In the streets of Thailand, the motorbike is king. The pavement rumbles with the roar of a million of tiny engines. Two lane roads yield to the whim of hurried drivers and makes room for four to six lines of traffic. Stoplights are a weakly stated suggestion and lane dividers, although clearly visible, barely seem to exist at all.

When we first got to Bangkok I was enthralled by the massive groups of motorbikes that queued on the shores of every major intersection. “I’m totally joining a bike gang,” I mused.

After arriving in Chiang Mai the prospects of riding motorbikes greatly increased. The streets of Bangkok had been too chaotic and riding in them would have been an almost certain death wish. Plus, there really aren’t any places to rent bikes in Bangkok. In Chiang Mai there’s a bike rental place on every other block. Once outside the city center the roads unfold into long winding stretches and deep banking turns. And thus, in this place, a bike gang is born.
We call ourselves, The Chicken Legs. And in Chiang Mai, if anybody knows anything about anything, it’s that you DON’T mess with The Chicken Legs. Cause, ya know, we’re packin’ Macs an’ stuff. Well, Macbook Pro’s to be more accurate, and the 15” version instead of the 17” version because everybody knows that the 17” version is just TOO big to carry around in a backpack. Anyway, you get the gist, we’re obviously hella tough! Ride on brother! Ride on…

I had heard that there were caves to be found in the limestone cliffs outside the city of Kampot. I hired a moto driver for the afternoon and we took off in search of them. I knew it was going to be an interesting afternoon when within 5 minutes we had sprung a leak in the back tire (he stopped at a friend’s house and “borrowed” another motorbike).

After a half-hour drive, the driver dropped me off next to a row of dried-up rice paddies (apparently they only harvest one rice crop per year, in the rainy season), and pointed off in the distance. “You go over there”, was his only instruction.

I started to zig zag my way through the fields when two young Cambodian boys joined me. One was 9 years old and one was 12. They insisted they didn’t want anything, only to practice their English. I was happy to have them along for the company.

I could tell you about the fantastic views after climbing to the cave entrance, or the beautiful and well-preserved 7^th century brick temple dedicated to Shiva found inside, but the highlight of my afternoon was climbing through the caves, getting dirty and sweaty as we took “the hard route” to get out. They hammered me with questions about my life while we clamoured over boulders, squeezed through passageways and hopscotched over the cave pools. I asked them about their families and school (one came from a family of 9 children, the other from a “small” family of 5 kids).  I emerged from the cave absolutely filthy and soaked but totally happy about the new friends that I had made along the way.

Walking through the dried-up rice paddies and farmland to the caves.

My new friends and I at the cave entrance. Doesn't that formation look like an elephant?

The view from the caves.