A JOURNEY INTO THE SOUL OF NORTHERN THAILAND
Words by Ben Giese | Photography by John Hebert
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My heart is beating on overdrive, hammering against my ribcage like a rabid beast trying to break free. The so-called road – if you could even call it that – has now morphed into a river as I wrestle my bike through the endless boulders, branches and ditches hidden underneath the water. I’m drenched to the bone, every inch of my body soaked through, hands raw from the relentless grip on the handlebars. I stop to catch my breath, inhaling and exhaling in ragged bursts, heavy with the weight of uncertainty. Where the hell did John go?
He was right behind me a moment ago, and now ... vanished into thin air. I kill the slow thump of the engine to listen for him, and there’s an abrupt silence. The jungle swallows the sound, leaving only a quiet buzzing of insects and the slow trickle of water through my spokes. John’s absence is the loudest noise of all.
A few minutes drag by like hours, and finally, there he is – a sorry sight indeed. Limping down the soggy trail, he’s a muddied, dust-covered mess, hunched over and barely hanging onto the handlebars like a man clinging to the last shreds of hope. “Dude, I ate shit back there,” he moans with the voice of defeat.
I remember that goddamn rutted downhill; I almost crashed there, too. I guess he had lost the front end in the wet clay and body-slammed into the earth with a 50-pound camera pack on his back. “I think I busted my hand,” he grimaces, the pain evident in his voice.
We’re now sitting in a river in the middle of nowhere in the mountains of Northern Thailand, miles away from any semblance of medical aid. The only thing I can do for John in this moment is keep the faith, wear a grin, and hope for the best. “I’m sure it’s fine,” I lie through my teeth. If there’s anything I’ve learned from our time in Thailand so far, it’s the power of optimism. Not to mention there was only one way out of here, and it was to ride. So, we started up the bikes, I smiled, John gritted his teeth, and we plunged onward down the river.
Forty-eight hours prior, I had been touching down in Chiang Mai with John Hebert, one of my best friends and VAHNA’s staff photographer – with no idea what we were getting ourselves into. The city greeted us with a swirling frenzy of cars, bikes and scooters careening in every conceivable direction. Vibrant temples rose like majestic islands dotting a sea of ramshackle buildings, with ornate spires piercing the heavens. Electrical wires snaked through the air, binding the city together in a tangled web of connectivity, a visual metaphor for the chaotic energy pulsating through the streets. Yet, amid the chaos, there was a strange harmony. An undercurrent of serenity. An unspoken understanding of quiet contentment. Faces adorned with smiles, eyes alight with an infectious joy that seemed to permeate every corner of the city.
That feeling of joy and contentment would become the overture for our entire trip. Thailand is a bastion of happiness, and damn, we sure were happy to be here. We hadn’t even swung our legs over the bikes yet, and already we were knee-deep in the vibrant culture, enjoying some of the best food in the world. But the real magic lay just beyond the city limits, where the landscape unfurled like a dream. We set our sights on those winding roads, eager to leave the urban chaos behind and dive headfirst into the heart of Thailand’s enchanting countryside.
This adventure wouldn’t have been possible without the help of Brian D’Apice and Brandon Cretu. These two are longtime best friends living in the U.S., bound by a shared passion for motorcycles and travel. A few years prior, they had decided to start a motorcycle tour operation called Thailand Moto Tours, where they would spend a few months each winter providing people with unforgettable two-wheeled experiences in this magical land. Lucky for us, these two had concocted a five-day loop for us to ride that promised to weave through the very fabric of Thailand’s mystical landscape. These guys have spent a long time mapping out this terrain, so I knew the route they provided would be unlike anything we would find on our own.
But that wasn’t all. They threw us a curveball in the form of a local legend named Surachai Khumja, better known to us Westerners as Nicky. This Thai rider would be our guardian angel on this journey, making sure we never got lost, offering up his expertise, his local lingo, and a treasure trove of insider knowledge on every nook and cranny we’d stumble upon.
And so, we were off, rumbling through village after village, the scenery transforming before our eyes. Shelters cobbled together from scraps whispered tales of resilience and resourcefulness, while the eyes of the locals followed us like we were creatures from another dimension. Dogs, pigs and roosters ruled the streets with the same vibrant spirit of the people who call this place home. Amid the poverty, there was still that undeniable sense of joy and infectious happiness that seemed to bubble up from the very soul of the land. Schoolchildren frolicked, grandmothers grinned from ear to ear, and laughter echoed through the streets.
Over the next couple of days, the rough and rutted dirt roads propelled us ever higher into the embrace of the mountains. We rode a rollercoaster of terrain, tackling everything from wide-open two-tracks to narrow singletrack paths that seemed to disappear into the thick foliage. From Chiang Mai we rode southwest to the village of Mae Sariang for the night, and then north toward the town of Mae Hong Son the next day. Mountains rose and fell like waves, while valleys yawned open before us, inviting us deeper into the unknown. One moment, we were engulfed in a dense canopy of trees, and the next we found ourselves racing across parched hillsides, the sun beating down on our backs as dust kicked up in our wake.
But in this ever-changing landscape, one thing remained constant: the people. Farmers toiled in the fields, their backs bent against the weight of tradition, while cows sauntered lazily down rural roads, indifferent to the passing of time. There was no rush, no urgency – just a serene acceptance of life’s ebb and flow. And as we rode deeper into the heart of this tranquil existence, we found ourselves falling under its spell. Peace washed over us like a warm blanket, contentment settling into our bones with each passing mile. Some might call it nirvana, a state of being where time seems to stand still and worries melt away. Or maybe this is just the natural rhythm of life on the road.
But don’t get me wrong: It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Eventually we found ourselves deeper in the jungle, and the so-called roads deteriorated into nothing more than treacherous obstacles. Potholes opened like hungry mouths ready to bite, ruts seemed to grab our wheels and mock our every move, and deep trenches threatened to swallow us whole. I couldn’t help but crack a grin, swearing to never again complain about the roads in America.
And then, just when we thought things couldn’t get any more absurd, the road vanished altogether, swallowed up by the jungle. We found ourselves careening down a river, the dense canopy closing in around us like a vice. And that’s when John vanished. Suddenly that sense of peace and calmness we had discovered washed away as reality came crashing down, threatening to pull us under. When John finally reappeared with his injured hand, our bikes and boots were soaked, our bodies battered and broken, and the trail out of here wasn’t getting any easier. But even in that moment of adversity, wet, dirty and broken, we remembered that spirit of love and optimism and used it to carry us onward.
A few hours down the trail – or down the river – a quaint little schoolyard emerged from the thick foliage. There was a nice little picnic table shaded under an awning, and it was the perfect spot to catch our breath, give John’s hand a break and eat a little snack. First the wild dogs came running down to greet us, looking for scraps of food and a scratch behind the ears. Then the little children descended from their classroom, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. These kids live in remote corners of this region, and some of them faced a long trek to arrive at this humble schoolhouse each day, so a number of them elect to just stay there for the entire week to avoid the arduous journey.
They stood at a distance until I waved them over, inviting them to join us at the table. I took out my phone and ushered them into our world, sharing some photos and videos of past adventures. I smiled to myself as they watched in amazement and chattered amongst themselves. In that moment, language became irrelevant, and we were united by the universal language of adventure and storytelling.
As we bid farewell to our young friends and resumed the journey, the wholesome encounter rekindled our spirits, propelling us forward with the renewed energy needed to make it out of the jungle to our destination for the evening in the town of Mae Hong Son. A hot shower and a change of clothes worked wonders to rejuvenate us after a long day. We then took to the streets, immersing ourselves in the vibrant culture of a local market. The air was alive with music and a tantalizing aroma, beckoning us to indulge in the incredible street food. We explored all the vendors, snatching up trinkets and treasures to carry home to loved ones. There were monks peacefully walking down the street in orange robes, and local residents going about their daily lives. It felt like a truly authentic Thai experience, far away from the tourist traps and commercialized facades that often take away from these kinds of experiences.
With the first light of dawn, we were already in motion, our bikes slicing through the morning mist as we ascended the winding roads to the mountain’s peak. Perched atop the world, we watched as the sun cast its golden rays across the land, illuminating a grandiose temple that stood as a sentinel against the backdrop of the sky. Sipping coffee, we welcomed the new day with open arms, relaxing into the beauty of the moment. The fog gave way to sunlight with the promise of another inspiring day and more of the boundless wonders that awaited us in Thailand’s timeless landscapes.
The final fleeting days of our wild escapade offered more winding mountain passes, and we smiled through every twist and turn. We rode northeast to stay the night in the cool little hippie town of Pai, then continued south to the small village of Mae Win. Singletrack trails snaked along the river’s edge, inviting us to dance with danger, while vibrant rice paddies and flowers painted the landscape in hues of green and red, as if plucked from the canvas of a surreal dream. It was all cinematic and surreal – ripped straight from the pages of a Hollywood script.
John’s hand was still killing him, but he was able to grip the bars in a different way and hold on good enough to enjoy the rest of the ride. And it’s a good thing he made it this far, because as the old cliché goes, we had saved the best for last. On the last leg of our journey, we found ourselves back in the heart of the jungle, navigating a narrow dirt path. It was smooth sailing this time through the towering canopy, laughing and splashing like little kids through the countless water crossings. Eventually we crested a hill and were met with a sight that stopped us dead in our tracks. Elephants – majestic, ancient beings – stood before us, blocking our path like guardians of a forgotten realm. They moved with grace, their massive forms disappearing into the dense foliage as quickly as they had appeared, leaving us in awe of their silent majesty. In that moment, as we stood in the shadow of these mythical creatures, I felt that our journey was complete, but Nicky had one last surprise to show us.
We followed him up a steep and narrow road that zigzagged straight up the mountain for miles, each switchback bringing us closer to our destination – a place shrouded in mystery and hidden from the eyes of the world. At last, we arrived at a sight straight from the pages of legend: a staircase nestled within the dense forest, flanked by towering dragon statues that stood as protectors of a place beyond. Like walking up the dragon’s back, we ascended the ancient steps, each one curved in the shape of a scale. At the summit we found two ancient temples with ornate spires and unbelievably intricate architecture.
Accessible only by this rough and bumpy road, the serene jungle temple called Wat Luang Khun Win is said to be more than 700 years old. We wandered the hallowed grounds in reverent silence, taking in the palpable sense of spirituality that permeated the air. It’s places like this that help you understand the peaceful nature of the people here.
For Nicky, this place held a special significance – a childhood haunt, a sanctuary untouched by the hands of time. He said this place used to be a well-kept secret, hidden in the mountains for hundreds of years, until recently. Now it has been discovered by local Thais who shuttle up from the city to experience its beauty, but even though its secrets had now been unveiled, it still retains an aura of magic.
As we bid farewell to this enchanted place and made our way back to Chiang Mai, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the wild ride that got us here. An unforgettable week unfurling across the untamed landscapes of Northern Thailand – a journey of discovery, of culture and of happiness. I’ll always remember the wild jungles teeming with life and the mountains cloaked in mystery and enchantment. Vibrant cities pulsating with energy and remote villages steeped in tradition and resilience.
But beyond the sights and sounds, it’s the people who truly left their imprint – the laughter, kindness and endless smiles. We came here looking for an adventure, but what we discovered was a newfound love for humanity.