The Doi Chang Report
2006/02/14
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Some of the best times on my previous biking around here involved little back-country dirt roads that head to seldom-visited villages.
I had puttered on up to Chiang Rai and got intrigued by these little squiggly roads on the map that went up to Doi Chang, through a couple of remote villages and, with luck, out through the other side of the range to the westernmost highway. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the distinction the map made between unpaved roads and dirt tracks.
I swung out of the flat plain that holds Chiang Rai and climbed paved roads past abrupt hills, reservoirs and orchards. At the 'Y' in the road, I took the right branch: wrong choice. The better road in was to the left. Soon I bounced off the pavement on to a rough, narrow, red dirt road heading in to the quiet hills. It was tough going; all first gear requiring unfaltering concentration on picking a path through the ruts and rocks. But it was certainly good fun.
And then the first of the mud-holes. This one was a depression in the road filled clear across with quite deep mud. I got off the bike and looked at it a bit, considering whether I could punch through it or if it was turn-back time. There was one deep tire channel near the middle from the 4x4's that come through this way. The bottom of that tire track was relatively dry - I mean it was wet muck but at least it didn't have standing water in it. That was my potential way through. Back on the bike, get a steady speed, line up, hit it, and...
The thing about riding in a trough like that is that if you get just little off course your two wheels hitting the trough walls want to immediately throw you down. I was a little off course, of course. When I started to go over I kicked a foot into the muck, instinctively hit the throttle to try to gun myself back upright, spun about 45 degrees to the right, kicked the other foot into the muck to bounce myself upright again, spun out of control in the other direction and came to rest stalled out 90 degrees to the roadway with my front wheel in the bush and my back wheel on dry dirt. Yes! I got through upright. Seriously muddy, but upright. Might as well keep going. I muscled the bike back onto the track, started her back up and cheerfully carried on.
A few rough kilometers later I was on a side slope with a good view ahead to the village of Doi Chang. It was bigger than I expected and I reasoned that a village of that size must have a better route into it than the one I was now on. This gave me hope that I could get through and would not have to take the hardship of my current track twice.
Getting near the village I encountered another mud section. This one was not deep like the last, but it consisted of about 100 feet of steep downhill, muck all the way, with a sharp, still mucky corner at the bottom. I figured gravity would help me get down this sucker, but realized that if I did go down, I would be committed - I doubted very much that I could drive a street bike back up this thing. Given the optimism engendered by seeing the village, I went down the slope. I started by keeping both brakes on and wanted to slowly inch my way through. It was immediately apparent that this wasn't going to work. Any braking at all simply locked the wheels and put me into a slide. I immediately had to release the run, submit to gravity and speed, and hang on tight as I slipped and bounced through the muck and around the corner. Again, still upright, and so onward to the village.
I bought water from the woman running the only store in town - candy, shirts, gumboots, scooters and washing machines all for sale. I was pretty sure the washing machines didn't come in on the same road I did so I knew then I was home free. She indicated that the road out was to be found up by the school. At the school I got surrounded by about 30 curious laughing kids, some of whom were really excited to be trying their English out on a farang. One dear girl took the time to point out that the profile of Doi Chang as seen from the village looked like an elephant. And indeed it very much did. Silly me - Chang means elephant in Thai. I always thought it meant swampy beer. They kindly pointed out where the good road I was looking for was, and I was back on my way. The road snaked through the village outskirts, around a couple of corners, and into...
...a construction crew, laying fresh concrete slabs. The road was closed, impassable. There was no way around the edges of construction. My heart sank a bit when, after communication through gesticulation with the road crew, I wiggled the bike around and went back to the village. Further gesticulations with a few of the locals had them all pointing back the way I had come. Uh oh. But they were making gestures like I would need to go back just a bit and then find a road off to the left that, I imagined, would connect up with the main road past the construction. They were making going-around signs. Ok, let's give it a shot.
The troublesome mud incline was closer to town than I remembered. I came around a wet corner to be startled to find that there I was, on the start of it. In a flash I realized that if I stopped where I was I would be unable to get going again and would be unable to turn the bike around on the sloped muck. I instantly knew that gunning it up the hill was my only thin hope. Which is what I did. Back wheel spinning, mud flying, the bike sliding one way, then the other, but making progress. Then whump! I'm down, and dirty. Yup, it looks like I was right when I came down it - I wouldn't be able to ride back up it.
It is very difficult picking up a 400 pound motorcycle on a mud slope by yourself. The lack of decent purchase for your feet is the least of your problems. Rather than come up, the bike wants to slide out sideways. And as you do start to get it up above its wheels, it of course wants to roll and slip downhill. I simply had to get it upright though. Worse than the gas pouring out of it was the simple indignity of having my bike flat on its side in muck. By leaving it in gear, holding the front brake on, judicious use of ground contours, and sheer determination, I did get it upright. And by twisting it to a bit of an angle relative to the slope and jamming the side stand into soft ground I got it to hold there long enough to grab a rock and block it.
Ok, what now. Well, I'm 2/3rds of the way up and I can't go down as there is no way to turn the bike around. There is nothing for it but to see if I can't find a way up the last bit. I hit the starter and... Nothing. The starter motor would spin but without a hint of anything even remotely similar to a firing cylinder. A minute of this and I realized that perhaps the carburetors are flooded from the gas spillage. Besides, I'm a little cranked up with all the excitement and it would be a good time to take a break anyway. I find some shade and wait to see if the afternoon sun won't dry out the carbs.
So there I am, sitting under a Casuarina tree, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, with a crippled bike on a muck slope, by myself, with no one having the faintest idea of where I am or what I'm doing, and fairly certain that I can't get both myself and the bike out of here.
Perhaps I'm not doing so well at this business of running a life that I've been tasked with.
After about 15 minutes of soaking up the warm breeze it was back to the bike. I held the throttle wide and let the starter crank for a while. Sure enough, a slight cough, a little bit more of a catch, and then it starts turning over at low revs pulling the excess fuel out of the carbs and slowly coming back to life. But will this do me any good? I didn't think this would work, but I had no choice but to straddle the thing, get the back wheel spinning, and duck walk with it, hopefully in a generally forward and up direction. And damned if it didn't work. I slipped and waddled up the last of the mud onto the flat, dry, rutted ground ahead. A serious victory. I knew that I could go out the way I came in with only that one challenging muck hole left between me and dinner.
In Thailand, things often seem to just work out, sometimes in the most uncanny ways. About a kilometer down the road there was a junction with a smaller track that headed uphill towards Doi Chang. And right at this junction in the middle of nowhere was a Thai guy just walking along - the only person I had seen on the road all day. I stopped and greeted him and optimistically told him I was looking for the road out to Chiang Rai. He pointed back the way I had come - back to the village of Doi Chang. I tried to explain in broken English and sign language "No, road closed. New cement. Can not." He laughed and - here's the good part - replied in perfect English that he understood. He told me the way I was going would lead out (which I knew) but that in his opinion the road up over the mountain was the better road - longer, but better. I was skeptical as the road up started off with one of those troublesome mud sections, but the Thai guy said that would be the only mud, that some of the rest of the road was quite rough, but ok.
Common sense would dictate that I carry on out the same way I came in, but I trusted this guy and there was still time in the day to do some more exploring. Up I went, up the spine of the elephant. Near the top there was a half dozen 4x4 Jeeps stopped at a makeshift restaurant with a bunch of farangs on tour. This was one of those backcountry excursions where you take Jeeps into the mountains to visit the hilltribes. I chatted with a pair of British birds and told them I was poking around trying to find the best route back to the highway and asked if they had come in on the road I was traveling on. They confirmed that they had, but wanted to emphasize that it was "very off road" and that I would need to find a better way. However, I looked at the Jeeps and noted that, although dirty, they had no mud on them. I thanked the girls and carried on with renewed confidence. I road up over the peak (1700+ meters) and started the tortuous route down, down and down some more. It was indeed very rough, but was always do-able. And more importantly, I had not yet gone anywhere where I could not find a spot to pivot the bike around on its side-stand and retrace my steps. I went through a couple of those very remote hilltribe villages that people pay big bucks to visit, bounced and wiggled my way along for about an hour and half, crossed a reservoir spillway with fast flowing axle deep water, and hit pavement. Finally out of first, opening it up in sixth, and heading to shower, supper and a cozy bed. Woohoo!
Would I have gone if I knew how rough it was? Not a chance.
Did I regret the excursion? Not for a second, not a bit of it.
Did I learn my lesson?
Three days later I'm outside of Chiang Mai exploring what looks like a dirt road back-route up to Doi Inthanon, picking my way in first gear through ruts and rocks, and wondering if any members of this herd of water buffalo that I'm wiggling through are inclined to kick or gore wayward riders in their midst. It turns out you can get into Doi Inthanon through the back way, with the bonus of thereby avoiding the 200 baht national park entrance fee.
My first day of motorbiking here in Thailand 3 years ago was the Samoeng loop - a two hour trip up beautiful windy steep roads to the town of Samoeng high in the cool mountains outside of Chiang Mai. I thought it fitting to revisit this as my last day of riding on this trip. I did so, in the opposite direction, unwinding memories and feeling a fond familiarity with this neck of the woods. And, with a bit of sadness, turned the bike in to Tony's that afternoon.
4500 km of riding; some of it spectacular, nearly all of it very enjoyable. And the time off the bike was just as much fun and packed with even more great memories. I've hung around Chiang Mai for a couple of days, taken a Thai cooking course, and later today (Valentine's day) fly down to Krabi. A little bit of beach time awaits me, swimming in the warm ocean, visiting some familiar faces, and perhaps indulging in some scuba diving. This is wind-down week, and it's nearly time to come home.
Did I mention I love this country?