My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong


My Cambodian Motorcycle Adventure

It was your standard Johnny Vagabond adventure: half-assed, last-minute, and over-budget. I’d tried once before to ride the remote Western coast of the Mekong, but had been turned back by rain. I’d let the idea go, but then overheard two Dutch women talking about how they’d absolutely loved it, so I decided to stay an extra day and try again.

I was up and ready to roll by 7am. Renting a $6 scooter from the Balcony Hotel where I was staying and checking emails, site stats, and such ate up a good hour — I finally headed out around 8am. About five kilometers out of town, I found the turn-off to the ferry — the ferry landing itself was just a flat sandy spot on the river’s edge. After a 30 minute wait, the ferry showed up, packed with people, scooters, stacks of supplies, and a single car.

I was the only barang aboard, but no one really seemed to pay me too much attention — the Khmer are a shy and polite people. The ferry filled quickly with people on scooters or afoot — it was a lively scene, with young men joking and teasing each other while the women chatted on the other side of the ferry. The ride across took no more than fifteen minutes and we were soon deposited on the far shore, where we had to ride up the steep sandy bank.


My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong River in Cambodia

Despite the fact that the east side of the river is very undeveloped, it’s a lovely ride. The touristed loop is unpaved, but well-graded. Few, if any, of the houses here have electricity or running water. Water comes from community wells or from rain that is funneled into large ceramic jars that sit by the side of the house. As I passed one thatched-roof hut after another, I saw women stoking breakfast fires on their front porches, men sawing wood or patching fishing nets, and children playing, enjoying their Sunday morning.


My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong River in Cambodia

The poverty here is deep, obvious, and a bit overwhelming, but I’ve never met happier people. As I said, the Khmers are shy, but the slightest nod or wave brought wide smiles to their faces. The route I was following is fairly well-tread by foreigners but it’s the low season and people seemed genuinely delighted to see my pale, sunburned face.

The children were the most fun — they’d wave and say “hello”, quickly followed by “bye-bye” and a fit of giggles. Within 20 minutes, I was nearly hoarse from replying back to everyone.


My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong River in Cambodia

At times, the road turned rough and required navigating over ramshackle bridges that would certainly not pass safety guidelines back home. The first time I came to such a crossing, I was trying to record video of the ride, with a camera in my left hand, and had to cross the bridge with just one hand on the the throttle — nearly bouncing out of the saddle.


My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong River in Cambodia

As I rode on, I passed several large temples, but they were quiet and deserted. The entire length of the road was lined with small huts on both sides. The road here is their lifeline — many do not have motorbikes and have to rely on bicycles or carts to get around. Vendors tour up and down the road on bicycles or motos, selling everything from vegetables to plastic pans. I even saw a woman with a traveling fashion shop: a moto towing a small covered wagon, decorated with dresses, purses and hats. I didn’t see a dressing room.

I was having such a good time that I really wasn’t paying attention at all to how far I’d traveled. There was supposed to be a ferry to take me back across the river, but I never saw it. I did notice, however, that the road was rapidly becoming narrower and the rickety bridges were becoming more and more… well… rickety.

I noticed that the road was rapidly becoming narrower and the rickety bridges were becoming more and more… well… rickety.

About this time, I realized that the friendly waves and shouts of “hello” had thinned and that people were much more likely to just goggle outright at me, as if they’d never seen a 200+ pound white guy on a scooter before. Perhaps I had gone too far?

Before I could ponder this too deeply, I hit a patch of thick, red mud and nearly dropped the bike. I was certain I was about to go down at one point and cranked the throttle in a panic, powering my way out of the mud with a fairly impressive rooster-tail spray. The mud continued for over a kilometer. A heavy rain started two minutes later, washing the mud off and banishing my camera to my backpack.

I’d been stopping and asking local Khmers about the ferry for an hour now, but they didn’t speak a lick of English and just pointed me onwards to be rid of me (though always with a smile). The bridges were becoming sketchier and sketchier, the road was down to a single muddy track, and I was quickly realizing that I was pretty much screwed.


My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong River in Cambodia

And then I found this bridge. Or, I should say, “bridge”. It was deceptive: at first, it seemed to be just another run-down crossing, but once I was on it and committed, I discovered that it had a huge dip in the middle and was –apparently– held together with nothing but bailing wire and hope. I had just enough time to shout “Sweet, Holy Jesus!” before I was barreling down the steep, wet incline and powering up the other side. Moments like this really bring out the religion in a man.

A couple of kilometers onward, I stopped to ask directions again. Every question I put forward was met with a laugh — no one spoke a word of English. While I was buying a bottle of water, someone waved me over and pointed to a small marker that pointed back the way I’d come. “Ferry,” she said. Going back to the ferry would mean crossing back over the Bridge of Death and then riding onward, where the continuing rain was making a mockery of an already-dodgy track. Awesome.


My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong River in Cambodia

But, she explained, right across the road was a landing for a “big boat” that would take me across the river to the town of Sambor — this was all communicated via sign language and my own wishful thinking. All I had to do was ride my scooter down this incredibly steep, sandy hill and a boat would whisk me away to the far shore. Who could ask for more than that?

I hopped on the scooter and made my way down the hill in what I would best describe as a barely-controlled slide. At the bottom of the hill, I had to swerve hard to the left to avoid falling into a ditch. Treating the poor scooter like a dirt bike, I finally reached the river shore and found the boat, but it was empty — there was no one around.

After waiting 30 minutes in the broiling sun, a man arrived on a moto and picked up a can of gas from the boat. He asked me “Sambor?”. When I said “Yes. When you leave?” he just laughed and rode back up the hill. Note to self: learn to speak Khmer.

Another 30 minutes passed and a small boat pulled up and dropped off a young Cambodian woman. After she left, the pilot explained (via gestures, body language, and pidgin English) that the big boat would not leave with less than eight passengers. I could be stuck here for hours.

The pilot explained that the big boat would not leave with less than eight passengers. I could be stuck here for hours.

But he was willing to take me and my moto across the river for only $4. The only other option was the Bridge of Death and 50 kilometers of potential mud. $4 sounded pretty reasonable to me.

“Really?” I asked. “My moto on your [tiny-ass] boat?”

He raised an eyebrow and gave me that look that said “yeah, I do this all the time, barang“. I gave him the money and we got busy loading the bike onto the boat. There’s a trick to lifting a scooter: the weight is all up front, so you grab the foot peg and the handlebars. Once he explained this to me, we got it in the boat pretty easily. Well, fairly-easily — I think I pulled something in my back and am now slightly cross-eyed.


My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong River in Cambodia

The ride across the Mekong was a dream. The boat road so low in the water that I could lay my arm on the rail and drag my hand in the cool water. The pilot gave me a stool to sit on, but the legs were literally only two inches tall, so I didn’t bother. Ten minutes later, we were on the other bank.


My Motorcycle Adventure Along the Mekong River in Cambodia

The pilot waited patiently for me to take a photo of the bike on the boat, then we lifted it out and rolled it to shore. I thanked him profusely, then rode up the bank in search of the main road. It turned out to be paved with rubble and after an hour of kidney-jolting riding, I pulled up to the hotel and staggered to the cafe — a full seven hours after I had left for my three hour ride. I was tired and sunburned and my ass was killing me.

“You want iced coffee?” the waiter asked. My usual drink of choice.

“No, give me a cold beer, please. It’s been one hell of a day.”

{ 29 comments… read them below or add one }

Casa De Hamilton Pool June 1, 2010 at 8:00 pm

Hahahaha. Brilliant. I would say I was surprised, but hell, I know you.

I’m thinking those bridges would be perfect for you and your Bandit, no?


wes June 2, 2010 at 11:05 am

ha! no way I’d take a 600# bike over that.


Lily June 1, 2010 at 9:15 pm

Wes, I loved this story and the fact that you only had yourself to rely on to get you back safely made it positively inspiring. When there are more of you all sorts of ‘decisions’ have to be made, meaning lots of tantrums and tears (especially facing someting like the bridge of death). Viva solo travel, adventures! Loving your writing, when’s the book coming out?


Nick June 1, 2010 at 10:08 pm

I’ll second that motion.When is the book coming out?
.-= Nick´s last blog ..Interview with Copywriter James Lee =-.


wes June 2, 2010 at 11:08 am

Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. More crazy stuff has to happen first…


Scott June 1, 2010 at 11:18 pm



Joe June 1, 2010 at 11:34 pm

“this was all communicated via sign language and my own wishful thinking” – You’ll do just fine here in Costa Rica, come on over!


wes June 2, 2010 at 1:03 pm

Thanks, Joe! Keep the margaritas cold…


Casa De Hamilton Pool June 2, 2010 at 1:06 am

He’s like McGuyver…..but not.



Josh | The Wander Project June 2, 2010 at 6:55 am

Great post, Wes! That “bridge” looks epic… the kind of thing you’d talk yourself out of if you took time to think about it beforehand.
.-= Josh | The Wander Project´s last blog ..Travel Delays are Unavoidable, Annoying and Perhaps for the Best =-.


wes June 2, 2010 at 11:10 am

Amen, brother. If I’d seen it first, I may well have, too…


Nomadic Chick June 2, 2010 at 8:49 am

These adventures you’re having alone on a bike/scooter are gripping me. Keep em’ coming!
.-= Nomadic Chick´s last blog ..Video Moment – Vegemite & The Aussie Nomad =-.


Tavia June 2, 2010 at 12:41 pm

WOW Wes, WOW! Love the pictures. Perfect….tho ..was i suppose to read too? HA!
Great fun man. Hope ur backside feels better.


Bill Gillespie June 3, 2010 at 10:53 am

Awesome story.


Juno June 12, 2010 at 11:22 pm

What an experience! Is every bridge looks like those in Vietnam? Indiana Johns moment!


Kevin Richardson July 30, 2010 at 8:19 am

A great adventure narrative and photos, Wes. The article lead is one of my all-time favorites. I could see a bumper sticker with that slogan!
.-= Kevin Richardson´s last blog ..The 10 Best Ways to Attract Black Flies While Hiking =-.


wes July 31, 2010 at 8:16 am

Thanks, Kevin. I’ve been using that line all my life and it’s almost always accurate ;)


Wailana July 31, 2010 at 10:46 pm

Hilarious. Great mental picture of you slipping down that bridge, made me laugh out loud. also like the [tiny-ass] editorial.

You make me want to drop everything and travel round Asia on a scooter!!
.-= Wailana´s last blog ..Until Next Time- A Portrait of Honokaa =-.


wes August 1, 2010 at 8:15 am

Thanks! I try to rent a bike everywhere I can (and my budget can allow). Just spent a day on a scooter here in Sapa and am considering renting one again today. Lovely scenery!


Helen Jang August 31, 2010 at 2:24 pm

It’s past midnight and I’ve got both hands over my mouth to stifle the laughter so my 3-month old does not wake. Ha! Ha! Love tagging along on your adventures from the comfort of my bed!


wes September 1, 2010 at 7:29 am

a three-month-old?! We got some catching up to do!

and, GRATS!


Garreth Lodge November 26, 2010 at 6:11 pm

What a great story! I must remember this one when I’m there next year, keep up the great work.


Shannon July 14, 2011 at 7:08 am

its been awhile since I commented on your blog, but this is an AWESOME story, my kind of adventure except without the bridges, you go on the bridge I’ll go on the boat! :)

I know sign language :D probably wouldn’t work anyway.


wes July 14, 2011 at 3:57 pm

Awww… the Bridge of Death was the best part. Scared me out of my wits but it’s something I will never forget.


Frank January 11, 2013 at 9:59 am

I love checking your blog Wes, you’ve got great stories man! I’m dying to take to two wheels once I get to SE Asia and the Death Bridge aside it’s entries like this where I know that it can be done and one day I can face a sketchy bridge of my own. Cheers, and ride safe!


Nico January 13, 2013 at 4:14 am

Sounds like one hell of an adventure, which is often what happens when you set off for a short bike ride in this part of the world. Makes the cold beer at the end of the journey all the more refreshing :)


wes January 13, 2013 at 1:18 pm

Amen to that!


Nisha January 23, 2013 at 10:46 pm

Wow! That was a close shave! Should I call it “a failed suicidal attempt”. :P
Hats off to you. Have chilled beer now. :)

I have been to Cambodia and I know how the situation is.

Brilliant piece.


Jim Heston March 16, 2013 at 2:14 am

That’s actually a decent bridge by Cambodian standards and far from scary. Crossed it in 2005 on a 250cc after coming out of the jungle from the east. We brought our bikes down the embankment to get to our boats below. Looks like it could use a few more boards.


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