Back in high school a friend of mine pulled his Vespa out of the student parking lot and got knocked through the air by a woman in one of those big 60’s land yachts. He never stood a chance, and probably wouldn’t have even if he was wearing a helmet. As I stood there dumbstruck the next morning, looking at the remnants of his blood not yet fully washed away I decided I’d probably never ride on one ever again.
Fast forward to 2005, and I’m out for the afternoon with the charmed offspring of a fairly well-off family in Bangkok. By “well off” I mean they owned the hotel I was staying in, he had a personal bodyguard and his biggest decision that day was whether he’d pick me up in his BMW or his Mercedes; that kind of “well off”.
He knew most of the motocy drivers outside his family’s walled compound and picked one for me that he assured me would get my sweaty self to one of the family restaurants for dinner unscathed. After dinner he assured me he’d have one of the hotel limos pick me up to take me back for the night. He said with the traffic as it was the cycles were the only way to get there in any reasonable timeframe. For some reason I didn’t consider the hundreds of other drivers we’d be jockeying for position with along the way and got on, my friend on another just behind us.
Had it not been that I would’ve been embarrassed to wet the back of the driver’s trousers I may well have peed my pants. Helmet or no helmet, this was a hell of a lot more risky than I’d bargained for, and as I tried re-learning to trust leaning with the bike while he zig-zagged his way along I was reminded of my decision some 40 years before.
I’d often been surprised at the devil-may-care attitude of cycle riders there but since that day I’ve paid closer attention to the hordes of people who evidently take the “if it’s your time, it’s your time” thing to heart. While on elevated walkways over intersections at commute time I like to watch the cycles filter their way to the front of the pack of four-wheel commuters at a red light, listening to the whine of their engines revving when the light changes and they rush out ahead of the cars and trucks.
Although I did hear one (mentioned in an earlier post on accidents) fortunately so far I haven’t witnessed an accident involving one of these cyclists, but I suppose that time will come. Evidence of past “road rash” is a fairly common sight on people and I’m surprised at the number of folks who have helmets but don’t wear them. It’s not all that much of a fine if you’re caught without it – usually about 100Bt – but I should think there’s a certain amount of inconvenience to trying to get around without a portion of your head.
One of my early friends there needed a loan for the down payment on a cycle to get him from his rural home to work and school, and to my knowledge kept his side of the agreement to wear at least his helmet to protect him while he paid the bank and myself back… but I still worried about him.
I suppose life’s full of choices, and I didn’t always think all that far ahead when I was their age, either. Ah, the invincibility of youth!
Mmhh, I was looking for "next post" button, but then I realized that I already reached the last post. I enjoyed reading and hope many more posts will follow.
ReplyDeleteDefinitely terrifying but quite practical. My problem is a big head and Thai-sized helmets. I just bought my own helmet and will bring it along on the next visit.
ReplyDeleteNot a bad idea, Michael. It'd work as protection for something fragile on the way home, too. I've bought two helmets for people there but never myself.
ReplyDeleteChristian - I hope there are many more posts, too... that would indicate I'm still alive and kicking.
Your mention of road rash reminds me they also call them honda bites, :-)
ReplyDeleteRQ
Oh, that's rich! I remember "raspberries" from my distant youth but I'd never heard that one before. I wonder what other names there are for the unpleasant but common road-battle scar?
ReplyDelete