When I was about thirteen years old, my mother sat me down for a very serious and very short conversation. “If I ever catch you riding, or hear about you being on a motorcycle” she said. “I’ll just shoot you in the head or poison your food. That way I’ll get to say a proper goodbye”. So opposed was she to motorcycles that I couldn’t even watch movies that romanticized the motorcycle culture. To this day I still refer to two-wheeled motorized conveyances using the same phrase she did; “murder-cycles”.

And I obeyed my mother’s command for nearly four decades. Then, at the ripe old age of 38, I came to Thailand. I remember my first ride on the back of a Bangkok moto-taxi like it was yesterday. Two of my friends had already saddled up and were waiting for me to follow them about 300 meters to the Skytrain. With my dear old mom’s warning burning in my ears, I hopped aboard and felt the rush of freedom overtake me. Weaving through traffic engulfed in toxic fumes and completely exposed in the most deadly traffic environment on planet Earth. It was exhilarating.

Since then, I’ve limited my motorcycle excursions to times of extreme need. I don’t know anyone who lives here that routinely rides a motorcycle that hasn’t been in at least one accident. More than a few of my friends have met an untimely demise this way. I figure since I only take about one motorbike ride a year, I’m taking myself out of the high risk group.

Two weeks ago I was running late for a business dinner in Bangkok. The MRT spit me out of the ground about 5o0 meters from where I needed to go in Sathorn. Traffic was rush-hour constipated and not a single taxi with their red light on. With the temperature just below “broil”, if I chose to walk I’d be a sweaty mess upon arrival. Then a friendly young fella in an orange vest said the magic word … “motorcy?” Once again I felt the exhilaration and freedom most of us come to Thailand for in the first place.

After safely arriving at my destination I felt like I’d cheated the devil again. Sitting inside a cozy little Italian bistro I snapped a picture of this incredibly cool motorbike on display in the dining room. It was then I realized that this would probably be the best way for me to own a motorcycle. All polished up with a custom paint job and matching helmet; parked in my foyer.

I could take my once a year ride, show my friends how cool I am with this piece of motorized art … and remain comfortably out of the high risk group. I think mom would approve.

Orlando Barton