Redemption ride to Cambodia

The Star

2 days ago

SOMEWHERE near Haadyai, in the corner of a hotel car park, Zeus stirred.
He didn't growl. He didn't thunder.
But that first twist of the throttle was like breath returned – after months lying low, the Harley-Davidson Sportster 48 came back to life.
His chrome still bore the grime of an unfinished past – that first failed attempt in September, a journey to Cambodia that never quite reached the border.
Cecilia Su, his rider, hadn't forgotten. She had unfinished business.
This time, the plan was smarter.
Ban Laem Salt Farm glows like gold under cloudy skies, one of the many quiet marvels along Thailand's provincial roads.
Two long days of Thai highways were shaved off by strapping Zeus and his companions – a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy known as Ironman and a Ducati Monster – to the back of a flatbed bound for Bangkok. Their riders, Simon Ng and Joanna Choong, flew in ahead.
The towing crew ran a tight ship, military in their precision.
By morning, the trio was tearing out of Bangkok, carving inland towards Sa Kaeo, and gunning down Route 33 to Poi Pet – the nearest Thai-Cambodian border post.
The air was thick with petrol and possibility. The clock, meanwhile, ticked menacingly toward the border's 8pm closing.
Zeus rolling through the historic Poi Pet border, where hours of paperwork finally gave way to open roads and Cambodian smiles.
By the time they arrived at 5pm, the customs office had already closed for the day.
However, in a rare gesture, the border officers made an exception, reopening the counter to process the motorcycle documents.
The paperwork took an hour, a slow ritual of stamps and signatures, while immigration, by contrast, was brisk, done in half an hour and without ceremony.
The convoy rolled through the gates and stopped for a quick photo at the border sign.
They decided to stop for a night at the border town after the long ride, only to throttle on the next morning.
Boats and homes rising from the Tonle Sap Riverbank,a village suspended between water and sky.
Cambodia isn't for timid riders.
Here, the road is a battleground. Trucks claim the lanes with impunity. Vehicles barrel at you from the right.
Potholes yawn wide and deep.
Tuk tuks, scooters, dogs, children – all jostle for space on the same sliver of tarmac. There's no hierarchy. Only survival.
Su, in her Nexx helmet and Five Advanced gloves, rode with the caution of someone who'd been here before.
The first 50km out of Poi Pet were brutal – dust-choked, narrow, ruled by freight trucks. But they pushed on, the promise of Angkor pulling them forward.
And then, as if emerging from a dream, Angkor Wat revealed itself, solemn and still, a monument not to conquest but endurance.
The still waters of Chanthaboon Waterfront mirror the calm between storms, where time slows in the glow of sunset.
It wasn't about the photo op – though there were plenty.
It was about dropping the side stand on sacred ground and hearing the low hum of Harley pipes reverberate off stone.
Cambodia, finally.
But the border wasn't the finish line – just a bend where the road started to hum a new tune.
From Siem Reap, the group backtracked to Poi Pet, then swung southward, hugging the coast and chasing the overlooked edges of the Thai kingdom.
Now, it was about the road, not the crossing.
These roads – the real ones – are intimate and provincial.
They wind through fruit orchards, skim mangrove swamps and coil into the hills.
The convoy snaked past Chanthaburi, then on through Chonburi, Samut Sakhon and Petchaburi.
Su and Zeus against the cliffs of eastern Thailand, where the sea meets the road in whispers and waves.
Some parts blurred. But others carved themselves in – the sweeping turns of Route 5050, the quiet perch at Noen Nang Phaya Viewpoint, the crumbling French facades of Chanthaburi, the endless salt flats beside the Gulf of Thailand.
They passed Ban Laem Salt Farm, where neat white mounds shimmered in the sun and barefoot workers danced silently across salt pans.
Further south, a detour led to Route 4006, winding towards Kaeng Krachan Dam.
The road turned sinuous. The views, sudden.
Zeus responded to every curve like a jazzman hitting his stride.
In Hua Hin, they stumbled upon an old train car turned library – a forgotten space breathing the scent of paper.
The road to Noen Nang Phaya, where winding curves, the ocean breeze and the kind of view that stays long after the ride ends converge.
They slept in roadside motels, bone-tired and dust-lined.
But one moment clung tighter than the rest: the Chaloem Phrakiat 80th Birthday Bridge, stretching over the floodplains of Thale Noi like a whisper.
The sun dipped through reeds.
Su rode in silence, Zeus purring like an old friend.
No photo could touch it – that feeling of floating between water and sky.
By the time they rolled back into Haadyai, the road had pressed its fingerprint deep.
Crossing back into Malaysia at Bukit Kayu Hitam, there were no trumpets. Just the soft familiarity of home.
It wasn't just a ride. It wasn't just redemption.
It was 3,563km of dust, wonder, bureaucracy, beauty and stubbornness.
Proof that failure isn't final – only a pause in the journey.
Zeus, once sidelined, had come full circle. The road had taught him grace.
And Su?
She proved that the journey isn't about making it the first time.
It's about making it again.
And maybe next time, she joked, it'll be Zeus on a plane.