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"Oh, sorry mister Simon, all gone tomorrow. But is OK, go to Mr. Beer's. Mr. Beer have plenty motocy'. Just around corner." He gestured the general direction. "Go early. Best motocy' always go early."

In the morning I walked around to Mr. Beer's motorbike rental store. I had arranged to meet Amy for breakfast, but following Paul's advice, I decided to pick up the motorbike first to be on the safe side.

Mr. Beer's motorbike rental store turned out to be more of a motorbike museum. The front of his shop sported a dazzling array of decrepit motorbikes, ranging from old and run-down to genuine antiques. An interesting collection for sure, but not one that inspired my confidence as a customer. If these were the best motorbikes, I was glad I didn't get there any later.

Mr. Beer himself was a true character. He was short and round, probably in his early forties with a wide mouth and a big smile. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, a big white Terry toweling hat and no shoes, and pounced on me almost the moment I walked into his store.

"Aha! Hello! You wan' a motocy' ??"

"Yeah I was thinking about getting a little bike for the day."

"OK. Which one you like?"

I stepped back outside and took a look at some of the 50cc bikes. I suppose some of them looked OK and would do the trick.

"This one looks OK," I said, pointing at a little red bike that looked like one of the better ones.

Mr. Beer scrunched up his face. "You wan' that one?" he asked.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"That one very little. Where you wan' to go?"

"I was just thinking of going for a ride in the mountains."

"Oh mountain! By yourself?"

"No, there's a girl going to come with me."

"Oho, you need big motocy'. Big motocy' much better!"

"Yeah, I'm not so sure about that. I might be better off with a little one."

"No no no, big motocy' much better. Small bike no good for mountain. Small bike no good for woman too! Look this one. Much better." He walked to the end and pointed to a 250cc Honda. "Yes, yes, this one much better for you."

It looked pretty old but kind of cool as well. I could see myself on it. And with Amy coming it would be a much better look. Mr. Beer sat on it and played with the throttle.

"How much is that one?" I asked.

"Six hunret Baht," he said. About thirty Australian dollars.

I paused for a minute. "Well, do I need a license for this?"

Mr. Beer broke up at that. Quite a joke apparently.

"No, is OK. You know how to use gear?"

"Yeah I should be OK," I lied.

I nodded knowingly as Mr. Beer briefly explained the gears to me just in case. He asked if I wanted a helmet.

"Hmm, seems like a good idea."

We went inside and Mr. Beer pointed to a shelf with a set of helmets. "Try on," he said.

It was difficult to determine the origin of Mr. Beer's helmets, but if I had discovered they were left over from World War Two I would not have been at all surprised. They were brown or black with a hard metallic dome and a strap for the chin. If I were to be hit obliquely in the head by a bullet there was a chance it would glance off and I'd be OK. But in the rather more likely event that I had a motorbike crash, I figured I was a dead man.

I chose a helmet for myself and one for Amy as Mr. Beer pulled out the contract for me to sign.

"You like insurance?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think I'd better".

Mr. Beer opened a drawer and pulled out an insurance form. Like everything else in his store, Mr. Beer's insurance form was peculiar. It appeared to have been printed on an old typewriter, and the gist of it was that if the bike was written-off or stolen, I would "only" be liable for half the cost of the bike, up to 50,000 Baht ($2,500), which was at least twice what the bike was actually worth. Since I had to give Mr. Beer my passport until I returned the bike, I figured this insurance was better than nothing and signed it.

Mr. Beer then took the signed form, crossed out the 50,000 Baht and replaced it with 100,000 Baht. It seemed a little unreasonable. He changed it after I had signed it. I decided to protest.

"Oi!"

"You have big motocy'," he said. "Cost more!"

I tried to argue but from that point forward, Mr. Beer's English took a mysterious turn for the worse. It was time to go.

I went outside, put on my helmet and sat on the bike. I lifted the stand, started the engine, stalled immediately and rolled back into the curb.

Mr. Beer laughed. "Use clutch!" he yelled from the doorway of his store.

"Yeah, I know." Bullshit. "It's different to my bike at home."

It took me a couple of tries to get moving, with Mr. Beer laughing harder at each attempt. I remember thinking at the time that for a guy who had just rented out his best, most expensive and probably most dangerous motorbike to someone who clearly had no idea what he was doing, Mr. Beer seemed remarkably unperturbed.

I thought again of the insurance policy I had just paid for as I eased the bike into gear and started down the street.

When I got back to the guesthouse, Paul came over to me.

"Oohoo Mr Simon, you got BIG motocy'."

"Yeah I know, I'm kind of worried about it..."

"No problem! Big motocy' much better! Go much faster!"

I asked him for some suggestions on where to go. He recommended visiting two temples. One was just outside the city, about a 15 mile ride in the mountains. The other was a lot further to the West, but was supposedly a beautiful ride.

"How long does it take to get there?"

"Normally one hours and a half. For you forty five minute. You have big motocy'."

I laughed. Did he really think I would go twice as fast as everybody else?
He brought out a map and showed me the place he was talking about. It was at least 80 miles away, and the last 20 miles or so was a windy mountain road. In 45 minutes? This confirmed something I had already guessed from earlier conversations we had had: he was completely mental.

The first temple was perched on top of a mountain just outside the city. The ride up was windy and extremely steep. For a beginner like me, it made for a great ride, with a big wide road and a lot of opportunities to overtake the other motorbikes and songthaews, the little trucks that carried ten or so passengers on the back and were all over Thailand. I had to hand it to Mr. Beer: he was right. The big motorbike was much better. I did stall at one point when I had it in the wrong gear, and Amy nearly fell off the back. I was kind of concerned about it but she just giggled and hugged me tighter around the waist.

At the top of the mountain we parked the bike and walked up the long staircase to the temple. The temple was beautiful, but being so close to the city, was full of tourists. On the far side of the temple was a balcony that provided a spectacular view of the city. It was a clear, hot day and looking out over the horizon, you felt that you could just see forever. There was a faint haze looking down at the buildings, which sprawled out in all directions. The tropical heat. There were rice fields in the distance. From this distance it really could be any city, yet somehow it seemed distinctly Asian.

I had a little disposable camera so I decided to take a few photos while Amy went to find us a drink. When she came back she handed me a bottle of water. She stood next to me and put her arm around me.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she said, looking towards the city. "I don't know what it is but there's just something magical about this whole place. I feel like nothing can go wrong as long as we are here."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I said. "I feel the same way."

We spent another few minutes walking around and looking at the sights. Amy walked to the top of the stairs.

"Well are you ready?" she called out.

She was excited. She couldn't wait to get back on the motorbike. She appeared to genuinely not know or not care that her life was in grave danger that day.

We rode back down the hill toward the city then turned west onto the highway that lead to the other temple. There was a lot of traffic - the kind that you never see in Western countries - where anything goes and motorbikes come within inches of each other without their drivers, who are often carrying a couple of kids on the back, showing the least bit of concern. Amy held me tight around the waist as we weaved in and out of traffic.
Eventually as we got further out of the city, the traffic thinned out and we were able to ride in the middle of the road. I was getting uncomfortable in the heat with Mr. Beer's helmet on and had to stop to take if off.

We passed through a number of small towns, all looking pretty much alike. They had small wooden buildings lined up near the highway, mostly open in the front - shops of various sorts. The houses were a little further back, removed from the noise of the highway. Kids played in the dirt out the front. Soccer. It was thirty-five degrees but they loved their soccer.

With each town we passed, I felt increasingly like I didn't belong. Westerners didn't come out this way. There was no reason to. But the feeling of being alien isn't always a bad feeling. There are places where you know you don't belong but feel OK about it. Thailand was like that.

After a while there were no more road signs in English. The only remaining hints of Western culture were the obligatory Coke and Pepsi signs. They were old, rusted, and in some cases barely legible, but they were always there.

We passed through a lot of small towns, the hot sun shining in our faces as we continued to the west. Eventually even the towns stopped. I was supposed to take a turn-off somewhere around here. I wasn't sure where. I didn't really care. I'd seen a lot of temples.

At one point we rode over a small hill and from that point, as far as we could see, were rice fields. They made an incredible sight, gigantic rectangular rice paddies arranged for miles in every direction. They glistened yellow in the hot afternoon sun. There was nobody in sight - the wide, straight highway and the odd, artificial arrangement of the rice paddies the only signs that people had been this way before.

Amy propped herself up on the back of the bike. She leaned over and yelled in my ear: "What's wrong with you? Let's see what this piece of shit can do!"

We were already going eighty miles an hour. I was wearing sandals, a linen shirt and a pair of sunglasses. Amy had her helmet on but was wearing shorts and a singlet. I knew nothing about riding a motorbike. Under the circumstances it didn't seem that slow. But the road was wide, the sky was blue, we were extremely stupid and there probably wasn't another car for a hundred miles around here. And besides, she baited me.

"Go faster! Come on!"

I shook my head.

"You're useless! What are you doing? You suck!"

I was holding my ground. It was dangerous enough as it was.

"You drive like my mother! Pull over and let me have a go!"

That was it. "Hang on baby."

We were in the middle of the road, the afternoon sun directly ahead. The rice fields were going by faster and faster. I wondered where all the people were who looked after them. There were no shelters, no huts, no signs of life of any kind. Just rice fields in every direction. It was a strange place. Ahead and to our right was a mountain range. I guessed that was where the temple was. Or maybe I'd already missed the turn-off. Amy held onto me tight and squealed.

There are days when you are traveling that you find yourself doing something you wouldn't think of doing at home. There's just something about being away from your familiar environment, breaking your pattern, that makes you do things you wouldn't normally dream of. Occasionally, if you're really lucky, you can find yourself all of a sudden caught out - hit hard by the realisation that, in a fairly short space of time, without ever deciding to, you've become a total head case. Riding along a God-fucking-knows-where-we-are highway in Thailand at a hundred and thirty miles an hour wearing sandals, a linen shirt and a pair of sunglasses, I had one of those moments.

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Submitted by Simon Tierney