My 6th month apartment lease in Bangkok ended. I got back my $600 security deposit.
A Greek named Spartacus sold me a bicycle for $185. I had this idea to cycle north. First go to Chiang Mai, then east to Hanoi, then decide from there. Maybe go up China.
Months ago, a reader of one of my posts asked me for information about Japan. His name was Winston, an Englishman. We continued to exchange mails back and forth. His mom died, he quit his job, sold his car and possessions to travel. He wanted to meet up, grab a beer—whether he came to Thailand or I to Ukraine. I asked him if he wanted to join me on my bike ride. He said sure.
My friend Gene called it my “gay bike ride.” He said Winston, a person I’ve never met before, would rape me in the middle of the night. Then he said he’d found my bike.
A month later, Winston arrived in Bangkok. A Ukrainian girl, Sonya, one of the many women he’d banged from Tinderr while staying in Kiev, accompanied him. She stayed a week.
“In Ukraine we don’t wear seat belts,” said Sonya. “Yeah, even taxi drivers give you a metal pin to stick in your belt to stop the alarm,” said Winston. On her final day in Bangkok, Sonya bought a wicker basket, filled it with fruit for friends, and flew back home with it on her lap.
Winston needed a bike. I contacted Spartacus, the Greek, and he sold Winston the brand new model of my hybrid bicycle for $300. I’d already ordered us $50 rear saddle bags from China, a mini-pump, and a multipurpose hand tool.
We took the bikes to a nearby shop. My tires had many cracks. Too lazy to want to do anything, the two teenagers in the shop said my tires were fine. Then the real owner showed up. Without me saying anything, he looked at my bike and said I needed new tires. It took them an hour to change them. If it was taking the kids this long, and I hadn’t changed a tire in at least 15 years, I wondered how long it would take me.
Next, we got vaccinations. I mainly wanted to protect myself from Hepatitis A, which 10% of Thais have. Before, I didn’t worry about it. I don’t like Thai food. I didn’t eat much of it. The girlfriend always cooked Japanese for me. But now she was gone.
Speaking to the cute health advisor, and learning how cheap each vaccination was, I got jabbed with five needles: hepatitis A & B, typhoid, tetanus, rabies, and Japanese encephalitis. These five costed me $100.
Since several were multi-shots, including the twin shot for hep A & B, we’d have to visit a clinic two more times with a week in between before immunity set in. Until then, the health advisor advised us to not eat chicken and rice or fruit from street vendors; for now, stick to noodles. And stay away from dogs. One in a thousand tourists, a number higher than Thais, contract rabies. Get that and not get to a hospital . . . and you die like Old Yeller.
Before setting off on our ride, I waited for friends to return to Bangkok: Gene, Nigga Steve, Willy, and Francis. Gene and I had planned all of us to meet in Pattaya. Winston and I would cycle 150 kilometers southeast in two days to get there. The rest of the guys would taxi over.
While waiting, Winston banged girls from Tinderr as easy as ordering a pizza, a German and a Thai. The Thai was a hot flight attendant with fake boobs. She told Winston she’d come over on one condition—that he fucked her in her ass. He needed to buy the lube, and she would bring the vodka. He took two herbal Viagras beforehand. He pounded that ass for over an hour, really setting the bar high on the first date.
I was blazing at a friend’s, the second time I got high since that pizza in Cambodia, watching Trump’s inauguration, and drinking chocolate milk. Then I left. I took the elevator down. I bought another chocolate milk and a Snickers bar. Then I got on the back of a motorcycle taxi and rode it to Winston’s. I walked in on him and the flight attendant cuddling.
She told a joke. “Look,” she said, “I can move this bottle of lube up, side, down.” Then she lifted the bottle up. “Up,” she said. To the side. “Side.” And then down. “Down.”
“I got one. What do you call one of these,” said Winston, as he held his palm face up with his fingers curled upwards like little legs. “What?” asked the girl. “A dead one of these,” he said, and turned over his hand.