Rhodie, you may be interested in this email I had from a mate who spends a lot of time in Thailand and loves Triumphs/Thaiumphs
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Touring a Hinkley Bonnie in Thailand.
I was in a scruffy bike shop in Pataya, just outside Bankok, looking at a lacklustre line up of Japanese Harley clones, trying to convince myself that this was the best kind of bike to tour Thailand on, when a familiar shape caught my eye. There on the end of the line of bikes was a gleaming black and chrome Bonneville, though it took me a moment to realise that it was a modern bike and not a T140. It stood head and shoulders above the rest, quietly looking just right. (It felt just right too, when we sat on it – the seating position is classic brit Gentleman-Having-A-Shit:- head up, shoulders back, back straight, you know the one). Suddenly, none of the other bikes held any appeal at all. It had to be the Bonnie. But,– how much? A grand sterling more than I intended to spend was the answer. There ensued a hasty conference with Linda, my long suffering missus, who – glory be – informed me that she hated the pillion position on the Harley clones, she knew from experience that we both fitted comfortably on our T140, and what was a months wages here or there in the long run? Guys, if you find a girl like this, marry her.
We picked the bike up the next day – it turned out to be a 2002 model, exported to Japan, and then again to Thailand. There were 4000 kilometres on the clock, and it was still on it’s original tyres. I handed over a wad of cash, received a large motorcycle with no number plate, and a few bits of paper covered in squiggly writing. Deal!
First stop Buropa Bike Week, just a few miles up the road, where the Bonnie attracted a lot of attention, just for not being a Harley. (one American lad made my day. “ man,” he said, “That bike is wa-a-ay cool.”)
Then, with a few miles under our belt, we set off for the village where our friends live, about 500 k’s north. Oh what bliss! To be riding a Triumph together in scorching sunshine, in a great open country of farmland and mountains! Needless to say, as we were on a Triumph the euphoria was short lived. After about 300k’s I glanced down at my boots (old habits die hard) to see them liberally spattered with oil. Oh yes, this was Triumphing all right. A quick inspection of the bike showed that the oil was coming from the top union on the oil cooler, and although I couldn’t cure it, it wasn’t of engine-threatening proportions. We jumped back on the bike and turned the ignition on. Absolutely nothing. Yes, this was the purest essence of Triumphing. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, in a country about which we knew next to nothing, on a dead Triumph with my boots melting into the tarmac, I was seized with a feeling of absolute joy. This is what it’s all about. Out with the tools, off with the seat, loose battery connection found and fixed and off we go again, my confidence in the bike strangely boosted by having had to fiddle with it. The rest of the run was uneventful, the bike ran like a train, despite being heavily loaded – we’re both middle age spreaders of around 200lbs each. The only downside really was the stylishly thin seat, which became painful after 3 hours or so – I rode the last 100k’s standing up!
We landed in the village at around beer o’clock, so it was the next morning before I checked the bike over. Nothing had bent, broken, fallen off, or stopped working, and it had averaged about 200k’s per 10.5 litres of horrible Thai petrol. Very impressive. Even the chain didn’t need adjusting. (we went on to do a total of 3000k’s, some of it on very rough tracks, and the chain just didn’t stretch at all – the wonders of technology. ) The power delivery was very T140ish, but stronger everywhere – why do people say these bikes don’t go? I suppose it doesn’t take off like a Ducati at high revs, but so what – I’ll happily trade that for low and mid-range torque, on rough roads populated by third world deathwish drivers.
Our pal who runs the village bike shop soon fixed the oil leak, and after a week of local knocking around we set off for another long ride up to the Mekong river at Nong Kai, on the border with Laos. The bike ran faultlessly, and I began to appreciate the handling and suspension, neither of which showed any shortcomings at all, despite the bike carrying it’s own weight in passengers and luggage. It refused to bottom out even in the biggest holes, and held it’s line without wallowing on bumpy bends. It was also faster than the accompanying Harley Road King, if slightly less luxurious. In Nong Kai we met up with some lads from the local Lobos club, who served us the first good coffee we’d found in Thailand, as well as a considerable amount of gin and tonic. I love the riding spirit that you find amongst fellow bikers when you travel like this. A night’s rest in the strangely named Pantawee Hotel, (cheap, clean, -recommended. ), a days sightseeing, and we were on our way again, dodging the trucks and motorbike rickshaws on the road back south. The main roads in Thailand are horrible – hot, dusty, and intimidating. Small motorbikes drive both ways next to the kerb, zip past you on both sides, dodging the oncoming traffic like bees. The big stuff coming towards you expects you to get out of the way, - they will drive straight at you on your side of the road, flashing lights indignantly if you hesitate. You soon learn that on a bike you are at the bottom of the food chain and the law couldn’t care less. Once you get onto the back roads however, things improve. You have to go slow – there are some impressive potholes, and random debris, from yams to dead dogs- but the experience of toodling along, stopping for cold drinks in little villages where everyone has a laugh at our minimal grasp of the language, dodging cattle, and enjoying the winding hill roads is priceless.
By now we were gaining confidence in our abilities to cope with the country, and gaining confidence in the bike, so after a few days, when our bums stopped hurting, we loaded up the bike and set off again. This time the destination was another bike meet at Nakon Rachasima, to the east of us, where we met friends from the Nagas bike club drank a lot of beer and generally had a bloody good time. Time was now getting short for us, so rather than waste our last week, we decided to ride right the way across Thailand to the infamous Kwai river bridge at Canchanaburi in the far west of the country. By now the glamour of riding our shiny new bike was wearing off a bit, and one or two shortcomings were becoming apparent. First was the hard seat which was fast becoming a misery. This was not helped by the relatively high footrests, which doubled up my arthritic legs and hips more than was comfortable, though I suppose younger riders wouldn’t have this problem. Secondly the clutch housing ran painfully hot, even through boots and jeans. (Maybe in a cooler climate this would not be an issue.) The only other things I didn’t like were the emasculated exhaust note and the whine from the transmission – it felt and looked just like a Triumph, but it didn’t sound like one! (“ If it doesn’t rattle,” my mate asked,”how do you know when it’s gonna seize?”)This all combined to make the long haul cross country a bit of a chore, and we were glad to get to Canchanaburi, find a decent guest house, and relax. The next day was earmarked for R&R, so we went up to the end of the wartime railway on the train – Teak seats, and a hole-in –the-floor toilet - oh joy! Still, you can sit in the doorway of the carriage if you want, though the stone walls of the cuttings the POWs dug are only inches away in places. The whole thing’s a bit of a tourist attraction these days, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Next day we were on the road early, following the route of the train north on the road up to the Three Pagodas Pass into Burma. (my dad was in Burma during the war).We stopped at the memorial at Hellfire Pass to pay our respects, and then drove on up to the Burmese border. What a great piece of road, wild and mountainous. The Bonnie was pinking quite badly ( pulling uphill, heavily laden, at altitude, in boiling heat, on cheap petrol. Shouldn’t grumble, I suppose. ) but handled the bumpy undulating road with ease – apart from a very Bonneville-like tendency to scrape both stands hard on left handers, that is. Amazing how they managed to build such classic Bonneville qualities into a modern bike!
The border was a bit of an anticlimax – the 3 Pagodas are about 6ft high and completely unremarkable. Local traffic was crossing the border unimpeded, so we asked the guards if we could cross. Yes no problem, sign here, hand over your passport, off you go. Er, what, with no passport? Yes. Be back before we close the border at 6 pm. OK, off we go, wow this feels intrepid, how long since anyone rode a Triumph into Burma? As it was late in the afternoon, we settled for not being too intrepid, just rode into a local village, had a beer and a look round the local market, admired the huge rats, and crossed back into Thailand before the witching hour.
We found a hotel of sorts near the border, and, showered, fed, and half-pissed, made a plan for the next day. Yes of course we can find our way cross country on an 800cc road bike, all up weight 900lb, combined age of riders 110yrs, road tyres, no compass, and a very rudimentary map. Our younger friends who were with us were enthusiastic – they had a trail bike, – so that settled the matter. Needless to say, mid afternoon the following day, things didn’t look quite so easy. We’d found the start of the trail we wanted easily enough, and followed it for 20k. Then another 20k. Then another 20k. By now we should have left the hills and found a lake and a ferry, but there was only more dusty potholed track going nowhere. This was getting a bit too bloody intrepid for my liking. We were short of fuel, and water, and I was worrying about the hammering the bike was taking – I was sure it was only a matter of time before we came off, or holed a tyre on a rock. ( Even our companions on the traily were looking anxious. It’s hard to describe how worrying being out in baking heat with no water is, unless you’ve done it. ) Happily the god of idiots was looking out for us that day, and we eventually rounded a bend to find a huge blue lake laid out in front of us, the far shore lost in haze. The track ran down to a homemade looking ferry and a little shop selling cold beer and bananas. Oh boy.
Once we crossed the lake we found ourselves back in Triumph heaven – winding tarmac-ed roads over beautiful hills with no other traffic for miles. Eventually we came to a scruffy looking town and decided we’d gone far enough for one day. After first trying to book into a sex hotel (looked OK to me, though I will concede it smelled a bit odd ) we eventually found a proper hotel, scrubbed up and went out to eat. The place we found turned out to be the local biker bar and we were fed and watered to our hearts content. Exhausted, we turned in about 9pm, and hit the sack. Two hours later the phone in the hotel bedroom started ringing. Who the bloody hell? The local Thai bike club, that’s who – did we fancy a drink or three with them down at the biker bar? Well it doesn’t do to offend the locals, so up we got, dressed we got, and back down to town we went, to make new friends and have a few more beers. And Thai whiskeys. And gin and tonics. (Like I said earlier, dehydration’s the big worry out there.) The ride back to the hotel? Well it had to be done. For me part of bonding with a bike is having it get me home in a terrible state. (don’t try this on a Honda.) (in fact, don’t try it at all)
Next morning was a bit grim, but thankfully the bike seemed to be unharmed by the previous days abuse. (It looked like something Ted Simon would have used). No “Essence-of Triumphing” today, old girl, just get us home in one piece. And she did. That evening saw us back in the village, and the next day we were on the bus back to Bangkok, and the UK. No, I’m not going to tell you where the bike is...
All in all we covered 3000 km’s on the bike, with no trouble. I loved the bike, it felt like a Triumph should, like a really well put together T140, but without the vibes and the hassle. We’ve owned and loved our T140 since 1977, and if I could I’d ride it in Thailand, but the paperwork and expense meant it made more sense to buy a bike out there, and this was the ideal bike to choose. ( Depending on what you want – our friends bought a brand new Chinese Honda 125XL clone for under £600 and toured 1500km’s two up with us. The damn thing cruised at 100kph two up for days and never missed a beat. If that’s not a bargain, what is? ) If there are any club members in Thailand (unlikely, I know) please do get in touch, we’ll be back next year.
I hope this article has been of interest, I welcome any feedback. Steve Baughn
