// Browse by Territory
Malaysia
Logs
The Route That Wouldn't End
Two riders. A Nokia 6280. A GPS that kept rerouting deeper inside. And a biker ahead whose gap never once closed.
The Road That Rejected Us
A charity convoy to Laos. Cascading failures from the start — carburettor, GPS, crash, piston jam. One by one, the road told us to stop.
Stay In The Light
He only asked one thing the entire ride. Keep me inside the light. I still don't know what he saw in those mirrors.
Night Ride
Encounters
The Sudden Passenger
Past midnight. Riding solo. The engine was straining against something. The pillion stand was still down.
The Angel That Brought Me Home
Micro-sleep at 2am on a highway. I should not have made it. Something kept me upright until I did.
The Night I Ended The Ride Early
My wife called at 11pm. "Tonight feels wrong." I had been thinking the exact same thing the whole ride. I went home early. One rider didn't.
Thailand
Logs
The Two Hotels That Got Worse
380 baht. Barrack-style walls. Nobody suggested turning off the lights. The second hotel was worse — power tripped at 3am, CRT static, then silence.
The Hotel That Felt Too Familiar
I knew where the switches were before I reached for them. I had never been to this room before in my life.
The Highway That Took Twice As Long
Two hours on the map. Almost four hours on the road. No stops. No detour. Always something ahead that we could never reach.
Hotels &
Rest Stops
The Two Hotels That Got Worse
The 380-baht place felt like an army barrack. The mountain hotel had one room deeper inside the darkness. Neither of us chose it. No discussion needed.
The Hotel That Felt Too Familiar
A woman appeared from somewhere inside without any sound. No surprise on her face. Like she had been expecting us all along.
Personal
Logs
Before the road. Before the bike. These are the experiences that came first — childhood encounters, a house with things in it, a sensitivity that never fully went away, and why some of these stories took decades to write down.
The First Time I Saw Something
Six years old. High fever. An old woman in the kitchen who disappeared when the lights came on.
The House With The Little Ghosts
KitKats and Vitagen left out every day. I still can't remember why. My mother knows.
Maybe Some Stories Don't Want To Be Written
Every time I seriously try to write these down, something stops me. Tonight felt different. It probably wasn't.
// End of Documented Archive
More logs may be added. Not everything has been written down yet.
Some things, honestly, I'm still not sure I want to write.