Easy Rider

Tree with a View
So I hired a moped.

How hard can it be? In France they let children as young as twelve ride them--without helmets, such is the confidence in the Gallic youth. But then again they do a lot of things in France that are considered foolish elsewhere--snail chomping and wearing strings of onions the way Hawaiians wear garlands of flowers, for example.

Although mopeds don't have gears and clutches, they do have a particular feature which makes mopeding more difficult for the absolute beginner/fool: they allow you to accelerate and brake simultaneously. Not an especially useful feature. One that might well lead to quite a comical situation.

After hiring the moped from a shop in the main town I sped out of the town, keen not to demonstrate my complete lack of moped prowess in front of the shopkeeper or the legions of tourists freshly arrived after a hard night's travelling and now looking for easy entertainment.

Cruising is easy.

I cruised along the island's sole dusty highway, a spitting image of Dennis Hopper in Easy Rider. As I got further from the town, the building-sites of partially constructed hotels and restaurants at the roadside gave way to the jungle, helping to shade me from the scorching glare of the sun. Every 500m I passed what I thought were fizzy drink pumps; indigo and crimson liquids in small twinned cylinders like.

It was only when I looked at the fuel gauge and discovered I was nearly empty that I realized these tiny pumps were petrol stations.

As I came onto the next one I tried braking for the first time. The moped began to slow. A Thai man sitting in a deck chair next to the pump spied my approach and began lazily unfolding himself from his seat. I veered towards the side of the road readying to stop.

Something wasn't right though. I wasn't slowing fast enough.

The man got to the pump and started unfurling the petrol hose like he was coiling rope.

I still had the accelerator on; my right hand still twisting the throttle.

Panicking because I was going sail right past the man, or worse, into him, I tried to to simultaneously clutch the brake harder and release the throttle. Somehow the signals got mixed up on the way from my brain to hands, and the reverse happened. I eased the brake and raised the throttle.

The moped shot forward. Suddenly the man's laidback attitude vanished as hundreds of kgs of man and machine beared down upon him. He jumped out of the way and I missed him by a whisker, meekly raising my left hand as a gesture of apology. Of course this meant I took my hand off the brake and I accelerated past even faster. He probably thought I was some hit and run prankster.

I was too embarassed to go back so I refilled at the next pump.

Eventually I got the hand of the thing and had a great day zigging, zagging, climbing, and bombing down the single road which snaked more and more as I headed into the interior. Near the tallest part of the island I stopped for refreshment in a fantastic bar which had a palatial open-aired treehouse with great views over the bay. Sequined cushions were liberally scattered about and I plumped one up, curled into a little nook where the trunk met the platform, and enjoyed the scenery.

Later, down by the coastline, I parked up and walked to the end of the second town's pier. Three kids were fishing under the concrete struts, keeping out of trouble and the sun. They seemed slightly forlorn, but maybe they were just chilled-out youngsters and I needed to readjust my expectations. In England boys of that age would be trying to blow up the fish with smokebombs or graffitiing the pillars. I thought how cool it would be to grow up on a small island like this. Have a tight circle of friends of different ages and know the whole place intimately. Great fun.

In the evening I went to the bar and got chatting to a guy who wanted to visit every country in the world, and a couple who'd travelled overland from China, arriving in Beijing on October 1st (the day the People's Republic of China was established in 1949) and been awed by the crowds in Tiananmen Square. Talking to new people was really exciting, and I know I'll meet some interesting characters over the next few months.

At one point the barman rolled me up a traditional Thai cigarette.

Strong doesn't come close. It nearly knocked me off my stool.

It was time to go to bed.

Bad Boys, Thai Style