"Damn, it’s hot". Again and again I heard those words repeating themselves in my head as I rode down the road. Surface temperature was over 50 degrees centigrade today. Air temperature at street level was in the high 40’s. We’d made an early start, Phen and I were headed for a big gathering of Harley Davidson and "Big Bike" owners near Bangkok.

The plan sounded simple, meet up with two of our friends in Bangkok, ride out a little way and meet more riders at a "club house" on the outskirts of town. Then ride out to the Esso Depot out on the Northern Highway and meet up with the rest of the ride. God damn it, it was hot, the sweat trickling down my face from under my helmet was stinging my eyes and making it difficult to navigate the clots of traffic.

Another three city block and I pull over and take the helmet off, I’d rather pay the fine, it is simply dangerous to try to wear a helmet in heavy traffic at 50 degrees centigrade.

You can’t see, you can’t hear, the sweat drives you insane and when you stop at the lights it is like sticking your head inside an oven. I remember trying to tell the cops that once, hmmmm. Still, 500 baht ain’t so bad.

We’d missed the last one of these big get-togethers of Thai bikers; complications set in at the last minute and we did not make the run. But now we were in luck, another run had been planned to celebrate the fact that two of the riders were going into the monkhood.

They were committing to three months in a monastery as required in Thai culture. So their parents, who owned a huge restaurant in Saraburi, about 250 Km north of Bangkok, were throwing a party. A very, very big party.

Some of the "gang" of riders were members of a couple of Thailand’s top bands. They play a music they call "Music For Life" that is based on Northern Thai, or Esan, rhythms and beats with a touch of C&W, R&B and Reggae thrown in for good measure.

Great music - and the main perpetrators of this music were to be in attendance on this ride; Ad Carabou of the band Carabou and Tod Dundee of the band of the same name. Both guys were riding huge Harleys with the full trim.

Phen and I finally made it across town through Bangkok’s always horrific traffic and met up with our friends Cow and Toy at their apartment. They had another friend, Zoltan from Australia, who was coming for the ride on his new Kawasaki 450cc racing bike.

Not really the thing for the highway, but an interesting beast non the less which drew a lot of attention and comments as the day drew on. Zoltan’s Thai friends had nicknamed him "Soda", I imagine from having some problem pronouncing his Croatian-born name of Zoltan.

Phen and I went down to the street-café and drank "garfe-yen" (iced coffee) while we waited for Cow and Toy to get ready. They were driving the "support car" for a sub-group of the riders going on the run. Our bike, the dread Eliminator, was polished and shining in the sun, waiting impatiently it’s engine ticking and pinging as it cooled down from the run through the traffic. We were filled up, fueled up, oiled and tuned and air to go.

Soda pulled out of their driveway and pulled up next to the Eliminator on the soi. I could see Cow and Toy moving over to their car so Phen and I started to move. We paid our bill at the café and jumped onto the bike, the car pulled along side and we agreed to follow them to the next place; the house where we were picking up the members of a small, 12-strong, club of Harley owners from the East of Bangkok.

I was surprised to be hearing about so many Harley owners and riders in Bangkok. Almost 3 years in country, a rider of large bikes myself for over 20 years and I’d not heard of such as this before!

In my days riding around town I don’t see so many Harleys; that type of "biker culture" is not immediately apparent even on close inspection of life in Thailand. But today there were stories of "fifty Harleys will be up there man, fifty man" and "these are serious bikers Khun Kim, serious dudes man". I had my doubts, maybe 10 or so Harleys and lot of big Japanese bikes like my Eliminator, that’s what I was thinking.

The car pulled out onto the main road and we followed. The traffic appeared to have dropped off a bit now, and we were headed out of town. But it was still tough going as we made our way through the back of the massive metropolis of Bangkok. This city is absurdly large and complex. There are no street directories and the maps that you can get are very rudimentary and at a large scale.

You can get lost for a long time very, very easily in Bangkok. After another hour and a half of traffic-from-hell we made a turn off the main roads onto a small back soi. The soi led to a sub-district that was walled-off from the rest of the world behind a large temple complex.

There were larger blocks of land in here, some still with rice and other crops on them. It was very pretty in there and we pulled up at the front of a large walled compound with a two-story house peeking over the top of the walls.

The gates swung inward and opened up and Cow took the car inside and we followed on the two bikes. The gates swung shut, I peeled off my sun glasses and blinked; I could not believe my eyes. I was sitting on my bike in front of a beautiful house on a huge block of land covered in trees and gardens of tropical flowers and shrubs and creepers. The place looked like a dream to me, probably just the sweat in my eyes…..

There were three overgrown mini-mountains in the yard. They were of different colored beer bottles. One mountain 14 feet high and all green. Another 10 feet high and all brown, another all clear and all of them blooming in flowering creepers. All through the two acres-or-so that I could see were Harley Davidsons. Dozens of them.

And dozens more of other types of bikes. In all states of repairs, some apparently OK but just sitting under a tree with weeds growing between the wheel’s spokes. Others in various states of disrepair and decay.

My God! I’d found the legendary lost Harley Davidson Graveyard. And I’d found it in the back-blocks of Bangkok. I was simply stunned. Some of these units went back to the WLA Harley, a World War 2 job. They looked like originals, from the American military presence here during the closing stages of that war and from then on.

One of the handsomely bearded and heavily bejeweled riders came over with a cold beer in his hand and gave it to me. I still stood there staring at the yard and the skeletons of dozens and dozens of bikes, stunned, like a rabbit in the headlights at night. He muttered at me "Hnnggh", I stared at him, reached out taking the beer muttering back "Kob hnngghhh".

We both grinned at each other, it was seriously hot even for local folk, the sweat trickled down his neck and back almost as much as mine. I gulped the beer greedily, Phen had got off the bike and was over in a corner under a tree talking to a couple of the other girls who were here. I realized that I was still sitting on my bike so I swung my leg up and over and got off, standing a tad shaky in the hot sun.

Taking another gulp of the beer I wandered into the yard. Some of the guys were gathered around Soda’s bike muttering comments about "how pretty it is, but how small the engine". I saw Cow sitting talking to the "boss" of the gang in a far corner of the yard; a man in his late 40’s leaning against an immaculate 1955 Harley US Police bike.

I wandered over and sat in the shade with them, listening to their fast Thai chatter, understanding perhaps 20 percent of it and reminding myself that I’d just spent 3,000 baht on an interactive language CD for Thai and I’d better get off my arse real soon and start learning. Although I spoke some Thai, I spoke it incorrectly, my pronunciation all over the place.

Thai is a phonetic language and you simply must learn to read and write the spidery script before you could ever hope to lean to speak properly. I’d have to learn the alphabet. 40 bloody vowels all up, another 43 or so consonants and a bunch of special characters. And those tones, "oh God" I thought.

I looked around the yard further and saw so many different bikes in all states of repair. This place was weird, the clubhouse of a gang, but property worth millions. They had this place set up like a little town. There was a total of about 3 acres of land. It belonged to one of the club members, it was family property and apparently his family, although strapped for cash, hung on to dozens of acres of land in and around Bangkok.

They simply did not want to part with family land no matter how much money the condo and office-block developers offered them.

The large two story house fronted the main soi into this area, the rear of the property fronted another smaller soi, and there were two more houses down there. In the middle of the compound was another building with no walls, a kind of workshop and near where we sat, at the rear of the main house was a huge covered area with another workshop set up under there. To the left of that workshop an outside lounge area with it’s own bar and a small "stage" to the left of that for musicians to jam on, complete with a speaker stack and amps.

This place was set up for real. Music played in the background, bearded and tattooed Thai bikers sat around waiting to leave looking like pirates out of some Arabian Nights dream, their girlfriends in jeans and T-shirts relaxing in the shade, beautiful, Phen talking with them, beautiful also, radiant in fact. Phen always looks stunning to me anyway.

Sitting at the back of this place, she added another dimension of mystery and weirdness to this scene buried in the back-blocks of Bangkok.

I wandered over to Phen. "Phen, you know these people? You know this place?". "Yeah, sure" said Phen, "these are old friends, oh I have not seen Noi over there for years!". "Phen" I said, "why didn’t you tell me about this before, about this place, these people?". "Why tell? I know you come here in the end anyway, why bother tell you? No need!". "Yeah, OK" I said, knowing I was a victim of immaculate and innocent Thai logic again.

"Are you ready, we go soon" said Phen. I could see the boss moving back over to his Harley and throwing some saddle bags over the back of the beast. There were about 8 Harleys and another 6 or so Japanese "Big Bikes" lined up out the front. Phen and I walked back down the side of the main house and jumped back onto the Eliminator.

The bike fired up smoothly, Cow and Toy were back in their car and had gone to the front of the line of bikes to lead them out onto the main road. We had another 30 Km to go to the Esso Depot on the highway where we’d meet up with the other riders.

The group of about 14 bikes made a monstrous roar as it moved out from the curb into the soi behind Cow’s car. Cow turned left out onto the main road and the bikes followed, peeling off around the corner and running across the 3-lane road taking up the whole breadth of it.

The bikes in the far lane broke ahead and pulled back to the left lane ahead of the car and the rest of the bikes fell back in single-file behind the car. Phen and I took up the rear, I wanted to just watch the whole procession from the back.

Damn it was still so hot and the traffic still pretty heavy. More and more large trucks were appearing on the road now as we got closer to the highway. Now it was getting later in the day, about 4 PM. The main part of the highway ride had been planned from 5 PM onward to avoid the shocking midday heat. We’d arrive in Saraburi about 8 PM.

We finally came to the intersection of the main road and the highway, As we sat at the lights I looked around at what in any terms must have appeared to be a very, very weird collection of individuals indeed. Mostly all very, very Thai with long black hair, heavy jewelry and tattoos, huge black motorcycles grunting as they idled at the traffic lights waiting to pull out onto the highway. The lights changed and we pulled out and spread across the lanes and onto the highway; only a few more kilometers to go now to the Esso Depot.

Several minutes later we pulled into the Depot, a large highway fuel stop complete with an entertainment center, disco, accommodation and a host of café’s and shops. There were already dozens of bikes pulled up. Ducatis, Harleys, Royal Enfields and BSAs made up the Euro/US camp and a large collection of radical Jap Big Bikes made up the rest.

The Big Bikes ranged from wild and radical chops, like something from a futuristic Japanese Anime to the big highway speed-bikes like the Eliminator, several large touring motorcycles with their enormous pannier bags and radio antennae and another bunch of drag-style.

None of the bikes were under 600 cc, that was the rule; a special exception being made for a group of young Thai guys who were 250cc and 350cc Ducati single freaks. Their bikes were all serious collectors items, rolling museum pieces and machines to attract respect from the baddest of bad-asses to the most respectable motorcycle-cop. There were 8 of the small Ducatis lined up, all 60’s models and all immaculate and beautiful sparkling and flashing chrome in the bright sunlight.

Cow came over and told me we were waiting for Tom Dundee to arrive then we’d all leave. Other bikers were up there at Saraburi already since yesterday, he explained, the family being very big and many of them being relatives of the brothers to be "monked". I walked over to one of the small café’s and ordered what I call "sock coffee", a local coffee/corn mix that is strained out in what looks a lot like a sock. It is bitter but very sweet and acts as a kind of pick-you-up tonic.

And I needed that now. We’d been standing around out in the sun for an hour now and I was starting to feel that the day was long. I sat out the front of the café and Phen walked over with a grin on her face, holding a cold bottle of orange juice in her hand. "I saw you so hot, long ride here, eh?". "Yeah, sure" I said. "I brought you medicine for the heat" said Phen, grinning again broadly as she held up the bottle, then surreptitiously producing a suspiciously large, fat cigarette from her jacket’s pocket.

"Over there" she said as she pointed to some small trees in a far corner of the Depot. We walked over there and sat in the shade looking out across the yard full of motorcycles. Phen lit up the very suspicious looking cigarette and we both partook of it’s fragrant contents, washing it down with orange juice.

The day didn’t seem so long and hot after all. Hmmmmm. We saw activity on the edges of the group of bikers and heard the distinct sound of some of the Harleys firing up their engines. Phen and I looked at each other with bleary eyes and started to laugh out loud for no reason at all - maybe heat fatigue? We got up and staggered back across the baking hot concrete yard to the bikes, both giggling at each other like a pair of idiots.

The bikes were lining up now. There were too many to count now; while Phen and I had retreated to the trees dozens more bikes had arrived The scene was loud and colorful in every way you could imagine. The smells and sounds and the faces of the people, the leather and chrome - such a mixture. And I am sorry, Phen used to hate it when I said this, but the Thai girls in their jeans and T-shirts and jackets with their tattoos and gold look simply exotic.

Of late even Phen has come to agree with me. After trips to Malaysia, Indonesia, Lao and Australia with me she agrees, Thai ladies are the most exotic and beautiful in the world, and the men fearfully handsome with strong, clear features. Phen has open-enough eyes.

After my breath being taken away by the visions of beauty right in front of me (Phen) and around me (the other girls) I staggered over to the bike. Phen and I got back on the Eliminator. We’d lost track of where Cow, Toy and Soda had got to, but it didn’t matter now. You couldn’t loose this bunch easily and we’d find our friends down the road or at the destination.

Twenty or so of the lead Harleys pulled out in a group onto the highway, the police had pulled up out front in two highway patrol cars and had blocked the whole highway to allow us to pull out. This amazed me just as much as everything else around me this day. The police were waving and smiling broadly yelling out "chok dee khrup, chok dee" - "good luck! good luck!" and "cha, cha" - "slowly, slowly".

We pulled along side a group of Honda Shadow riders, a low and black 600cc factory-build chopper. We pulled out onto the highway past the police with their fluro-jackets and flags and smiles and joined the end of the large line of bikes running ahead of us up the highway. The run was underway.

It’s hard to describe the feeling of riding with a large group of big bikes. It is special, kind of wild, definitely fun. Phen and I dropped away from the group of Hondas and just sat back watching the line of bikes weaving in and out of the highway traffic for miles up ahead of us.

The right lane was clear, we were sitting on just 140 Kph, or 70 Mph as you like it. I pulled the Kawasaki over to the right lane, my rear was clear and only one car up ahead about a kilo. I felt Phen snuggle into my back, she’d immediately understood my move into the right lane.

We were in 5^th gear. I’d decided to have some fun. I dropped back to 3^rd gear and let out the clutch as the engine revs ran out to 8,000 rpm. I pulled back on the throttle and gave the bike what it needed to get up and run. The raw power of the 900cc racing engine bucked in and 126 horses hit the back wheel.

The revs came up immediately to 11,000 rpm and I drop gears, up the revs again to 10,000 and drop the gears again. Now the revs at 8,000 rpm and in top gear we are flying around 180 to 190 Kph.

The line of bikes and cars ahead started to move back to us as if they’d all gone into reverse, the tunnel-vision began; common at high speeds without proper goggles; you get tunnel-vision - you can only see in the middle of your vision as if you were looking down a pipe.

But I could see the patch of road right in front of me OK and so maintained speed as we went screaming down the right lane past one group, two, three, a clutch of cars, a bus, more bikes…… I didn’t have time to look in the rear vision mirror to see the looks in the faces of the other riders.

The Eliminator just does not really look like that kind of bike. It looks quite small sitting still, and many people assume it to be a 400cc bike. I knew that most of these guys had assumed that, so I knew I was missing some pretty surprised looks when this thing went past them so fast they thought they’d stopped. I was just hoping that nobody tried to get off their bike!

Once I passed the lead bike I pulled back to 120 Kph and went over to the left lane again. After a few minutes one of the lead bikes, a very hot Harley 1200, pulled along side me and gave me the thumbs-up. I was kind of thinking I might have forgotten myself and showed a bit of disrespect by blowing off the lead bikes.

But no, it was not taken that way and the guys on the biggest lead bikes all wanted to talk to me later that night; asking what the hell was that motor in my bike? What it is, is a full-blood Kawasaki 900cc racing engine in a drag frame with café-racer styling. It was a prototype from Kawasaki that was targeted for the US/Canada market but was turned down as it produced an "illegal" amount of power to the back wheel; a healthy 126 bhp! It somehow "fell off the wharf" in Thailand. Funny about that.

So, I’d had my fun, my little ego-boost. I felt fine now and Phen was jabbing me in the ribs, knowing I’d been ego-pumping. I heard her yelling something about "have a big head" in the wind behind me on the bike. The run went on. The highway wound through foothills and then the low-lands beyond them.

The scenery was of verdant rice paddy with thatched huts interspersed with light industrial areas. The sun shone strongly at a low angle, throwing surreal looking yellow-red light across the whole scene. The occasional township of a few shop-houses passed by, old-style Thai teak farmers houses appeared here and there bordering the road with large gardens of banana and coconut palm.

The distant mountains were blurred in a blue mist fringed with purple and red from the setting sun. The road wound out ahead through them, in places the heat making the road shimmer like a silver thread running through the hills.

Coming over the pass through the mountains and back down to the valley below we passed through the outskirts of Saraburi, a large city to the north of Bangkok. The restaurant we were headed to was several kilometers on the other side of town. The group of bikes started to break up into smaller groups and find their way through the market-maze of streets in the main part of the town.

Phen and I got behind a couple of the Harleys and stuck there. The whole town stopped to stare as every street was invaded by a hoard of rampant (not) bikers.

We cleared the town and kept following the 2 Harleys. I felt unsure if I was on the right trail. Were these guys actually going to the same place? Now? We knew that the parents of the guys who were joining the monkhood owned a huge indoor/outdoor restaurant out of town and we knew that this was going to be a big turn-out so I thought "hey, I’ll find it anyway, what to worry?".

As we cleared another corner in the road the place came into view. There were hundreds of cars parked around the compound of the restaurant and hundreds of bikes already parked inside the compound. As we came down the hill I could see that inside they’d set up a large stage for the bands that were already up there jamming and warming up.

Following the other bikes into the compound we saw Cow and Toy talking to Soda and a group of biker that Phen and I knew in a corner of the parking area. We parked the bike there and got off, shaking the dust of the long and hot ride off us. Soda bent over and picked up a bucket of cold water which he handed to me for Phen and I to bath in immediately.

By God that cold water felt good, I just pulled off my short jacket and shirt and using the shirt as a towel had a damned fine wash-down. Phen followed suit but kept her T-shirt on in the proper and respectful Thai manner; show’s of titties being only for the remote village life and for kids, not for biker gatherings.

Dusted down and cleaned up, now we were both thirsty. Before I could put it in words there was a tap on my shoulder from behind. I turned and a handsome young waiter in a white tux offered me a tray with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black, a bucket of ice, soda and glasses. As he held the tray I fixed up several strong shots of scotch and soda for the immediate gathered survivors of the ride. The bottle empty, the waiter scurried away to get a replacement as we all sat down on the grass to quench our thirsts.

Phen produced a bottle of orange juice from under her jacket (Again! Where’d they keep coming from?) and poured it into a clean ice-bucket full of ice. This was duly passed from one to another as a major re-hydrant while we gently tugged on our strong scotch and sodas. You have to watch it after riding all day in this hot sun, if you sit down and just start to drink strong alcohol, you simply don’t last long.

Once this rudimentary arrival/welcoming celebration was complete, we all got up and walked over to the area where they’d set up over 250 tables. Each table had a bottle of Johnny Walker Red and a bottle of Black. There were a lot of bottles of scotch there, apparently two small trucks full. Johnny Walker must have been smiling tonight. Ice buckets and bottles of soda-water abounded. There were also mountains of orange juice and Coca Cola on a few separate tables.

We’d formed and informal group of about 13 people. A guy on a 750 Ducati and his friend, another on a Suzuki 1100 with his girlfriend, a couple of Harley riders and their spouses, Cow and Toy and their friend Soda, Phen and I. Almost all the other tables were full now; some 1,500 or so people by my estimate.

We settled on a table well away from the stage where the sound was already loud. As soon as we sat down the waiters came over with trays of food. All kinds of food. And it just kept coming all night. Rice cooked in banana leaf, gourds stuffed with spicy rice and fish, roasted ducks, grilled baby-pig on the spit, seafood cooked in spicy soup in a charcoal brazier on the table.

The feast was vast and varied, the waiters produced bottles of imported French and Australian wines and these flowed freely with the scotch, which never seemed to end. I remember the first four bottles of Black Label that passed over our table. I believe there were more but I don’t remember them.

The bands had begun and Caribou were on stage pumping out their famous Music For Life. The music sounded fine and was not loud, the conversation around the table took on a relaxed feel. The trays of food kept coming, spare-ribs in plum sauce, fluffy-grilled fish, spicy chicken salads and bitter lemongrass soups.

The crowd was mixed. Saying it was mixed is, in fact, a gross understatement. Old grandmothers sat with monks and "very serious gangsters". Big "badass bikers" sat with respectable businessmen in suits, families sat with groups of teenage biker-rebels drinking whisky with uniformed police and army officers. A group of businessmen in their black suits and ties sat drinking and talking with a group T-Shirted high-school kids.

There appeared to be no social or economic separation here. A older monk walked over with two of the "rebels" and a police officer and stood admiring the Harleys with them. He climbed onto one of the bikes and handed one of the guys his camera, asking for a picture to be taken.

A monk is not really supposed to own a camera you see. So that was odd. It was all odd, very odd. Or so it seemed to me, I’ve only been living and working here for 3 years and I think it takes much, much more time than that to even begin to understand the society and culture of this region of the world.

I’d seen mixed social gatherings before, but nothing quite like this. Two of the sons of the owners of this place both rode Harleys with biker groups. One of them was close friends with all the guys in the bands, who also rode Harleys. Tonight, the two brothers would have their heads shaved, don white robes and be carried to the ceremony in which they become Buddhist monks. This party was to celebrate that event; an important event in any Thai family when the son or sons become monks.

Each Thai male is supposed to spend at least 3 months as a Buddhist monk, preferably around his 21^st birthday, but some leave it until later in life. And many only do 2 weeks in the monkhood as that is the maximum a Thai employer will allow with full pay.

The sons do this without hesitation, the teachings of the Lord Buddha being very close to almost all Thais hearts. These people wear their religion on their sleeves 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. None of this "fix it up with the Lord on Sundays" bullshit here.

To the back of the compound a long and low metal roof had been set up. There were lights strung up underneath and all the Harleys were now parked in there on display, and what a fine looking display of machinery it was too! Each and every one of them immaculately maintained and shining in the lights.

Many an admiring monk, policeman, businessman, bum, grandmother, politician… you name it, they all stood by looking at the "artistry" of the metal horses.

The music had picked up beat now and many of the people at the party were up dancing at the front of the stage. Phen and I took a walk around the area to check it all out - and to administer more much-needed medication. We found a cozy spot next to some banana palms on a rise at the rear of the property. Nobody else was around and we had a good view of the proceedings both on-stage and in the audience.

We lit up and laid back enjoying the music and the colorful audience moving around in rhythms of dance that had obvious Lao and Esan style and influence. The men and women curling their hands around in front of them as they swayed from side to side. I began to become mesmerized by the rhythms of the dancers and the base beat of the music.

I began to doze a little, falling into a state of semi-awareness for some time. Phen woke me up and suggested we get back to our table. The night was warm and I was in a state of relaxation close to total but rose to the occasion all the same, albeit a little wobbly on my feet by now.

Back at the table our friends had been joined by some of the band members. The conversation turned to talk of staging concerts with Carabou and Dundee down on the island of Koh Samui. Our friends Cow and Toy had just finalized the sale of their "Texas Boots and Leather" business and shop on the island to Phen and I.

We were planning to take over the shop and expand it into a "store and café", retaining the original Cowboy theme, which was very popular with these bikers and many of the northern Esan Thai people. You go up north in Thailand and you see "cowboys" everywhere. Every second person is wearing Levis, plaid shirts, boots and a hat, and the Esan style and presence had well-and-truly infiltrated the far south already.

Besides that, Phen and I had decided that the Cowboy theme was suitably irrelevant, inappropriate, absurd and corny - much like our extremely happy relationship with each other. The Bangkok life had begun to burn us both out and it was time to move on. This run had become very symbolic; the new monks, the new friends, the new deal, the new life on the horizon for Phen and I.

The guys in the band were now telling Phen and I that, for sure, when we were set up down there they would call on us to help to arrange a couple of biker concerts on Samui. With their guarantee that they would bring 300 bikers with them, Phen and I had started to get visions of being "weird new world entrepreneurs" in our heads.

The night moved on and we all became tired and in many cases very drunk. I was still fine, bleary-eyed and vagued-out but fine none-the-less. Cow had told us that the rest of the bikes were riding further north in the morning to spend Sunday night at his family home Nakhom Rachasima.

I told Cow "sorry, I have to work on Monday" and Phen and I made plans to move out from the hotel in the morning and back to Bangkok. We’d take a long, slow, easy afternoon ride. Just take it easy, stop at a lot of tea-houses, stop for anything at all.

Many of the Harleys were firing up now, moving out onto the road and back to their hotels or friends houses. I love the sound of those big twins firing up and around our table many an admiring glance was passed over the departing bikes. Cow, Soda and I finished off the last half of a bottle of scotch while Phen and Toy, who don’t drink, went back over to the nearby car to clean up and get ready to go.

The day and the night had been long. Phen and I lay in our bed at the hotel, smoking, drinking iced coffee and talking about Samui, Harleys, the days ride, stuff.

As we lay back to sleep I thought of the apparently paradoxical nature of Thai society. So many ambiguities and yet so much coherence and respect for each other. The mixture of people and social-economical status’ there today had been stunning, confusing, difficult to take in.

Then I drifted off to sleep with thoughts and dreams of a new life down in islands with my newfound friends, riding our bikes in the setting sun of a tropical island paradise. Dundee had actually asked me to sit in on his next album, playing acoustic guitar, I was feeling blown-out about it all. Phen and I had plans. We slept.

The plans grew in our sleep, in our dreams. Samui has a great many stories to tell - and you will get to hear them. Of these things I am sure.