Motorbike Muddle

When I rented the motorbike in Luang Nam Tha, I knew the gods of mountain bikes would get back at me for forsaking them.

I rented what looked to me like the fastest thing they had on two wheels. Fully automatic, sleek, heavy, and geared to rip down mountain roads to my heart’s delight. I so do like going fast.

It all started off pretty well. Pretty little villages, gorgeous scenery, the wind in my hair (and occasional bug in my eye). I ventured far and wide to explore the hilly northern Lao countryside.

And then, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, it stopped. The bike turned off, and would not start again. Cursing didn’t help, pleading didn’t work, and neither did tapping my heels three times while saying “there’s no place like Luang Nam Tha.” Nope. I was stuck in the mid-day sun on a deserted dirt road amongst hilly fields.

[Expletive]

So I took off my helmet and started pushing. Not only was the bike heavy, but it didn’t roll naturally—there was some kind of internal resistance to forward movement. Double the effort to move the blasted thing.

I walked. And walked. And walked. My shirt drenched in sweat, and my face getting redder by the minute, a combination of the hot sun, exertion and general aggravation.

After several miles, I entered a small village. Tried to do the universal sign language for mechanic (you know, acting like you’re tightening a bolt.) Pointed to the bike. No luck.

Tried to get someone to call the number of the place that rented it to me. It was right there on a sticker above the wheel. More sign language to mimic making a phone call. Nope.

Kept walking. A policeman on a motorbike stopped by, and I explained the situation to him. He said his phone was out of batteries, and he left, never to be seen or heard from again.

Got passed by dozens of folks on motorbikes, or in cars, or in pickups. No one stopped, although some looked at me curiously. Maybe they thought I liked to take a casual stroll with a motorbike in hand. Figured I was on a romantic afternoon date with my lovely mechanical friend, and they didn’t want to ruin the mood. Yep, me and my motorbike are off to the hills to go watch the sunset together, clearly still at the hand-holding stage. Taking things slow. I’m sure it happens all the time. Pfff. Whatever the reason, zero offers to help.

After God knows how long or how far, I finally ambled past a mechanic’s shop. Several other motorbikes were out and in various stages of disassembly and repair. Salvation!

Alas, not quite. They poked around for 30 seconds then explained that they didn’t have the tools to fix an automatic. Too complicated. Blasted bike.

But thankfully, they did have a phone. I was told someone would be there in 10 minutes to bring a new bike. An hour later, we called again, and the lady told me someone would be there in 10 minutes. Haha. I was tempted to call again 5 minutes later to see if it would still be 10 minutes. You know, to check for consistency.

I figure it’s my karma for being lazy and not renting a mountain bike instead. Ah well, one way or the other, I got my exercise for the day.