For 3 300 Baht a month I have chosen to nearly die, every single day that passes. This is not because I've once again sold my body to medical science. Doing that in this county is even beyond me. It is because I am now the proud owner of a yellow death scooter. A scooter, meant for death, painted yellow. Death is it's game, yellow scooter is its name.
Getting this scooter was painfully easy. I just asked.
What is your name. Give me your money. Here are your keys.
That's it. So simple I would describe it as a painless procedure, would I not die in a scooter crash of irony if I did so.
The first time I tried to set off, I shot across the street towards a restaurant, I'm now on the wrong side of the road, with on coming traffic and a while bunch of people looking at me. I turn to face my side of the road again, try to gently pop the throttle and once again I'm a flying machine of un-coordination and fear. Then before I get to the petrol station, as the patrons kindly drained the tank before letting me have it, I managed to stall it and flood the engine - - and this thing is an automatic! Once the tank if full again I shoot towards a car which has to pull out of my way, and then I'm once again on the road. Just me, my scooter and a population with the kind of road sense less "Driving Miss Daisy" and more "Mad Max".
I was sweating so bad by the time I got back to the camp. I had a shower, and then a sleep. I know that I just need to take it out and practice but the thought terrifies me.
I think one of the places the fear stems from is my brothers bike. When I went out on that we were going a lot faster than I'm ever going to get, but I had a full set of leathers on and a helmet that looked like it might actually be of some use if I fell off.
Now, I'm wearing a helmet that has long since parted ways with it's padding and the only protection between me and certain pain from falling is a wistful layer of body hair.
Falling, quite literally, is not an option.