You'd be forgiven for thinking that after six months daily commuting on a street bike — and two weeks traversing Northern Laos on a dirt bike — a 50cc scooter would be a cinch. You'd be wrong. At least that's what I thought, and I was definitely wrong.

None had ever looked as amateur as I when I took off from Wang Wang's Motor Rentals, almost careening off the esplanade into the Mekong river where it divides Laos and Thailand.

Those were just a few of the weak excuses I made for myself as I snuck around the corner, hurrying out of Wang Wang's eyeshot before I could humiliate myself further.

It was a shaky start, but by now I was getting used to shaky starts — and after finding a shop that sold the open-faced helmets far more appropriate for this loop, I was finally on my way.

It was New Years Eve, and I was only ten minutes out of town when I caught up to a group of four riders, each with the same bikes and helmets as me. As I overtook, I realised one of them was a girl I'd briefly met in Luang Prabang and again wandering around town earlier that morning. She was at the back of the group, and I waved as I went past, taking her returned wave as permission to join them and so settled into the middle of the convoy.

We came to a small lookout, and pulled in. The rest of the crew introduced themselves and accepted me in without a second thought. We caught up on the morning's adventures for a moment while admiring the view before us, but it was approaching twelve and we were hungry, so we quickly got back on the road.

Not long after, we came to a small village and the lead bike motioned for us to pull over. She'd spotted a restaurant, and we all piled in as the proprietor (a lovely elderly lady) gave us warm welcomes and bustled over the table setting to prepare for our meal. The meal was classic Lao chicken soup, and it was as good as any I'd had so far. Filling, wholesome, fresh, and zesty, it was exactly what we needed.

The woman was fascinated with one of the crew's point-and-shoot cameras, and he taught her how to use it. After showing her the lens faces outwards, she was delighted to be the one to take our first group photo (despite cutting two of us out).

We spent the rest of the day meandering along the road at a leisurely pace, stopping for a dip in a small waterfall and many lovely lookout points.

We arrived at our accomodation — the legendary Sabaidee Guesthouse — just before dusk. We were greeted by the friendly owner, shown our rooms, and informed we'd arrived just in time as the BBQ was almost ready.

It was a feast. Spit-roast pork, crispy potatoes, chicken skewers, and a massive array of delicious Lao concoctions.

Finally full and content, we took stock of our surroundings and noticed a glow in the distance.

How could we say no to that?

Under bright moonlight, we slipped through a gap in the back fence and strolled through a field towards the glow and distant sound of music. The party was more than I could ever have expected. Hundreds of Lao from all around the area had gathered — they'd stockpiled their chairs and tables to make a large seating area, and in front of that was the dancefloor... or, dare I say, 'moshpit'. For the source of the glow that was visible for miles, was in fact a massive stage. Concert-grade lighting effects, projectors shining graphics onto the wall, and a large DJ booth all featured and the place was rocking.

We attempted to buy alcohol, but only ever got a smile, shake of the head, and a beer pressed into our hand. We danced to a strange mix of Lao techno and popular western bangers, and partied on until well past midnight — stopping only for the obligatory countdown. Finally we stumbled back across the field in the wee hours of the morning and got some much needed rest.

I woke early, and couldn't have had much more than a few hours sleep — but I felt alive and raring to go. The first night of the Thakhek loop had been a massive success and I couldn't wait to see what was to come.

Feeling restless, I took a stroll around the village to hunt for my first images of 2020.

While I'd awoken full of optimism and verve, the same couldn't be said for all of my riding-mates.

The sun was high in the sky when, after one more hungover cigarette, the two Dutch girls finally got their shit together and we were able to say goodbye to Sabaidee Guesthouse and continue on our way. I hid my annoyance well, but it was certainly there nonetheless.

I loved nothing more than hitting the road as early as possible, and the poor attitude of my companions had dashed all sense of serenity and peace that I'd gained on my morning walk.

Instead I was hot, bothered, and dusty under the harsh midday sun.

We stopped for lunch at another small village, before continuing on and coming across an incredible temple complex that looked out of place sitting in the middle of nowhere.

The temples were some of the grandest I'd seen, old but clearly recently refurbished or kept in excellent shape. Aside from ourselves and one elderly woman praying at an alter, the place was deserted.

Not long after the temples, we reached a tourist sign for a small cave system nearby. The others were keen to check it out, but the slow start to the day had scuppered my patience in following the herd.

I informed them I had no interest in caves, they said there were a few they wanted to see up ahead as well — and it was decided we'd split up for the afternoon.

I had already made my accomodation booking in Konglor anyway (the others had been too slow, and were staying further out that night before intending to join me the following day), so I had places to be.

I said goodbye and raced off into the countryside, eager to put some pace on and enjoy the immaculate pavement, cool highland breeze, and soaring karst scenery.

The extra pace afforded me by travelling solo allowed a brief detour to a lagoon. I made it several kilometres down the dirt track before I began fearing I'd taken the wrong one, and was about to turn back when I came across a huge Ostrich strutting around an enclosure.

I was bewildered, but figured this was an omen that I was on the right track, and sure enough, I found the lagoon just around the bend.

I cooled my feet in the clear water for a while, watching the local families (and a few fellow tourists) enjoying the oasis in the low afternoon sun, before tearing myself away.

I gave the ostrich a cheery wave as I passed, this time headed straight for Konglor.

I made it to Konglor just before nightfall. As I parked my bike, I knew immediately that I'd made a great choice in accomodation.

Konglor mountain loomed behind the guesthouse, with similarly impressive peaks silhouetted distantly in all other directions. The path to the guesthouse was via a sturdy boardwalk raised off the ground through dense jungle foliage.

As I entered the lobby, gentle burbling could be heard from the adjoining river, and rich aromas drifted over from the restaurant, where other guests were just beginning to assemble for dinner.

After an evening of utter peace (and great food) I retired to my bungalow, and prepared for another big day.

After a wonderful breakfast I began the leisurely stroll to Konglor cave, taking images and making friends with locals in the village.

I was relatively early, and the place was quiet save for the local workers who were just beginning to set up for the day.

I came to the ticket desk, behind a young 'local' (Thai or Lao) woman, who was ordering her ticket with the man at the counter.

After some discussions in Lao, they both started turning and looking at me.

After another turn and look, I self-consciously waved and said hi.

The man smiled, and said:

Sure! Cheaper sounds great — and so it was agreed, we split the cost of the boat halfway and followed the man out to the boat area.

He called out, and one of the boatmen put his hand up and smiled — seems he was first cab off the rank that day.

We piled in, got ourselves situated nice and snug, donned our provided headlamps, then watched as a few other men helped our boatman stack all manner of things onto the boat.

Sacks of harvest, crates of beer lao, pepsi, some bottled water, even some kids toys. I wasn't sure what to make of it.. perhaps it was ballast. The boat being small, it didn't take long, and we were off, the air cooling noticeably as we silently entered the cave.

Though I don't particularly care for caves, I do enjoy a good boat ride — and this one did not disappoint.

Guided only by his own tiny headlamp, our boatman navigated expertly through the huge cave system, deftly avoiding rocks and smoothly negotiating small sections of rapids.

At several points we would land on a sandbank, get out, and follow another guide through a walked section of the cave, squeezing through narrow passages and admiring the tastefully-lit rock formations.

After each short walk, we'd open out into another area where our boatman was waiting, apparently having dragged the boat over the sandbank or shallow section.

I have no idea how long we were in there, but it was just as I was getting sick of caving when the air suddenly became warm again, and piercing bright light emerged from the cave exit ahead.

The boat came out into a beautiful view; we were in an open, wide expanse of the river, there were huge mountains in the background, and vibrant jungle foliage all around.

The village itself was barely more than a few shacks selling snacks and wicker baskets, but behind it was a pristine lagoon. It wasn't for swimming — probably so as to not disturb the huge schools of fish swimming around — but was incredibly relaxing all the same.

I sat and chilled for a while as more tourists slowly began to pile in to the village, and the day's business began in earnest.

On my way out of the lagoon, I cam across an old man sitting on a thin mat, humming to himself and weaving.

I asked if I could take his picture, and he graciously agreed.

After an uneventful ride back through the cave, I said goodbye to my half-price friend and began the walk back towards my lodge.

I was content and tranquil, thankfully shaded from the heat by huge trees almost the entire way back to Konglor village. At the outskirts of the village I spotted the ubiquitous sign for 'restaurant', and no deliberation was needed before I headed in.

It was a classic noodle soup shop, and like all the others, it was incredible. Fresh, zesty, light, yet hugely portioned and filling.

I arrived back at the lodge sometime in the afternoon brimming with satisfaction.

As I arrived, I found my friends dismounting and preparing to enter for their one-night stay. We caught up and agreed to meet for dinner later.

Sensing the temperature was beginning to cool, I set off that evening to explore the village and wider area and hunt for images.

I met an elderly lady from the lodge, and we strolled together, chatting idly.

We saw a baby playing in the dirt, and cause a panic when she picked up a huge rat.

We saw families frolicking in the river, and we saw chickens being herded through the streets by boys with sticks.

Arriving back at the lodge just in time for dinner, we spent that night drinking beer, playing cards, and watching exotic birds splash around in the river below.

We found that the lodge rented kayaks out to those who wanted to boat down the river, and calculating the time we needed in order to get back to Thakhek the next day, decided we had time in the morning for such frivolity, and booked it in.

The next morning was, predictably, a slow start.

Again it seemed the Dutch girls were in no hurry, and this meant we all had to check out of the lodge before we were ready to jump in the kayaks and float downstream.

I didn't have the balls to take either my camera or my phone on such a watery journey, and therefore unfortunately have no images to show for it. Suffice to say this river/lagoon was as good as the rest that I'd seen so far in Konglor.

The water was sparkling blue and clear, fish swam everywhere below us, and the thick jungle on all sides shielded us, mostly, from the hot sun.

We tore ourselves away from paradise — we were getting hungry, and I was getting anxious about whether we'd make it back to Thakhek in time.

And so finally, after much more fucking around, we were off on the road again.

Disaster struck some twenty kilometres outside Konglor.

We were riding in single file, all of us enjoying the views of mountains on all sides, when, unexpectedly, the girl in front of me suddenly swerved left. Being directly behind her, I had been blocked from seeing that the person leading our convoy had stopped at the edge of the road to take a photo.

It was too late to swerve, but we weren't going fast, and I calmly pulled hard on the brakes, confident I had time to bring the tiny bike to a stop.

Unfortunately for me, the spot she'd chosen to stop for her photo was a tiny strip — no more than five metres — of gravel sitting where the asphalt was to be replaced.

The bike slid out from under me in an instant, my hand reached out instinctively, and the bike flew off into the brush at the side of the road as I slid to a stop in the middle of the gravel trap.

Of all the riding I'd done until that point, it was a single moment of complacency that was my undoing.

I brushed myself off and tried to calm down, there were no serious issues — just some grazes on the hands and knees. My larger concern was for the bike, as if it were damaged I wouldn't be getting my passport back without a hefty replacement fee.

We inspected the bike meticulously.

There was a chunk of plastic missing from the fairing, along with a few deep scratches. Had it always been like that? I couldn't remember.

We couldn't find any plastic in the brush or on the road, so I checked my phone at the images I'd taken previously. Sure enough, it seemed that damage was inherited. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The girl who'd stopped, feeling guilty, bandaged up my hand. We got our stories straight and agreed I'd hurt it slipping over in the cave, in case the lady at Wang Wang's felt inclined to investigate.

After a few more deep breaths, many assurances that I was fine, and a vow to never ride linearly single-file again*, we were off again.

*motorcycles should be staggered left and right in this case, for maximum visibility. I'd known that of course, and spent the next several hours cursing myself and my complacency

After stopping for lunch we came to the awful realisation that we were well behind schedule.

It was already mid-afternoon, and we still had three hours of 'highway' riding to get back to Thakhek from our lunch stop in Nahin. Despite the summer vibes of Laos, the sun does still set quite early, and we knew riding at night around here was dangerous. We hurried along and hoped we'd be back in time — we hoped in vain.

From Nahin we went all out, flying down the open highway past locals, trucks, and songthaews.

The sun seemed game to race us, and it was sinking from the sky seemingly faster than it ever had before. Afternoon turned to twilight as we were still forty kilometres out. We gritted our teeth and pushed on.

Ahead, in the darkness, lights were flashing. We slowed, briefly, and saw there'd been a collision between a songthaew and a rogue buffalo. It wasn't looking good for the buffalo. It wasn't looking good for us either, as the warnings to not ride at night were now backed up with solid first-hand evidence.

But there was nothing for it, we pushed on, eyes peeled for wildlife and all manner of other hazards.

Hurtling through the darkness we lost track of who was in what position in our convoy. In between close calls, and trucks hurtling past us in the other direction, the girl in front would pull over occassionaly and we'd wait for the others to catch up.

This worked a few times, until the road into Thakhek split, both signs in opposite directions claiming entrance to the relatively large city.

It was me and one other person, with me in front, and I had to choose fast as there was nowhere to stop or pullover — left or right?

I chose right.

Waiting for others to catch up was now out of the question, we had no idea how far back they'd been, or which turn they'd have taken. After the intersection the road split again a myriad of ways, and the Thakhek road network became a labyrinth of bizarrely angled streets and five-point roundabouts.

In the melee I lost the person following, and found myself on my own. I pulled over and checked my phone for directions to Wang Wang's.

After several wrong turns I finally made it back. Two of the others were waiting, relieved, but there was one more trial to undertake.

I passed the bike over to the lady with feigned relaxation. She looked over it carefully, started it up, and rode in a circle.

She disappeared back into the office... and returned holding my passport, smiling, and thanking me for coming to Wang Wang's.

I breathed one last huge sigh of relief, and asked the lady whether we could buy some beers from her fridge.

It was the best damn beer I have ever tasted.

As we guzzled the beer in record time, the final two showed up — shaken by the harrowing journey through the darkness, but equally relieved.

We all had bookings for sleeper busses that night, and after our beer made our way to the bus station to wait.

At 2am, our 11pm bus finally arrived. We found our beds, settled in, and were off on our way to Pakse — but that's another story.

Onwards to Pakse...