Monsoons, Motorways & Mildly Murderous Boredom: 1,000 Kilometres of Wet Socks and Highway Hypnosis
Dates covered: 21.11.25 – 25.11.25
There are days on a motorbike when you feel like a hero.
Sun shining. Corners flowing. Engine purring. You and the machine carving through the landscape like a scene from a glossy travel magazine.
And then there are days like this.
Days when the sky looks at you, laughs, and empties an entire ocean onto your helmet.
Days when you ride 650 kilometres mostly in a straight line and start questioning every life decision that led you to this exact stretch of highway.
Days when your socks haven’t been dry since Tuesday.
This was not the glamorous side of motorcycle travel.
This was the real stuff.
From Hat Yai to Ban Krut in proper monsoon madness, then a long, straight grind into Bangkok, and finally a moment of “bloody hell, that was lucky” when the news confirmed we had just escaped some serious flooding down south.
Let’s rewind to the morning when it all began.
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21.11.25 – Hat Yai to Ban Krut: 650 Kilometres of Wet, Long and Dead Straight
This was a tough riding day.
Not tough in a heroic, mountain-pass, hanging-off-the-bike way.
Tough in three very specific ways:
1. It rained.
2. It was long.
3. It was boring as bat poo.
Let’s start at the beginning.
It had rained all night.
Not a gentle tropical shower. Not a romantic drizzle. Proper monsoon rain. The kind that drums on the roof like it’s trying to get inside.
We were parked right in the middle of a monsoon system. And in southern Thailand this time of year, that’s not unusual. It’s just how things are.
So forget about hoping the rain might stop.
Hope is cute. Monsoon doesn’t care.
We rolled out at 8:30 am, rain already smashing down. Fifteen minutes later, every single part of my body was wet.
Not damp.
Wet.
Gloves soaked. Jacket soaked. Pants soaked. That awkward feeling when water runs down your back and pools in places you’d rather keep dry.
After about 20 kilometres, we pulled over.
Hat Yai’s streets were already turning into shallow canals. At one intersection, kids were playing in the flooded road like it was the best water park in Thailand.
Only in Southeast Asia do you see children laughing in knee-deep water while adults on motorbikes try to calculate whether the next pothole is going to swallow a front wheel.
We waited. Watched. Hoped.
It didn’t get better.
At some point, you realise you’re already soaked. There’s no “saving the gear” anymore.
So we shrugged, zipped up what was already useless, and carried on.
The first proper flooded road hit us at the intersection with Highway 4.
About 30 centimetres deep.
Now, 30 centimetres in a car might be a problem. On a fully loaded GS? It’s basically a puddle with ambition.
Steady throttle. No drama. Straight through.
And north we went.
Rain. Rain. Rain.
It didn’t ease off. It didn’t negotiate. It just kept falling.
After a couple of hours, the cold crept in.
Here’s the funny bit: Thailand is supposed to be hot, right?
But sit on a motorbike at highway speed in heavy rain, fully soaked, and even 24 degrees Celsius starts to feel like you’re riding through a fridge.
Your hands stiffen. Your shoulders tighten. You hunch slightly without noticing.
Somewhere near Phatthalung, salvation appeared.
Cowboy Town.
Now, anything with “Cowboy” in the name during a tropical storm automatically feels promising.
We pulled in like two drowned rats and ordered hot soup, coffee, tea — whatever was warm and available.
That first sip of something hot after hours in cold rain?
Mate. It’s almost spiritual.
You can feel your core temperature rebooting.
With warm stomachs and slightly revived morale, we stepped back outside.
Still raining.
Of course it was.
The plan for the day was simple: ride until the rain stops.
Not exactly strategic, but it felt optimistic at the time.
We pushed on.
South of Surat Thani, something magical happened.
The rain stopped.
The sky brightened.
The road dried.
For a glorious stretch, we were back in business.
The GS stretched its legs properly on the highway, engine humming, tyres gripping dry asphalt again.
We even started smiling.
“See? It’s turning around,” we told ourselves.
Behind the next hill, the sky went black.
And then — bang.
Heavy rain again.
Of course.
Just when the gear had almost dried. Just when optimism had dared to peek out.
Back into full soak mode.
And this is where the real enemy appeared.
Not the rain.
Not the distance.
Boredom.
Main highways in heavy rain are the ultimate test of mental strength.
Straight lines. Endless trucks. Spray blasting your visor. No corners to break the monotony. Just kilometre after kilometre of grey.
You settle into survival mode.
Steady throttle. Extra distance to the car in front. Eyes constantly scanning for standing water.
Your brain switches from “adventure” to “transport.”
And that’s not the sexy part of motorcycle travel that people love to talk about.
But it’s part of it.
Hours later, somewhere near Chumphon, things finally shifted.
The rain eased.
Then stopped.
The road dried.
And suddenly we turned onto the Royal Coastal Road toward Ban Krut.
Now that — that was a reward.
Ocean to the side. Gentle curves. Light traffic. And then the sun.
Actual sun.
It wasn’t blazing. Just soft, warm light filtering through clouds.
But after 400 kilometres of heavy rain, it felt like a standing ovation from the universe.
The last 90 kilometres were pure joy.
The kind of riding where your shoulders drop and you finally breathe properly again.
We rolled into Ban Krut almost dry.
Almost.
Checked into a simple place. Parked the bikes. Walked to grab food and a couple of beers.
And that evening?
Bliss.
650 kilometres in total.
400 of them in heavy rain.
500 on main highways.
90 glorious coastal kilometres to remind us why we bother.
What a day.
But that’s motorcycle travel. It’s not always sunshine and twisties.
Sometimes it’s just grit.
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23.11.25 – Ban Krut to Bangkok: Sunshine, Sunday Roads & One Annoying Parking Guard
After two weeks of clouds and rain, we woke up to something unfamiliar.
Sunlight.
Actual blue sky.
It felt almost suspicious.
We stepped outside like cave dwellers rediscovering daylight.
And the best part? It wasn’t even that hot yet.
Fully motivated, we geared up and fired the engine at 9 am.
350 kilometres to Bangkok.
Main highways all the way.
Luckily, it was Sunday.
Traffic heading north was lighter than usual. The ride was smooth. Clean. Predictable.
But let’s be honest.
Also boring.
There’s only so much excitement you can squeeze out of a straight highway with cruise-speed riding.
Still, after the previous day’s soaking, we weren’t complaining.
Dry gloves. Dry boots. Sun on the helmet.
Sometimes that’s enough.
Bangkok slowly materialised on the horizon in its usual hazy, concrete-glory way.
We had booked three nights at Abloom Serviced Apartments.
The ride into the city was surprisingly manageable. Not too much traffic. No dramatic lane-splitting battles. Just steady urban flow.
Then came the only sour note of the day.
The parking guard.
We had booked a room including a parking spot.
Included.
Paid for.
Clear.
But when we rolled into the parking area, the guard insisted we park the motorbike in the separate motorbike section somewhere off to the side.
Now here’s something that always gets under my skin.
When you travel by motorbike, you’re often treated like a second-class customer.
Doesn’t matter if the bike costs more than a car.
Doesn’t matter if you’ve paid the same rate as everyone else.
Motorbike equals “less important” in some people’s minds.
And I totally disagree with that.
A bike is not a scooter abandoned in the corner. It’s our transport, our luggage carrier, our travel partner.
After a bit of discussion — polite but firm — I parked the bike where our spot was and basically told her to leave us alone.
Not rude. Just clear.
Sometimes you have to stand your ground.
With that sorted, we grabbed supplies from 7-Eleven — the unofficial backbone of Thailand — and settled in.
A peaceful, relaxed evening in the city.
After days of rain and long highways, even Bangkok felt calm.
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24./25.11.25 – Bangkok: Paperwork, Flood News & Bloody Lucky Timing
Yesterday was busy.
Visa paperwork. Shopping. Errands.
Once you’re back in “civilisation,” you take advantage of it. Things that are impossible to find in the countryside are suddenly easy.
You stock up. You fix little issues. You reset.
But while doing that, we kept checking the news.
Flooding in southern Thailand.
Seven provinces severely affected.
Massive rainfall. Roads underwater. Areas completely cut off.
You couldn’t pass through some of those regions anymore even if you wanted to.
We looked at each other.
A couple of days earlier, we had been right there.
In Hat Yai, we had already seen flooding. Nothing dramatic yet. The GS handled it without breaking a sweat.
But now?
It was a different story.
Major roads closed. Villages underwater. Travel basically impossible.
Same situation in parts of Malaysia.
Severe rain. Flooding.
And suddenly that cancelled wedding and change of plan didn’t feel unfortunate anymore.
It felt smart.
Or lucky.
Sometimes what seems like a disappointment is actually a quiet win.
We skipped Malaysia because communication got weird and a storm warning looked serious.
Now the news confirmed it.
If we had pushed south, we might have been stuck. Delayed. Or worse — riding through proper dangerous flood conditions.
Instead, we were sitting in Bangkok, dry, organised, and safe.
Ready to sort our business and head home without drama.
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The Truth About Long-Distance Motorcycle Travel
Here’s the thing.
People love the highlight moments.
The twisty mountain passes. The sunset coastal roads. The perfect café stops.
And yes, those are brilliant.
But real motorcycle travel also includes:
• 400 kilometres in heavy rain.
• 500 kilometres of straight highway.
• Cold fingers and freezing body at 24 degrees.
• Boring stretches that test your patience.
• Parking arguments in city garages.
• Plans changing at the last minute.
• Flood warnings that rewrite your route.
It’s not all cinematic.
But it’s real.
And that’s why it’s satisfying.
Because when you finally sit down in a dry room, beer in hand, and realise you made it through safely — that feeling is earned.
From Hat Yai to Ban Krut to Bangkok, we covered 1,000 kilometres in a few days.
We got soaked.
We got sun.
We got bored.
We got lucky.
And in the end, that’s motorbike travel in a nutshell.
You don’t control the weather.
You don’t control other people.
You don’t even fully control the road.
You control your reaction.
And sometimes, the best decision is turning around early, riding north, and letting the monsoon drown someone else’s plans.
Would I prefer 1,000 kilometres of sunshine and twisties?
Of course.
But then I wouldn’t have this story.
And honestly?
I’ll take the story.
#dustysocks
