158 CYCLE TOURING THAILAND (21.1) SOMEWHERE BETWEEN LOCKDOWN AND THE OPEN ROAD

Shenanigans on a Bike - By Leana Niemand

Somewhere Between Lockdown and the Open Road

158 THAILAND (21.1) 
1,791 Kilometres - 30 Days
24 November – 5 January 2022

PHOTOS
MAP

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VOICEOVER

FLIP-BOOK

 

 

Prelude

 

After long months of pandemic life, the world had grown smaller—contained within walls, routines, and far too much time to think.

I missed the road. Not dramatically, not urgently—but in that quiet, persistent way that refuses to go away. The rhythm of pedalling, the unknown of each day, the simple act of moving forward under my own steam.

There were plenty of reasons to stay put. But eventually, they mattered less than the need to go. So I packed the bike and set off on what would become a 1,791-kilometre ride over 30 days—a modest journey on the map, perhaps, but one that felt like stepping back into a much larger world.

I didn’t have a grand plan. Just a rough direction, a willingness to adapt, and the hope that somewhere along the way, things would start to feel familiar again.

 

 A Ride Along the South Coast

 

Back in the Saddle (Finally) - Pattaya to Rayong (80 km)

I was cautiously excited to return to life on a bike—cautiously, because the world had spent the past year and eight months behaving like a badly written soap opera. I wasn’t entirely convinced normal life hadn’t been cancelled indefinitely.

Still, pandemic or no pandemic, I had reached the point where I either got on the bike… or started talking to my houseplants. And they were beginning to ignore me.

So I saddled up the old iron horse—who, to be fair, looked only slightly more energetic than I felt—and set off around Thailand. Strictly for sanity. Nothing heroic about it. Just self-defence.

Packing took forever. I’m convinced that no matter how little you own, loading a bike expands to fill the entire morning. By the time I was finally ready, I felt as if I’d already completed half the tour.

Naturally, my first stop was two kilometres down the road at Jomtien Beach for coffee with Dawn and Dan.

Because discipline is important—but coffee with friends is more important.

I honestly don’t know how I would’ve survived the pandemic without them. Dawn, in particular, refused to let me transform into a permanently seated human. If not for her, my “running routine” would’ve become a distant rumour. So thank you, Dawn. May your legs forever function better than mine.

Eventually, I did leave. And oh—it felt good.

The legs remembered their job (more or less), the sun was shining as if nothing dramatic had happened in the world, and I found myself pedalling with a grin that probably made passing motorists slightly nervous.

Rice paddies stretched out like green carpets, temples gleamed, food carts hissed and steamed, and spirit houses lined the road like silent witnesses to my questionable life choices.

It was one of those rare days where everything simply worked. No drama. No disasters. Just the simple joy of moving forward under your own steam.

Which, in hindsight, should’ve worried me.

 

A Puncture, a Flying Saddle, and a Lucky Escape - Rayong to Roadside Accommodation (91 km)

 

Morning coffee came from 7-Eleven, naturally. It is less a shop and more a national institution. The time of departure is therefore always measured in relation to it:

Barely 10 kilometres into the day—psssst. Flat tyre. Of course. The universe had clearly decided that things had gone far too smoothly yesterday and needed immediate correction.

Luckily, the new tube was soon in, though the fact that I now had only one spare suddenly made me feel like a gambler who had just gone all-in on a questionable hand. I decided to hedge my bets and stopped at a repair shop in Ban Phe.

Ban Phe was lively—tourists bustling, boats heading out, fish sauce quietly fermenting in the background like some kind of mysterious coastal perfume. Tube fixed, crisis averted, I continued feeling quite competent.

Then came lunch, after which I rolled out in high spirits……only for my saddle—yes, the entire saddle, including nuts and bolts—to detach itself and crash onto the road.

There are moments in life where time slows down. This was one of them. Mostly because I was imagining the alternative outcome. Let’s just say I briefly reflected on how much I value certain parts of my anatomy.

Recovery involved collecting the scattered remains of my bicycle and dignity while pretending this sort of thing happened all the time.

“Ah yes, the classic spontaneous saddle disassembly. Very common.”

A kind lady from a nearby guesthouse quickly assessed the situation and decided I was no longer capable of managing my own life. She whisked me—and my detached saddle—into a vehicle and drove me to a motorbike repairman.

Now, in Thailand, motorbike mechanics are essentially engineers, miracle workers, and part-time magicians. Within minutes, my saddle was reassembled, my faith in humanity restored, and my future lineage secured.

By evening, I rolled into a cluster of roadside bungalows and declared the day finished. The owner was wonderfully friendly, and the adjacent eatery—though officially closed—produced fried rice as if I were royalty or at least a mildly interesting inconvenience.

I ate like someone who had survived something dramatic. Which, technically, I had.

 

A Short Ride and an Easy Day in Chao Lao - Roadside Cottage to Chao Lao (17 km)

Well-rested and well-fed, I set off early-ish, full of optimism and with absolutely no plan—arguably my most reliable travel strategy.

Fifteen kilometres later, I reached Chao Lao and immediately spotted bungalows for 350 THB. At this point, my bicycle made an executive decision and turned in of its own accord. I have learned not to argue with it in these matters.

Soon, I was installed in a tiny wooden cabin, feeling very pleased with my ability to cover a heroic 17 kilometres and then retire.

The rest of the afternoon was spent battling MS Word, which had apparently decided the pandemic was a good time to reinvent itself in ways I did not approve of. Eventually, through persistence, threats, and mild pleading, I regained control.

Laundry followed—more of a rinse-and-hope exercise—and by 4 p.m. I had run out of responsibilities and considered the day a major success.

 

Quiet Shores and Ancient Creatures on the Way to Trat - Chao Lao to Trat (90 km)

I prefer to ride at least 20 kilometres before eating. This gives me the illusion of discipline and makes breakfast feel like a well-earned reward rather than a default setting.

The southeast coast was strangely quiet. Beaches that should’ve been bustling lay empty, viewpoints looked abandoned, and the only person making any real effort was a young girl selling homemade snacks to passing ghosts (and me).

It felt as if someone had lowered the volume on the world.

Along the way, I passed horseshoe crabs for sale—creatures so ancient and peculiar they look like they missed several updates in evolution’s software.

Four hundred and fifty million years old, blue blood… honestly, they’re doing better than most of us.

The ride into Trat was smooth, blessed with a cycle lane—always a luxury—and I checked into Baan Jaidee, where clean, comfortable rooms for 250 THB almost made me suspicious. Surely there was a catch? Hidden goats? Midnight karaoke?

Nope. Just a good deal.

 

Wind, Wandering, and a Chocolate Cake Boost - Trat to Klaeng (127 km)

I didn’t do my planned loop ride back to Pattaya as I woke to a breezy north-easterly. The north-easterly wind brings cooler, less humid conditions and blows between November and March, so it's better to head south.

Once at the turn-off, I wisely thought better of it and proceeded in a westerly direction. The plan was to return to Pattaya to collect the ordered tent and complete my 90-day registration before continuing my ride.

A great deal of the day was spent trying to uncover paths not taken before. Cycling through tiny, half-forgotten villages where a well still serves as the central attraction is a pleasure.

I won’t say I’d have the wind at my back, but still, better than facing it head-on. I don’t know if it was due to my chocolate cake breakfast, but I was full of beans and made my way to Klaeng. Towards the end of the day, I felt like a hamster on a treadmill and pulled into cute roadside cottages sporting beer and crisps! It was a no-brainer.

 

Double Breakfast and the Road Back to Pattaya - Klaeng to Pattaya (123 km)

Surprisingly, a light breakfast was included. Even though the ladies knew I was travelling solo, I still received two breakfasts. Of course, I ate both, hahaha!

I didn’t feel much like cycling to Pattaya, as I’ve cycled that stretch many times. Still, there was no other option, and I stepped on the pedals.

 

 

The Road to Songkhla – One pedal stroke at a time

 

Breaking free - Pattaya to Bangsaen Beach, Chon Buri (60 km)

At last—mercifully, gloriously—I closed the condo and escaped what I can only lovingly describe as Sodom and Gomorrah by the Sea.

The ride north, as always, was about as scenic as a shopping mall parking lot. But this time, I had a new companion: a saddle that seemed personally invested in my discomfort. It wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was strategically painful, as though it had studied human anatomy and chosen violence.

After enduring enough saddle-based suffering to question my life choices, I sensibly cut the ride short and stopped at Bangsaen.

There, I found a 300 THB room that proudly advertised itself as “fully tiled.” Now, in most places, this suggests a neat tiled bathroom.

Here, it meant everything—walls, floors, possibly the air itself—appeared to be tiled. It felt less like a room and more like the inside of a very clean swimming pool.

Before settling in, I unleashed a generous cloud of Dettol disinfectant, just in case the tiles had plans of their own.

By sunset, however, all was forgiven. I wandered down to the promenade, where the light softened, the sea calmed, and food appeared in comforting quantities. Balance restored.

 

Riding the Edges of the Gulf - Bangsaen Beach to Samut Prakan (110 km)

 

Today’s ride followed the Gulf of Thailand—also known as the Gulf of Siam—a body of water that sounds dramatic but is surprisingly shallow. In fact, it’s so shallow that it doesn’t exchange water very quickly, which is both fascinating and faintly unsettling.

The result? Plenty of fish—which is good—and rather a lot of accumulated human behaviour—which is less good.

Somewhere out there, in 2017, a ten-kilometre patch of plastic once floated like an unwanted guest. I don’t know where it went, but I suspect it didn’t pack its bags and leave politely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I tried to stick near the coast to avoid traffic. Unfortunately, the coastline had other ideas.

Flooding. Everywhere.

Roads turned into canals. Paths disappeared. At times I wasn’t entirely sure whether I was still cycling or auditioning for an amphibious lifestyle.

Eventually, I stumbled upon a narrow canal-side path—quiet, rural, and blissfully passable. It felt like finding a secret passage after repeatedly walking into dead ends.

 

8 December – Rails, Water, and a Flooded Town - Samut Sakhon to Samut Songkhram (40 km)

 

The next morning offered a far gentler experience. Following a railway line through tiny hamlets, I passed houses so close to the tracks that I suspected the residents could lean out of their windows and high-five passing passengers.

Honestly, they couldn’t have built any closer if they tried.

Arriving early in Samut Songkhram, I was greeted by a town that had, quite enthusiastically, become one with the river.

Flooded streets. Water everywhere. I splashed my way onward, determined to locate my hostel—only to find it closed. Naturally.

The famous train market? Quiet. The trains themselves? Possibly on holiday.

Eventually, though, a 300 THB room appeared, and I accepted it with enthusiasm. I then spent the remainder of the day doing what any sensible traveller would do in a semi-flooded town:

Eating. Continuously.

 

Birds, Salt Pans, and Slow Progress - Samut Songkhram to Hua Hin (118 km)

 

Determined not to be trapped by another incoming tide, I made a somewhat hurried exit in the morning.

Ten kilometres later, everything improved dramatically.

The road hugged the coastline, the breeze nudged me along from behind, the sun showed up for work, and the sky filled with what can only be described as a conference of birds. Not a meeting—a full conference.

Salt pans stretched endlessly, shimmering like mirrors, attracting birdlife from as far as Alaska and Siberia. Meanwhile, I pedalled along, scanning obsessively for the elusive spoon-billed sandpiper.

This is how cyclists end up taking all day to ride what should be a relatively short distance: birdwatching with occasional pedalling.

Hua Hin, when I finally arrived, felt oddly subdued—like a theatre after the audience has left.

Still, accommodation was cheap (300 THB), and my room had a walled yard—luxury! This meant I could do laundry… or more accurately, rinse my clothes and declare victory.

I also devoured an entire bag of liquorice and a bag of popcorn. Because once you start on liquorice, you are no longer in control.

 

The following day, wandering through town revealed empty streets and “for rent” signs. Even the massage shops—normally impossible to pass unnoticed—were quiet.

No cheerful calls. No bargaining. Just silence and glowing phone screens. It felt like the world had temporarily stepped away.

 

With the Wind South to Prachuap - Hua Hin to Prachuap Khiri Khan (113 km)

 

A stiff breeze behind me transformed the ride into something close to joy.

There are moments on a bicycle when everything aligns—the temperature, the wind, the scenery—and you find yourself grinning for no logical reason.

This was one of those days.

By the time I reached Prachuap Khiri Khan, I still had energy to spare, which felt suspicious. I headed straight for Maggie’s Homestay—my old favourite. Cheap rooms, a welcoming yard, and the comforting presence of people who seem to have quietly decided not to leave just yet.

Within minutes, I had tea in hand, conversation flowing, and later… a beer.

Priorities, after all.

 

Two days passed effortlessly at Maggie’s. Laundry, running, chatting—repeat. Nick, a British cyclist waiting out the pandemic, provided good company. He had the calm demeanor of someone who had accepted that time had temporarily stopped and decided not to fight it.

It was the kind of place where days slip by unnoticed.

 

A Fast Ride and a Strange Encounter - Prachuap to Ban Krut (71 km)

 

With the wind on my side, I flew south past coconut palms and striking beaches.

At one point, someone with questionable intentions took an interest in me—but quickly lost enthusiasm when I appeared less approachable than expected. He sped off.

I considered that a success.

Arriving early in Ban Krut, I tracked down a modest room I’d heard about. Cheap, simple, perfect.

 

Easy Miles to Chumphon - Ban Krut to Chumphon (123 km)

 

Cycling here was… effortless. Perfect weather. Beautiful scenery. Smooth riding. It almost felt undeserved.

Reaching Chumphon, I found a room where I could roll the bike straight in—a small luxury that always feels like a major victory.

Then began my battle with technology. My phone decided it was nearing retirement. I bought a new one. Setting it up took ages. Then the banking app needed to be reinstalled.

Then my laptop, not wanting to be left out, began falling apart—literally. Luckily, the issue turned out to be a missing screw.

The repairman refused payment. I bought him ice cream instead. The genuine surprise and gratitude was a reminder: outside certain tourist bubbles, kindness here runs deep.

 

Through Green Hills and Quiet Roads - Chumphon to Paknam Lang Suan (83 km)

 

No rush today. Just easy riding through greener, hillier terrain. Coconut plantations, quiet hamlets, chickens casually ignoring the rules of the road. The route felt familiar—I’d ridden it before—but thankfully without the storm that had accompanied that previous trip.

At Paknam Lang Suan, I couldn’t resist Fisherman Bungalow—simple huts on stilts over the water. At 250 THB, it felt like theft.

 

Storms, Flats, and a Soaked Finish - Paknam Lang Suan to Surat Thani (126 km)

 

A noisy night by the sea ensured an early start.

Coffee in hand, I watched children head out to fish… in what appeared to be glorified plastic buckets. Resourcefulness at its finest.

Then came the day’s lesson in balance.

Beautiful start. Short storm. Flat tyre. Then, ten kilometres before Surat Thani—rain. Heavy rain. The kind of rain that makes you question whether vision is optional.

I kept pedalling, trusting the road, hoping for the best.

Eventually, I rolled into Surat Thani—soaking wet and dripping like a misplaced umbrella.

Food came first. Showering could wait.

 

Straight Roads and a New Plan - Surat Thani to Tha Sala (109 km)

Main road riding. Efficient. Boring. So boring, in fact, that I didn’t even take a single picture. Reaching Tha Sala, I decided to call it a day and consider my next move: Malaysian border closed. A ferry from Songkhla. A plan was forming.

 

Racing the Clock to the Ferry - Tha Sala to Sam Bo (143 km)

 

Then came the twist. The ferry wasn’t leaving Thursday—it was leaving Wednesday.

Cue urgency. “Self,” I said, “we need to move.” And so we did—through rain, poor visibility, and persistent determination. By evening, with only 60 km remaining, I felt confident enough to celebrate with crisps and beer.

Priorities.

 

Gliding into Songkhla - Sam Bo to Songkhla (67 km)

 

An early start saw me glide into Songkhla with time to spare. The old town, with its Chinese shophouses, was a welcome distraction before heading to the port. Boarding the ferry was… confusing. Nobody seemed entirely sure what to do. We boarded early. We left late.

No one explained anything—but everyone was friendly. Curiously, there was no alcohol on board.

A bold decision.

 

The Ride Home - Songkhla to Pattaya (40 km)

I slept well—an entire row of seats to myself.

Arriving in Sattahip, I retrieved the bike, but it took longer than expected before I was rolling again.

Forty kilometres later, I stopped at Dawn and Dan’s for a few beers. As one does.

 

The following days blurred into a mix of social gatherings, beach time, and good company.

Life slowed. Time passed unnoticed. Eventually, plans shifted again. Thailand’s borders remained closed. Africa called—not by design, but by default.

 

It was thus February 2022 that I finally said adios to the lovely people I had befriended during Covid and became Africa-bound. Africa was indeed a last resort, as, after nearly two years, Thailand still hadn’t opened its land borders.

I was cautiously excited to return to my home soil and see what Africa had in store. However, travelling wasn’t as easy as before, and I wasn’t sure if I would even take off.

 

Epilogue

Looking back, the ride was never about distance or destination. It was a series of small moments—some planned, many not—held together by the steady turning of the wheels.

There were breakdowns, flooded roads, shifting plans. There was also kindness, laughter, and that familiar sense of freedom that only seems to return once you’re properly underway.

Thailand, though, felt changed. Quieter. Paused.

And slowly, it became clear that staying wasn’t really an option—not yet.

Africa wasn’t part of the original plan, but it became the next step simply because it was possible. And sometimes, that’s how these journeys unfold—not by design, but by opportunity.

So this ride ended not with a conclusion, but with a continuation. The bike would roll again—on different roads, under different skies. And whatever waited ahead, one thing was certain:

The story wasn’t ending. It was just changing continents.