signs reading 'Nakhonban Phetchabun' — "the Phetchabun Metropolis" — and were quietly puzzled, since nakhonban is a term reserved for a CAPITAL city. Asking the locals revealed the story: in B.E. 2486 (1943), during World War II and the Greater East Asia War, the Thai government under Prime Minister Field Marshal Plaek Phibunsongkhram planned to MOVE THE CAPITAL to Phetchabun. Thailand was in dire straits — Bangkok under heavy Allied bombing — and Phetchabun looked ideal for a new capital: superb strategic terrain, ringed by mountains, a single road in and out, beautiful landscape, fine climate, dead center of the country, the natural hub linking the North, Isaan, and Bangkok. The plan also called for building Phetchabun into a secret military base — massing forces to fight and expel the enemy (the Japanese).

In the end the plan collapsed: the land was too constrained for future urban expansion, and it was deep jungle-and-mountain country, rife with malaria. A historical footnote most Thais have never heard: Phetchabun very nearly became the capital of Thailand.

Crossing Khao Rang at Phetchabun

'Khao Rang' is a sweeping viewpoint with fine air, sitting on the Phetchabun–Taphan Hin road — a road built during World War II to open up Phetchabun, and one that claimed the lives of great numbers of its construction workers, who died of malaria.

(Source: Google)

But from Natt's perspective: Khao Rang is a LONG climb followed by a LONG descent — a mountain that's pure joy on the way down, because the down goes onnnn..... fwooosh...... an absolute blast.

The climb takes real time, and real exhaustion — it goes HIGH. But the descent: release the bike and FLOAT.... pure bliss. This mountain beats most of the others we've met — the ones that go up-down, up-down, sometimes with those strange staircase climbs where the road keeps ratcheting upward, forcing you to ration your strength across multiple bursts with no idea how many more hills wait ahead. Misjudge the energy split and you're finished. Budget your power CAREFULLY.

Before the Khao Rang climb we stopped for breakfast and asked directions from the uncle who owned the rice shop. He said: from Wang Chomphu sub-district into Chon Daen district is about 30 km, and at Khao Rang the road rolls up and down for about 15 km. Then he eyed the bicycle and added: there's a decent chance you'll be PUSHING that thing up. (Thank you SO much, sir, for your confidence in our abilities. -*-) For the record: Natt climbed continuously up ONE hill of about a kilometer, descended briefly — and then it was climbing ONLY, no up-and-down whatsoever as advertised, for a good 5+ km. Mercifully not steep the whole way. At the summit stood a gateway arch reading 'Phutthabat — Holy Land — The Romantic Road.' Pick a theme, people! Honestly. But the summit views are gorgeous. Before descending, we naturally stopped for keepsake photos — keepsake-slash-HEART-ATTACK photos this time, since it involved climbing over the roadside guardrail to the far side to keep a turn-warning sign out of frame. Genuinely hair-raising.

The descent: MAGNIFICENT — the same flavor as coming down Phu Phan, curve after curve after curve. We filmed it, for everyone who's never climbed a mountain like this or felt a descent like this. Natt still remembers her first descent of this kind, near Khao Hin Lek Fai at Hua Hin. One word covers it: TERRIFYING — at the start. After which only one word remains: 'FUN.'

My Bicycle vs. Your Hotel

If you're not a cyclist, you will simply never understand:

The bicycle is the single most important object in existence.

If it disappears, the trip is OVER. The bicycle is our own flesh-and-blood child. If the bicycle could be laid on the bed, it WOULD be laid on the bed — and Paul could take the sofa. Ha ha. But most people rank land vehicles like this:

Car > Motorcycle > Bicycle

— on the logic that bicycles are cheap and therefore less important than cars. In truth, expensive-or-cheap is not the point. For a person whose ONLY vehicle is a bicycle, however cheap it is, it matters MORE to that person than anything.

At every lodging, the first question is always: may we bring the bicycle into the room? Most hotels and resorts allow it ("if you can carry it up, knock yourself out") — and however awkward the carry, up it goes, for peace of mind. But some hotels flatly forbid it — outside parking only. Natt remembers one in Samut Sakhon town. She asked: if it's stolen, will you take responsibility? Answer: there's a guard, nong — it won't get stolen. Follow-up: and if it's DAMAGED, will the hotel take responsibility? Answer: there's a GUARD, nong — how would it get damaged?

Here's the thing: the people who fiddle with the bicycle MOST are precisely hotel staff and security guards. Picture it: a strange-looking bicycle left parked alone. One hundred percent of the time, someone wanders over to grab it, twist things, click through the gears — and the champions actually CLIMB ON for a photo. If the bike falls and breaks, who, exactly, is responsible? Now — at plenty of OTHER hotels, the moment we mentioned the bicycle's price, they gasped and said: in that case, carry it straight up to your room, nong! — or unlocked a storage room as a special case. Funny how learning the price suddenly extinguishes everyone's appetite for "responsibility." But the Samut Sakhon hotel would not budge: park it with the motorcycles, the guard will watch it, end of discussion. Natt refused to gamble. We slept elsewhere.

Which is how that night ended at a cricket-grade hotel in Samut Sakhon town — 500 baht a night, with walls so thin we could hear the neighboring room doing... certain things..... Natt told Paul: if we put on a horror movie right now, one good scream scene would absolutely demolish the romance next door. Ha ha.

Having cycled all 77 provinces, the HARDEST zone in the entire country for finding hotels is the ring of provinces around Bangkok. Being so close to the capital, travelers simply drive on into Bangkok to sleep — better lodging, better food, better everything. Lesson logged: do not plan to overnight in this zone. Hotels are scarce, quality is poor, and a curtain-motel runs 500 baht a night — money that buys far better almost anywhere else in the country.

The Road Without Aesthetics

Arriving in the Nakhon Pathom / Samut Sakhon / Samut Prakan / Chachoengsao belt (the near-Bangkok zone), the atmosphere shifts unmistakably from every other province: barely any trees — just factories, trucks, fetid water, and roadside garbage. Let's say: not very beautiful. We do understand the cause: industrial zones where factory owners take no responsibility for production waste, compounded by the fact that most residents here aren't locals and feel no bond to the place as home. The original locals surely grieve, powerless to change it. It saddens the heart just to look. Rewind a few decades, before the factories took root, and this area was surely as lovely as anywhere.

The second problem: lodging. Natt began hunting at 3 p.m. and found nothing but curtain motels — several refusing the bicycle indoors, with no storage either. Pass. The clock kept running; every inquiry yielded zero hope of anything decent and cheap. One place opened at 1,200 baht — Paul: not worth the price. Another at 1,800 — Paul: too expensive. Place after place, nothing fit. By Sam Phran it was 5 p.m., irritation rising, zero will to pedal on. Locals said: next options are Om Yai or Om Noi, way over there — and they're curtain motels anyway.

NO! I am NOT riding there. We find a bed HERE!

Natt's guide career saved the day: she knew Sam Phran had a hotel ahead — she'd brought tour groups to its cultural shows, and knew the rooms were genuinely good. And so we surrendered to 'Suan Sam Phran Riverside (Rose Garden)' — 2,600 baht a night — because exhaustion had won. Truly could not go one meter further. And with this transaction, Beloved Papa officially became this tour's financial sponsor (conscripted without consent), since Natt had already swiped HIS credit card — her own cash being insufficient — and only telephoned him AFTERWARD:

"Congratulations, Papa! You're officially my sponsor now! Thank you SO much. I've been advertising your company the whole way, you know!" (The back of Natt's cycling jersey carries her father's company name.)

Papa: since WHEN am I your sponsor? Paying for WHAT? Natt explained: the hotel — I truly couldn't go on, I was SO tired, couldn't find a room, blah blah blah... (maximum sympathy deployment). But don't worry, Papa — there will DEFINITELY be more sponsorship opportunities down the road! Ha ha. (Papa, internally: would it kill you to ASK first?)

And since we were in for a baht, in for a fortune: tomorrow we stay until they formally invite us to Check Out. Ha! Paul's plan: breakfast from 6 a.m. straight through to 10, then back to bed for 2 more hours, checkout at noon sharp. Extract. Every. Satang. Ha ha. Positive reframe: consider it our 2-month wedding anniversary celebration.

While prepping the bike to leave, Paul reported that one of the Rose Garden bellboys had read an article about us on some website — and fearing we'd think him a fibber, had PRINTED THE ARTICLE OUT as evidence. Thank you for the interest, and for remembering us! And when we went to fetch the flip-flops, we found he'd hung a sign on the bicycle: DO NOT PLAY WITH. DO NOT TOUCH. Genuinely excellent guardianship. Thank you for understanding us so completely.

Short Memory

From Samut Sakhon, heading for Samut Prakan, Natt posted on thaimtb asking for a route between the two that avoided Phetkasem Road. Many kind souls answered — on the webboard AND by phone. But for reasons unknown, the moment anyone gave directions, Natt's brain retained NOTHING. Only the opening move survived — "Nong Natt, turn left up ahead" — and then........ GONE!!! The roads twist endlessly; total disorientation. Roughly TWENTY people phoned in directions, relaying us along leg by leg — which mostly meant we inconvenienced all twenty. -*-

En route we met P'Atsawin, who happened to be cycling past, and asked: which way to Phra Samut Chedi? He rode us personally to the junction, then explained the remainder. Heh heh — fog again. Retained: "turn right where we part ways." Everything else — every junction, every turn he so carefully laid out — bounced clean off the skull. The solution: interrogate locals junction by junction, one intersection at a time. Meanwhile the household's actual navigation expert can't understand Thai. Perfect. And yet — we reached Phra Samut Chedi safe and sound.

The episode brought Natt to full enlightenment: her memory is SHORT, and her directional memory is ATROCIOUS. Apologies and gratitude to every single person who relayed directions — and special thanks to P'Atsawin for the escort. Thank you, truly!

The Vow-Fulfillment Tour

The two of us were closing in on Bangkok, throttle wide open — homesickness at full strength. At Chai Natt we stayed at the Sukjit Hotel. That night, some inexplicable impulse insisted Natt go OUTSIDE — despite dinner being done and bedtime at hand. The heart simply demanded a stroll. She opened the door and walked straight into a touring group checking in — including one couple on a TANDEM. Natt went over to chat and discovered: they knew us — they'd been following our story!

Why was this group touring at all? Because one of their riders had made a vow to a sacred power: if the prayer were granted, he would cycle UP Doi Suthep and Doi Inthanon. The prayer was granted. Hence: a vow-fulfillment ride. He admitted: in the moment, nothing came to mind except Doi Inthanon. In hindsight — should have vowed a SHORTER mountain. Ha ha. Good luck, P'! We're cheering you — push, shove, pedal, whatever it takes, get to that summit! And this group was FIT, mind you — they'd just hammered 200+ km from Bangkok in a single pull. (Where's the fire, P'? Ha ha.) One member, aged FOURTEEN, had ridden the full 200+. Goodness… violent levels of respect. Magnificent.

What a strange, lovely thing — meeting, trading stories, both sides lucky enough to encounter the other in the flesh. One final gift of friendship before the capital. And for anyone who wants to start cycling but can't find the auspicious moment: try a vow-fulfillment ride! Keep it modest — Khao Yai, say. Ride up to the meadow, pitch tents, watch stars, mookata barbecue with the gang.

Sounds FUN, no?!

Every Party Must End

From Prachinburi, before Nonthaburi, P'Blue (Kasidit Kasemsawat) made contact: he'd ride escort. A meeting point was set — which Natt promptly got lost trying to find. P'Blue, baffled by our no-show, rode back UP the route he guessed we'd taken — with about 10 friends in tow. Natt had never actually met P'Blue; she knew only his Facebook photos. But the instant a man appeared in JEANS, wearing headphones, on a bicycle — identification complete. THAT is P'Blue. Unmistakable. A man entirely his own. He escorted us all the way to Nonthaburi.

Natt deposited the bicycle at Don Huttner's house in Nonthaburi and taxied home. The reason: a month earlier, she'd publicly announced on the webboard that on November 4, 2012, Natt and Paul would ride from Nonthaburi into Bangkok — and invited everyone, friends and strangers alike, to join the final ~20 km into the capital. But the going-home hunger had spiked our speed so hard that we'd arrived a FULL WEEK early.

Which, in fairness, bought time to prepare for returning to work — a stack of urgent missions awaited. When the 4th came, Natt taxied back to Don's house to stage the announced ride. She never imagined the turnout: around FORTY riders — a full bicycle parade surging into Bangkok, sharing pavement with the capital's crushing traffic. Thank goodness for the big group; alone, we'd surely have been squeezed flat before reaching the city.

The finish line: the 'Café Velodome' coffee shop. Rolling in, Natt was struck speechless — the crowd waiting to receive us was beyond anything she'd imagined: Natt's family; health clubs; cycling clubs of every stripe; the friends made across the bicycle webboards. Even the Tourism Authority of Thailand HEADQUARTERS came to welcome us and sign the book. We are two completely ordinary people — no celebrities — and yet a whole community had followed this tour, supported it in a dozen ways, cheered us on, and now turned out on closing day to wait for us. This is friendship transmitted THROUGH the bicycle, and it filled Natt's chest past the point of words. Mom said that when she saw Natt pedal around the turn into Thammasat, the tears nearly came — joy, and the feeling of standing inside a page of history. A memory that will never, ever fade.

77 Provinces — 143 Days — 8,600 Kilometers

Amazing Thailand. This country is genuinely BEAUTIFUL — place after place left us wide-eyed. The slogan has it exactly right: 'Travel Thailand — if you don't go, you'll never know.' And you truly WON'T know unless you go. Why rush abroad when you haven't even seen your own country? See your own home first, completely — and THEN, if you still want the world beyond, that's what "broadening your horizons" actually means.

Thailand holds the beautiful arts and cultures of four regions — an enchantment that pulls you under, and a Thai-ness genuinely worth being proud of. We got to touch the simple village way of life: unhurried, peaceful, easy on the heart, with lovely, gracious people whose generosity never once ran dry. We felt warm even in the most distant corners of the country. Take the 3 Southern Border Provinces: nothing like the fear suggests — cycling there is honestly LESS frightening than cycling into Bangkok. The Muslim communities are wonderful and endlessly generous — a quality that's become very hard to find in Bangkok.

This tour gave Natt friendships she never expected, and people she'd never have orbited into — every single one connected through the bicycle. And the truth is: cycling around Thailand is not difficult at all. As long as you have strength, just keep pedaling — you'll arrive eventually. The tour also taught Natt her own capacity: it turns out she CAN rough it. I have a battle mode too, apparently. Tough. Durable. Who knew?

As for two people living together 24 hours a day: the ceiling is about THREE MONTHS. Past that, you start eyeing the cutlery. But it teaches you the other person's true nature — and, deeper still, your OWN dark side. You learn each other; you learn to adjust toward each other. When one is wound tight, the other must go slack — never both tight at once. And above all, you must learn to 'forgive.'

Every mountain climbed is a problem. When we pedal past this mountain, that problem too can be solved. Every problem always has its exit. Every mountain has its summit — no climb rises forever; eventually it must descend. Problems work the same way: at their peak they feel like a dead end with no way out, and then — they loosen, and the way out appears. Just don't stop pedaling. Don't flee the problem, afraid to face it. Don't fear in advance. Try first. Try to solve it first. Fight with the heart, hard. Don't lose to a dog! Some dogs are paralyzed and still skip around bursting with joy. We humans have arms AND legs. Keep fighting. We can do better than this.

A long journey — even one that burns tens of thousands of baht, even one stuffed with both wonders and disasters — once you've come through it, you emerge a person with a new way of seeing. Some things money cannot buy. Some skills don't exist until you try. Some things can't be understood until touched firsthand. Happiness and memory — no amount of someone ELSE'S telling will ever make you feel it. There is only taking your body and your heart out into the enormous world — the one thing no one can teach you, and no one can do for you.

Trip Summary

Total duration of the ride: 147 days Total distance: 8,560 kilometers Total money spent / Longest single-day ride / Highest point climbed / Top speed / Slowest speed — Total money spent / Longest single-day ride / Highest point climbed / Top speed / Slowest speed — Check our GPS maps at: http://everyprovincechallenge.com/gps/

Preparing for a Long-Distance Tour

1. Prepare the Mind

Everything begins with the mind. Basic human nature dislikes leaving its own 'comfort zone.' What does "comfort zone" mean? In Natt's definition: a personal territory — familiar, long-inhabited — where you've lived with the environment so long that you have full confidence to do anything within it without nervousness or feeling unsafe. Example: cycling in the neighborhood you grew up in feels effortless, because you KNOW — hey! Soi 3 has the vicious dog, detour; that corner is a blind spot, cars appear from nowhere; that stretch has the pothole, swing left to clear it. Then one day you ride out onto a big unfamiliar road: more cars, motorcycles riding like maniacs, pedestrians who never look. The road you've ridden PAST in a car every day — never noticed a single pothole. Today, on the bicycle: WAIT! Where did that crater come from?! As if someone dug it specifically to ambush YOU. Because you can't predict it, because the road isn't yours yet, because you can't be sure what lies ahead — confidence drains, and you grow nervous about stepping outside the comfort zone. Many people choose to stop themselves there — never stepping out, never expanding their territory. But many others DARE to expand it. To those people: our genuine respect.

So: never let fear seal the exit from your own comfort zone. Never let it stop your thinking. And — crucially — never let OTHER people stop your thinking either. Before this trip, plenty of voices said: you can't do it; are you insane; a WOMAN doing something like this isn't safe. Natt took those words and converted them into fuel. In the exhausted, despairing hours, she'd replay them to herself:

"Oh — because I'm a WOMAN, you think I can't? Watch this. I'll prove it to you."

If you ask what matters MOST in preparation, one word: 'heart.' The heart is everything. Once the heart commits, you will find every possible way to succeed. So sit down, think it through, weigh it yourself. Don't poll other people — this is a question only YOU can answer: do I want to try? Am I brave enough?

Is the 'heart' sufficient — or not?

2. Prepare the Body

Heart ready? Now the body. You're probably guessing this means brutal fitness training. By the book, yes — you should at minimum get your body accustomed to a level of exercise you've never done. But no gym membership and no body-punishment required. To train, simply ride short distances — 20–25 km — or walk about 8–10 km a day. That's genuinely enough. You're not only training the body; you're training the MIND alongside it. Why not the gym? Because real touring happens in DAYTIME, and we all know Thailand's daytime: hellishly hot. Training in an air-conditioned room therefore helps with nothing except muscle — heat tolerance is an entirely different subject. Exercising in the real furnace teaches you what you can endure, and builds the acclimatization you'll actually need.

Real touring requires a body that can absorb at least 2–3 hours of blazing sun per day — never mind the constant weather whiplash (Natt has had mornings of cold rain flip to scorching heat by mid-morning; not catching a fever counts as a victory). Mostly, though, expect hot through to ferociously hot, exclusively. And the reason for the 20–25 km training rides: in real touring you don't hammer straight through. Ride one hour, rest 5–10 minutes, ride again — and the body never collapses into deep fatigue. Natt once hammered 2 hours non-stop and burned herself out completely. "But I can't even cover 20–25 km in an hour!" — easy: anchor on TIME, not distance. One hour, whatever distance results, fast or slow — who cares. Remember: this is YOUR pleasure trip. You're not racing anyone in the Tour de France.

"Must I train hill climbs too?" If your neighborhood has hills — sure, train them, no harm done; conquer the hills and the flats take care of themselves. No hills nearby? Don't worry. When the tour serves you a hill: drop into the climbing gear and inch up — INCH, mind you. Do not attack the climb; that path leads only to death. Slow and steady wins — and don't get so absorbed in pedaling that you forget the VIEW, because slowness is precisely what reveals the scenery others miss. As for muscles: they build themselves. Tired? Rest. Recovered? Ride. Three days on, one day off — let the body repair its wear. Food: emphasize rice and meat — rice for carbohydrate energy, meat for muscle-repairing protein. Want to lose weight? Don't eat first thing — water and a sip of coffee, ride an hour, THEN find breakfast. In that first hour the body burns stored FAT for fuel; eat first, and it burns breakfast instead, leaving the spare fat exactly where it was, for your viewing pleasure. And one thing that MUST be said: the BUTT. Make peace with it now — butt pain is coming, deep bruising guaranteed. Best defense: when buying the bike, study the saddle. Choose BIG. It helps. Ha ha.

3. Prepare the Bags

Mind ready, body ready — let's pack. Natt packed a MOUNTAIN, certain every item would someday earn its place. Reality: roughly 15 kilograms mailed home. The essentials divide into 5 groups:

1. 'Clothing.' 1–2 cycling kits suffice. At each lodging, wash them during your shower and hang overnight. Not dry by morning? Accept your fate and wear them anyway — within the hour your sweat will re-soak them regardless. Off-bike clothes: 3–4 outfits, DARK colors, non-iron, quick-dry. Zero problems.

2. 'Toiletries.' Hotels supply shampoo and soap; tent-and-temple sleepers, pack small sizes (rebuy when empty): soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, face wash. Ladies contemplating a cosmetics bag: abandon the thought IMMEDIATELY. Leave it home; it will never be opened. Prioritize sunscreen and aloe vera gel instead — guaranteed daily use. For that time of the month: tampons. Supreme.

3. 'Household medicines.' Chronic conditions: carry your meds. Paracetamol, painkillers, antibiotics, anti-diarrheals, mosquito repellent — pack them; you WILL use them. Plus wound supplies: alcohol, plasters, Betadine, tincture. Pack them... in case of falling. Ha ha.

4. 'Bicycle spares.' THE most critical category. Two inner tubes minimum; going far, add a spare tire. Bolts, repair tools — so a mid-road breakdown has a remedy. Better still: PRACTICE changing tubes and parts at home, so the real exam finds you ready.

5. 'Life-entertainment equipment.' Load the iPod to the brim, or carry a little radio — it doubles the fun and halves the perceived distance. Earphones: ONE ear only, never two — dangerous — and wear it on the ear facing AWAY from traffic, keeping the other free for engines and warnings. Or buy a tiny computer speaker with a MiniSD slot, strap it to the handlebars, and broadcast — safer than earphones, with free music for all fellow citizens of Earth. Cameras: unless you're fluent with big rigs, bring a simple digital compact — because the shots worth taking appear WHILE riding, and by the time a big camera is unholstered, the moment is gone. Find a small pouch, hang it at your fastest-draw position; waterproof if possible, so rain holds no terror. These days there are tiny handlebar cameras — GoPro, brilliant — settable to shoot every 10 seconds or roll video.

4. Prepare the Wallet

Honestly? This trip's budget BALLOONED. The plan said 1,000 baht/day; reality said 1,500 — mostly lodging. Plenty of tourers hold the line under 10,000 baht a MONTH by tenting at temple pavilions and roadside salas. Bangkok people may struggle to picture this, but outside the cities, quiet tent-friendly spots are everywhere.

Bottom line: budget depends on you, and on how much comfort you require. Natt begs you: never abandon the thing you love over money. We weren't riding on deep pockets — Paul's wallet is no fountain either — and we arrived home from this trip stone, flat BROKE.

Money can always be earned again.

But this experience, these memories — they stay welded to us forever.

Rich or poor — they're ours until the day we die.

Tips for Women

Lady cyclists: when that time of the month arrives, skip the riding on the first days if you can — save the strength, rest instead. You'll tire faster, and the mood swings and irritability will spike. Painkiller, then a LONG sleep. Sanitary products: tampons — simply the best match for exercise. Bras: sports bras, for comfort and freedom. Underwear: rider's choice — Natt skips it (seam irritation), others need it or feel far too breezy, ha ha. Entirely a matter of taste.

Cosmetics: do not bring them. Dead weight; you will never use them. "Just mascara?" — NO, sweetheart. It will smear into sludge; the sweat is biblical; you will not look prettier, ha ha. Prioritize sunscreen — UV protection, skin-cancer prevention — while accepting the central truth of touring: you WILL go dark. There is no escape. Lotion? Permitted — but NIGHT application only; morning lotion equals all-day stickiness. Supplement with aloe vera gel — superb — it cools heat-baked skin and restores moisture. Showers: COLD, to vent the day's heat and refresh. And finally: once in the room, maintain SEPARATE territories. No cuddling. Two overheated bodies radiate at each other, compounding the heat AND the irritability.

Women's matters. You simply must understand. Ha ha.

The Problem of the... Bottom.....

After long enough in the saddle, Paul's bottom develops irritation from the friction between flesh and shorts. If you've never known this, recall a new shoe biting your heel — same family of suffering. Chafed raw, then marinated in the continuous sweat of riding, the area festers — until at last Paul's poor little bottom produced a BOIL, resembling a massively inflamed pimple, rendering him unable to sit properly. Some days the bicycle felt mysteriously tilted, weighted to one side — and on inquiry, the man reported he was riding the saddle with ONE BUTTOCK ONLY (a unique special skill — do not attempt; minors require adult supervision). The other cheek was too painful for duty.

Standard remedies: antibacterial soap on the region, perhaps oral antibiotics alongside; sometimes Dettol antiseptic cream applied to the boil's head under an overnight plaster, to shrink and burst it. (We do hope no one is reading this chapter over a meal. Ha ha.) But all the above merely treats the SYMPTOM.

Then one day Mike Conroy, our friend in America, mailed us chamois cream (saddle cream for cyclists) to try — and behold: it WORKED. Problem permanently dissolved. The cream coats the applied skin, making the surface slippery so fabric cannot chafe it, and contains antiseptic agents besides — protection and treatment in one. A cream sent down from heaven for cyclists, runners, triathletes, and victims of shoe-bite everywhere. But being imported, it's nearly impossible to rebuy here — few shops, vicious prices. So we decided to MAKE IT OURSELVES.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, the commercial break — nobody else will advertise for us, so we shall advertise for ourselves, ha ha. Smooth Ass Silk butt cream — manufactured in Thailand to the same standard formula as the American original, lightly adjusted for our humid climate. Contains lanolin (from sheep's wool — hence the glide), available in sachet and tube. Suitable for EVERY activity where skin meets fabric friction — shirts, shorts, shoes — every gender, every age, not cyclists alone. Those who have suffered this torment know exactly how bad it gets: THIS is your savior. And those who haven't yet tasted this particular pain — may you be struck soon, so you can come support our product. Ha ha. Details and prices at www.smoothasssilk.com!

Tandem Bicycle vs. Regular Bicycle

Cycling couples everywhere wrestle with the purchase question: two separate mountain bikes, one each — or one tandem for two, riding lovey-dovey together as the infatuated do? Natt has lived both configurations; here is the evidence for your deliberation.

On the first long tour in 2008, Hua Hin to Kuala Lumpur — as already told — we rode separate mountain bikes. Now, the power-madness differential between Paul and Natt is approximately Lance Armstrong versus a snail on wheels. Early on we'd ride side by side... and 25 km later, Paul would rocket off ahead, abandoning the wheeled snail to inch along behind. Add brutal heat, and the feminine fury IGNITED — lashing out at everything in her path, irritable AND wounded: FINE! I'm slow! Don't wait for me! Go wherever you like! Leave me ALONE! After a clear-the-air talk — I'm EXHAUSTED; take care of me a little! — Paul understood, apologized profusely, and vowed: tomorrow, no riding ahead. Next day, the man rode glued RIGHT behind her — and Natt detonated again: WHAT is this?! If you're faster, GO AHEAD! Why are you tailgating my backside?! This is my maximum speed! UGH! Translation: I'm tired, I'm hot, and everything you do is wrong by definition. Poor Paul, utterly baffled, no move left un-punished. Looking back now, she laughs at herself. Ha ha.

One more issue: communication. Paul rides FAST, gaps of many meters opening up. Madame is tired; Madame needs a bathroom; Madame wants food; Madame wants a rest — so Madame must SCREAM it forward. Heard: problem solved. Mostly: unheard — requiring a full pursuit sprint to his back wheel before any stop can occur. The bell? Also unheard. (Cyclists understand: wind roaring in the ears plus a mind floating elsewhere equals total deafness.) We seriously considered buying walkie-talkies:

"Unit One to Unit Two. Over."

"Unit Two. Over."

"Unit One urgently needs to PEE. Gas station, IMMEDIATELY. Over."

"Unit Two copies. Over."

We never bought them. Too expensive.

For this honeymoon tour, Natt chose the tandem. The blessings: together at every moment, no one ever dropped, however mismatched the engine outputs — still one unit. Climbs are pushed as a team; bathroom and hunger announcements happen at conversational volume. The curse: mid-fight, THERE IS NO ESCAPE. Mutter the quietest complaint and the other party hears every syllable — and is within easy striking range besides: swatting, slashing, snapping, head-bopping, all conveniently located. And recovery time from anger? Ohhh.... many, many kilometers. But Natt treasures one tandem feature above all: wherever we ride, NAT ARRIVES FIRST — she sits in front. Ha ha.

Conclusion: both configurations have their pros and cons.

It's down to taste. Deliberate well, and choose!

(Funny Legs)

Dessert District

A small Paul comedy. Riding from Surat Thani toward Nakhon Si Thammarat, we passed a roadside sign reading 'Khanom District' — a district of Nakhon Si Thammarat. Paul declared: let's go THERE. Natt, puzzled: why? The man explained: it's called KHANOM ("dessert") District — the snacks must be ABUNDANT. Total system crash. -*- That's Kha-NOM district, dear. The town. NOT desserts.

And once more, passing through 'Raman District' in Yala province — which Paul confidently read aloud as... 'RAMEN District.'

Good grief..... there is NOTHING in that head but food.

Red Pork Rice

We had stopped to eat at a restaurant in Pattani. The auntie running it was dressed in full Muslim attire — headscarf, modest covering. Paul walked up and ordered... red PORK rice.

Record scratch!

Natt turned to stare at him, faintly horrified, with no idea what to even say. The auntie was presumably equally stunned: is this a joke... or is he serious?

Now, Paul KNOWS Muslims don't eat pork — but who knows where the man's brain had wandered. Natt hissed: Muslims don't eat PORK! How exactly is your red-pork-rice order going to materialize?! Paul collapsed laughing. Natt nearly died of embarrassment. As if the catfish massaman weren't already on his record.

You enormous farang!!!

Dog Stories

Any outdoor cyclist who has never been chased by a dog simply hasn't logged enough riding hours. In all of Natt's miles, the chases came so often that she finally UNDERSTOOD the Thai proverb: 'A barking dog never bites.' It genuinely never does. It's the SILENT one, my friend — when that one comes, PEDAL. It means business.

On the first long tour, Hua Hin to Kuala Lumpur, Paul handled GPS and route planning, sitting over Google Maps each night — and in 2008, Google Maps in Thailand was nowhere near today's accuracy. Time after time the map promised a through-road that turned out to be a dead end. This day was the same: the map pointed us down a narrow little dirt track (riding separate bikes then, fully loaded). Paul said: I'm not sure about this — wait here, I'll scout ahead and see if it goes through. Five minutes later, here comes Paul back through a rolling cloud of dust, bellowing something completely unintelligible — with a pack of nearly TEN DOGS in pursuit behind him. I... I... that is to say....... full system shock. No idea what to do. As Paul closed in, the bellowing resolved into: WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! TURN AROUND AND RUN! Natt, internally: my knees are jelly, I'm terrified, I can't MOVE. By the time she'd wrestled the bike around, the dogs had arrived. And the moment they saw us STOP — they stopped. No biting. Not even barking. Just a long mutual stare-down, roughly translating to: well? Your move. Out with it! Finally Natt chose to pedal away first — and the INSTANT her legs turned, it was as if the pedaling transmitted an electric signal to the pack, because the chase and the barking resumed at full ferocity. From that day on, the proverb made perfect sense: if it barks, it won't bite.

Another time, on this very honeymoon tour, riding past a house, THREE dogs charged out, chasing and barking — properly frightening. So Paul, in a fit of madness, BARKED BACK. Result: all three dogs stopped barking and sat down, utterly bewildered — three heads tilted in synchronized confusion, thinking, roughly: this one's NEW. He barks back, lads.

Once, we rode toward an oncoming dog who walked quietly; we pedaled quietly; mutual indifference, perfect manners. A moment after we'd passed — the sound of CLAWS scrabbling on asphalt. Natt turned and nearly fainted: mouth peeled wide open, fangs out — terrifying — in full launch position for a point-blank strike at PAUL'S ANKLE. One second later and it would have been a sneak bite — and a night at the hospital for rabies shots, guaranteed.

And the funniest dog tale (in Natt's opinion): we were riding BEHIND a dog. The dog, startled, assumed we were hunting it — and fled. But it fled directly AHEAD of the bicycle. Had it veered off the road, story over — but apparently our bicycle was so terrifying that the dog sprinted for its very life... until its HIND legs began overtaking its FRONT legs. Picture a dog running so fast that its back paws pull level with its front paws. Conclusion: the legs tangled with each other, and down it went in a heap. Ha ha. Funniest thing we ever saw. The single greatest argument for a handlebar camera — that footage belonged to the world.

Many foreign cyclist friends have shared their Thai-dog countermeasures. Some use the humble water bottle — squirt squirt straight in the face; startled dog stops. A water pistol would presumably work too — though beware of villagers drawing the wrong conclusions. The heavier-armed carry a stick with a cord lashed to the tip, whip-style: when the chase begins, they slash the air — rarely connecting, but the SOUND alone breaks off the pursuit. And the heaviest case on record (relayed via friend John): a European cyclist who, when John asked his dog-repelling method, answered — air pistol. I just shoot them. Hmm.... charming. If Natt were a dog, she'd howl the signal ahead to the next pack down the road: BITE THAT ONE. He shoots air pistols at us.

In closing, beginners, memorize this:

A barking dog never bites.

But if it DOES bite —

every rider for themselves! Ha ha.

Passing the Cattle Herds

Cows and buffaloes — sounds harmless enough, no?

Adorable, even. Right?

Little cows chewing grass, little buffaloes ambling along, maximum chill.

On this tour, Natt rode into herds occupying the ENTIRE road — radiating this road belongs to US, peasants. When they claim it like that, where exactly am I supposed to go? Is there a toll? What's the protocol here?! The only idea available at the time: ring the bell to ask the honored cattle to kindly yield the lane. The honored locals whipped their heads around with expressions of profound displeasure, broadcasting roughly:

And who might YOU be? Do you have any idea whose turf this is?! The AUDACITY — ringing a bell at US. One more ding and you're getting the horns.

Errr.. the situation was deteriorating. Better to go very still and very silent. The doctrine, learned that day: when a herd of cows and buffaloes is out promenading across the full width of the road — ride as QUIETLY as possible. Avoid being noticed. Never approach close enough to startle. Do NOT talk back to the gentlemen. If they're crossing, stop and let them finish. Achieve the elemental state of pure AIR if you can manage it. And you will pass unharmed.

The Paul Diet

During the mountain stretches — peak energy expenditure — Paul seized his official license to eat exclusively FATTENING things: pizza, pasta, meats, oily everything, beer, snacks of all nations. Well, I'm EXHAUSTED, aren't I? Burned so much energy. Surely I've earned replacement calories, darling.

After descending from the mountains, Paul resolved: from THIS day forward, the diet resumes — the 40th birthday approaching and all. Natt said: good, great — so what's for breakfast? Paul: Thai food. NO more American Breakfasts. Natt: fine, no problem. We then rode past a McDonald's — and Natt, testing: McDonald's? Paul fell silent for a beat, then: errr… yes, actually. The diet can start at LUNCH. -*-

Mm… wonderful. So at lunch we'll cut back? NO!!

And THAT, friends, is the psychology of a chubby person.

Postcards to Myself

Postcards: little anchors of travel memory — what happened that day, and where we were. Wherever Natt travels, she buys postcards as keepsakes. And she has one extra ritual: writing postcards and mailing them TO HERSELF.

This tour was no exception — Natt bought beautiful postcards along the way and mailed them to herself and to Mom, always at the post office counter rather than the drop box, for fear they'd never arrive. And counter service revealed something: postal officers are MIGHTY nosy about other people's business.

How so, you ask?

Hand the postcard to the officer — and the officer takes it and READS it. (Who authorized this?!) Right in front of you. Reading complete, stamp applied. EVERY post office, EVERY time. Incomprehensible. I'm not mailing classified documents or bomb threats; no clearance review is required! It got to where Natt wanted to write across the card:

"P' — this postcard is NOT addressed to you. WHY are you reading it?" Ha ha.

Grass and Glass

Tandem riding: do not imagine the front-seat passenger lives in luxury, legs spinning lightly, hands free for photography. No — beyond staff photographer, the front seat is the official ROAD HAZARD DETECTION UNIT. Eyes sharp, constantly scanning: pothole ahead, swing left! HEY — a nail, drift right! SNAKE! Wide berth, WIDE! But Natt's eyesight being so very excellent, she completely failed to see the COBRA — hood spread, neck raised, primed to strike — waiting dead ahead. Mercifully Paul saw it first and we swerved in time. The snake feared us; we feared the snake; mutual terror all round — so let us mutually keep our distance, yes? Paul: HOW are you watching the road?! We nearly got STRUCK! Well, EXCUSE me — eyes blur sometimes. People make mistakes!

But the all-time classic: broken glass on the road. In her haste, Natt's "Glass!" came out as "Grass!" Paul, baffled: we have to dodge GRASS now? Natt: GRASS! GRASS! GRASS! (accent slipping further with each repetition) — BROKEN GLASS, MAN.... Paul: yes, grass, SO WHAT? Natt: no no — the SHARP stuff! GLAAASS! Obviously if it were grass I wouldn't be yelling at you to dodge it! UGH.... A new household treaty was subsequently ratified: henceforth, whenever Natt says Glass OR Grass — YOU DODGE. Are we agreed? Ha ha.

Eyes Squeezed Shut

Road riding means dust, endlessly — sometimes exhaust plumes, sometimes crop-burning smoke. Once we hit an active roadworks site, jackhammers going full tilt, dust boiling everywhere. Keeping eyes open against that grit was impossible — so Natt squeezed hers SHUT and rode on. Once clear, Natt remarked: even with my eyes closed, the dust still got in! Paul: WHAT?! You had your eyes CLOSED back there?! Natt: obviously — that much dust! Wait... weren't YOU watching the road? Paul: NOPE. Mine were closed too.

KARMA!

Conclusion: this husband-and-wife team rode through a construction zone with FOUR eyes shut between them, nobody watching anything. A treaty followed this incident too: in dust, we now close eyes in SHIFTS. This round I keep watch; next round I close.

Are we PERFECTLY clear?!

Thailand, the Land of Smiles

You've surely heard Thailand called the 'Land of Smiles.' Natt heard the phrase all through childhood — yet never once actually FELT it. Life in the capital, where we grew up, is high-competition and high-stress; a genuine smile is desperately hard to find.

But riding through all four regions of this country, Natt finally saw the simple, quiet life of rural Thailand — people leaning gently on one another, no rushing, no churning complications. Happiness sitting right there, close at hand. And so the smile, out in the countryside, is the easiest thing in the world to find.

Thai people have BEAUTIFUL smiles — deeply charming, with a gravity that pulls you back again and again. Everywhere, friendship-smiles found the two of us: grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunties — beaming at total strangers from another province, and pressing kindness on us besides. Rural people may not be rich in money, but their wealth of generosity is immense — a thing no money can buy, and one that brands itself permanently onto the heart.

Impressed by You

Hotel Recommendations

Across 77 provinces we slept in a GREAT many hotels — from superb to spectacular dumps. But as ever, we keep only the good. So Natt will recommend only the ones that impressed us — with no advertising agenda and zero commission. We pass them along purely because they're genuinely good, and we want others to enjoy the same fine service we did.

Jarunan Mansion — Mueang District, Nakhon Sawan. Tel: 081-040-9347. Rooms: 500–800 baht

Crossing the Finish Line

You've finished reading. Itching to ride yet?

Or — if cycling isn't your itch, but your heart is squirming and fidgeting with some OTHER thing you've always wanted to do and never done: GO DO IT. Release yourself and let the heart lead. Try, learn, see new things. Sometimes the answer you've waited an eternity for arrives precisely this way — like a light switching on to show the path. Human life isn't long at all, yet so many love to believe there's plenty of time left, that it can wait, that any old someday will do. But if we never BEGIN, when exactly does it ever get done? They say a human birth is exceedingly hard to come by — so hurry up and spend this life until it's WORTH it.

We hope this book becomes the spark for many of you to dare to go do the thing you long to do. Never let fear stop your life. Fear is something the mind manufactures by itself — and the one thing that can dissolve it is YOU. To everyone out there carrying a dream: this is our cheer, our push, our shove toward the thing you've set your heart on.

CONQUER THE GOAL!

Thank You

This trip could never have been completed without the help of these people. Thank you — truly, from the heart. Anyone whose name we've forgotten to list: our apologies right here — but every one of you lives in Natt and Paul's memory forever.

• John Graham of Bicycle Thailand — trip sponsor, who also rode escort all the way to Hua Hin
• Father Manas Opasanon of Embassy Freight Thailand — the trip's other sponsor, who covered costs in the tightest moments
• The Tourism Authority of Thailand offices in every province, for signing our book and coordinating support
• Friend Ton (Patipat Chomanee) of Nakhon Si Thammarat — for the dinner that made Paul weep over chicken feet
• P'Por (Rapheewat Phunutaphai) of Phatthalung — who advised us, and valiantly tried to dispel the swimming-buffalo dream
• The 'Choi Sen' bicycle shop, Phatthalung town — for repairing our pannier
• P'See (Halem Mala), Yaya (Raya Mala), and the Pattani Cycling Club — who cared for us like family of 20 years' standing
• The cycling teams of Ton Sai, Yi-ngo, Rueso, Raman districts and every team unnamed — who rode beside us and pushed us over every mountain
• 'Sana Bicycle' shop, Narathiwat — lodging sponsor during our Narathiwat visit
• P'Bee (Saichon Homchuen), Hat Yai — for shelter and a magnificent dinner
• Nong Kung (Nutjaree Niranrat), Phuket — for lodging, photos, food, and touring
• Sukko Spa, Phuket — for the massage package
• Khun Ladawan Chuaichat, head of the Phang-nga Tourism Coordination Center — lodging sponsor for one night in Phang-nga
• P'Chai (Wara Sathon) and P'Tom (Thaweesak Thammarak) of Home Phang Nga Guest House — who rode us all the way to that day's highest point
• Ko Le (Sitthiphong Wiriyanon) of the 'Wiriya' shop, Ranong — who found us lodging and washed the bicycle
• P'Kob (Kasama Bupphawet-Bales) and Byron Bales of 'Kasama Pizza,' Ban Krut, Prachuap Khiri Khan — for free lodging
• P'Oh and P'Poey, Samut Songkhram — who guided our ride to Ratchaburi (alone, we'd have been lost)
• P'Nisit and P'Sunee Sriburasuk, Ratchaburi — for the breakfast ride and the directions to Kanchanaburi (we got lost anyway)
• P'Jack, Ajarn Daeng of 'Red Bike' and P'Ji of 'Suphan Bike,' Suphanburi — who rode out to bring us into the province
• P'Ratchata Thada, the Bicycle Rescue Service — who watched over us and rode with us in Nakhon Pathom
• Nong Nat (Anantaphong Narongphet) and family, Sa Kaeo — for the dinner and the scenic boat ride
• P'Jamrat of Lahan Sai and P'Se, Buriram — riding companions
• Ajarn Theeraphan, Buriram — riding companion
• Khun Sareeya Boonmak of TAT Buriram — whose provincial travel briefing was the finest and fullest we met anywhere
• P'James (Ekkachai Parittothok) and friends, Sisaket — who rode with us and introduced us to Isaan dishes neither Natt nor Paul had ever tasted
• The Mai Kham Tawan group, Ubon Ratchathani — who proved to us that age truly is just a number
• Khun June (Juthathip Ngamsurach), Khun Joy (Chophaka Ngamsurach) and friends, Nakhon Phanom — dinner hosts and local guides
• P'Tom (Kritsada Apiraksantikul) of 'Baan Rot Teep,' Maha Sarakham — who proved a provincial bike shop can out-fascinate Bangkok's
• P'Pele (Aphisit Ritthithada), Nong Khai — who led us into town and shot our favorite couple photo of the entire trip
• Ajarn Tang, P'Mac, P'Tom, Loei — riding companions and lodging scouts
• P'Noi of the 'Sam Lor' shop, Nakhon Ratchasima — whose repair kept the whole trip alive
• The 'Excel Electronic' shop, Uttaradit — whose repair saved us once again
• P'Jumphon Parittothok, Chiang Rai — riding companion and Wat Rong Khun guide
• P'Ud (Phuriphat Santisanguansak) — Chiang Rai host, and master of ceremonies for the fried-cricket initiation
• P'Samak of Phan district, Chiang Rai — riding companion
• P'Koson (Koson Chaolekha) of the Pai Cycling Club, Chiang Mai — whose repair got us to Mae Hong Son at all
• Doctor Mint (Dr. Pajaree Snabfangoes) — who diagnosed the allergy over the telephone
• Auntie Lak (Areelak Kriangwattanakul) and family, Chiang Mai — who stored our luggage and drove to our rescue when the bicycle died
• P'Chang (Khanittasat Semanopharat) of Mali Publishing, Chiang Mai — riding companion, dinner host, and illustrator of this very book
• P'Hai (Auphan Phiwlueasawat) of 'I Love Bike Shop,' Lampang — riding companion
• P'Tun (Phunsri Rotsuphot) and family, Tak — for shelter and wonderful food
• P'Nong, Singburi — who rode us through to Lopburi
• Uncle Nui (Panithan Udomrat), Ayutthaya — dinner host
• P'Aporn and friends of Phachi district, Ayutthaya — who cared for us and rode along
• Nigel Fennell and P'Nui (Treeda Fennell), Saraburi — for the shortcut and the half-way escort
• P'Blue (Kasidit Kasemsawat) and friends, Nonthaburi — who escorted us to Nonthaburi and coordinated the final day
• Don Huttner, Nonthaburi — who safeguarded the bicycle until the final day
• The 'Café Velo Dome' — for hosting the finish line of this whole ride

And finally — everyone who rode into Bangkok with us on the last day, everyone who came to cheer, everyone who became part of this page of history. And above all, never to be left out of our memory: Father Manas Opasanon, our encouragement and our engine; Mother Areeporn Opasanon, who kept the food and water coming AND served as our personal Meteorological Department, reporting the weather for the entire trip; and Father Howard Hamon and Mother Desrae Hamon, who beamed their love and support across continents from Australia all the way to Thailand.

(But really — it's just another beginning.)