You’ve got me, a 200 lb. fairly big dude on the back of a powerful but very rugged dirt-bike. You’ve got Charlie (Lindz), on the front, straddling the gas tank. And in the middle, driving this gnarly thing, is a big-bellied red bearded American vagrant named Zak! You’ve got Three “farang,” (that’s foreigners, in Thai language) riding steady up a steep hill that leads to a serene waterfall at the city limits. Picture us a little closer now, because this is where it gets a bit ugly; our new friend Zak isn’t wearing a shirt. I’m wearing a helmet with goggles, looking as dumb or dumber than Lloyd Christmas. As we start to ascend farther up the hill my ass begins to slide off the back of the bike. I got nothing to grab onto but Zak. “Just grab near my ribs,” he says with a laugh, “they’re under there somewhere.” Fuck it! What choice do I have. It’s do or die. My hands gripping under sweaty man tits or my head bouncing off the hot cement of Huay Kaew Road and then eaten by the lawless traffic. I contemplate for too long and almost lose my shit, but finally grab on for dear life. Then I begin to observe how entertaining we three are to the locals zooming by us. “We’ll be here all year folks.”
I’m not even a full month in on this new chapter of life and I’ve already met some hefty characters. So far this dude Zak, he takes the cake. The whole fuckin’ thing- candles and all. I wish I could be brief on explaining this cat but it’s not gonna happen. I’ve only known Zak for a few days now, but he’s what you’d call good people, on the first impression anyway. He looks extremely similar to Philip Seymour Hoffman. He’s apparently traveled and squatted all over the world and has no reservations in talking about serving time in California or being locked up in Samoa. But that was all in the past and it makes sense to want to believe that he’s a genuinely nice fellow. He’s also a self-proclaimed “Crustian,” which is basically a play it to the bone punk-rocker who found Jesus. The second night we hung out we went to a punk show and I literally witnessed him get drunk off of the love of Jesus. We got deep into talking about spiritualism and somehow both ended up laughing very maniacally out loud about all the different gods from all the different religions and how they would feel about how their names and images are being used for such profiteering and division in the world. Then he started speaking in tongues and so I went and got another drink. I’d like to say he’s crazy but I even felt something profound as well, just talking with him about how, where and when he “found Jesus.” It’s not like looking for your house keys, but I’m happy with the divinity I find in good music.
So that’s Zak, and you probably think we’re stupid, but Charlie and I trust him enough to take a ride up to the waterfall and check it out for the afternoon, which we do, and it’s beautiful. But just before we’re about to head back home, the sky goes black and a torrential downpour begins and makes no signs of letting up. We take cover under the rickety old roofs of the locals and their candle- light vending tables. A dog and her three pups join us as well and when the fun of playing with them wears off we venture farther into the big hut, feeling safe and welcomed by the locals. Zak happens to speak quite good Thai so we send him ahead of us. At the back of the big hut there is a dining area built out over the drop off of a decent size hill that looks onto the jungle with the waterfall in the back ground. The planked wooden floor feels like it’s gonna cave in some spots and pretty much everything else is made of bamboo. There are vines hanging down everywhere outside, but Tarzan is dead n’ gone. Instead there is a group of ten Thai people of all ages. Zak says some shit and they answer back in English… “stay for dinner.” We aren’t reluctant at all. What the hell else are we gonna do. The meal gets underway and we learn quickly that the majority of these warm people don’t know a lick of English, but at the dinner table that doesn’t seem to matter. A variety of authentic home- made Thai food is passed around and most of it is eaten by hand. It’s all spicy as hell, but there’s Chang beer with ice in my glass to put out the flames and every time it gets low someone seems to fill it up with a smile. I love these people. At the head of the table is a lady named Tata who is the cook, the evident leader of the family and also quite a good English speaker. She is very motherly and surprisingly loud for a Thai person, but it could be the booze. She tells us she used to be a Muay Thai boxing contender and I find it hard to believe that such a sweet lady could ever be violent, but then she pulls a knife bigger than my dick out of her purse and begins to cut up an apple. We laugh it up and get nice n’ full on bona fide jungle cuisine while the storm puts on a loud, wet light show all around us. At the end of the meal, I do my classic lean back n’ stretch and break the chair, but nobody seems to mind. I learn how to say “sorry” in Thai and then we all proceed outside, where the storm has passed and there is a truck waiting to take us all back down into the city. We cram as many people into the flat bed as we can – probably about 8 or so, then we head for Tata’s house in Chiang Mai for fresh fruit and more drinks. Once we get there everyone else seems to wonder off, leaving only Zak, Charlie and myself, hangin’ out with Tata and her daughter, who doesn’t talk at all but will not allow my glass of beer to ever get empty. Tata is proud to show us her small living quarters and pictures of her many travels all over Thailand, helping hill-tribe people with education and clothes. She is an amazing lady. Then she reads our palms and blows our minds with her accuracy. After that, Zak passes out on her bed while Charlie and I speak with her about teaching jobs and living a good n’ true life in Chiang Mai. When I look back on it now, I’m glad the three of us all fit on that dirt bike.
