This article is taken from "Heavy Duty" Magazine " Australian Edition Volume 8, No: 5

Click for more pics of Phurgis '98
  
Bikes, Booze Babes and......Elephants. Thailand's version of Sturgis is a bit different. A lot different, actually. Dangerous Davies reports.............

We don't look mean, just haggard!

Gary "Roadkill" Sharman thinks this is his best smile.

Quennie "Hop Seng" Kuzio winning the Miss Phuket Bike Week '98.

Quennie & Trevor Kuzio with Badrul "Piranha"

Phurgis '98 - Partying At Phuket

I went to Phuket Bike Week ("Phurgis") in '97. I remember how it started, in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I'd managed then to cajole the use of a swish '97 Heritage, complete with, as they say all the groceries.

Then, we started with a Police escort, a group of 60 or so bikes, thundering through the early morning mid week chaos that is KL traffic, past the ancient oriental shop-houses and hawker stalls, incongruous against the glass canyons of the World's Tallest Building. My hangover, a result of the previous evening's Phurgis departure party, did nothing to anaesthetize me from the terror of Asian traffic, where commuting is a blood sport. But I was new to Asia then.

This year I knew better and left from Singapore, on my own "bike. Again, I had managed to cajole the use of the Heritage - not for myself, but for that well known Australian Harley Dealer, Frank "the Wallet Doctor" Henry. The Doctor had to settle for the ignominy for he pillion seat from Singapore to KL, where we picked up the Heritage. Datuk Seri Brian Chew, a man whose generosity and skills as a negotiator, diplomat and biker knows no bounds, was our 'bike benefactor.

 Hot 'n' Fast

It's a long, hot, steady run north, toward Thailand. Mostly forest of oil palm and rubber, with the North-South super-highway, a continuous black scar the length of the green landscape that is the Malay Peninsula. We are in a large group of bikes. They go fast, but stop often for fuel or food. We are the only Australians, and start to understand our staple diet over the next week will be rice and chili.

The Thai border appears in due course. Making passage through Malaysian immigration, customs, special Thai insurance that everybody knows will never pay, Thai immigration and customs takes an age. But we are give a taste of what to expect - beautiful Thai women, immaculately dressed in traditional gowns and with a serene smile, a gentle bow of the head and the word "sawaddee ka" (welcome) - place a lei of fragrant frangipani around each of our necks. Over decades of motorcycling, I had never received a welcome like this, and contemplate that I'd died, and arrived in heaven.

Hanky Panky

We endure a tropical shower on the way to Hat Yai, some 60km into Thailand. We are given another welcome, this time more solemn, and with speeches. Hat Yai is a gaudy, sprawling and dusty town, set in concrete adorned only in neon. I ask Johnny Tan what the people do here. He tells me people from Singapore and Malaysia come to shop, and for "low cost hanky-panky".

After dinner of rice and chicken chili, the Wallet Doctor and I check out the night life. It is appalling to watch the fat bastard, at the karaoke and under the influence of hot food and cold beer, fart, groan and burp his way through "The House Of The Rising Sun". The normally indulgent locals start to leave. I sense we are wearing out our welcome, and put a stop to "Jailhouse Rock".

Maximum Velocity

Riding takes on extra dimensions in Thailand. The roads are strewn with construction machinery, old buses, ancient trucks, family packed utes and small scooters that of all vehicles, carry the heaviest loads. A 100cc Honda is quite capable of conveying a family of three, two bags of cement, a brace of slaughtered chickens and a large, round cooking pot. Each vehicle travels at its own maximum velocity, and braking is a practice not to be indulged in. Being in the wrong spot at the wrong time hurts - ask expat Aussie Hoss, who got cleaned up (but is now OK) on his way down from Bangkok.

As respectfully as I can, I suggest to a Malay that the Malays seem a bit hairy on the road, but the Thais are lunatics. He explains that the Malays are Moslem, so death will come at the will of God. The Thais however are Buddhist, and have no fear because they will be reincarnated, and, with merit, in the next life will get a much better pick-up truck!

We travel through southern Thailand - Trang, past Krabi and toward Phang-nga. There are beautiful forests of limestone pinnacles, drenched in jungle green, rising exotically from the plain like something from a Tolkien novel. I contemplate that it won't be long before they are reduced to cement plants.

There is now a bridge to the Island of Phuket, and we cross it and head to Patong Beach. There are already many bikes, and our own numbers have swollen to a hundred or more.

Melting Pot

Phurgis is the ultimate mix of people. Decadent Americans, who give you the impression they were sent by the CIA to subvert the place, but have become subverted themselves. Various Europeans, expatriates living in Bangkok, Pattaya, Kuala Lumpur, Johore Bahru, Singapore or Hong Kong. Even Brazilians.

But the overwhelming numbers are Asians of one stripe or another. Despite (or perhaps because of) the polyglot nature of the biker population, there is never any trouble - all brothers in the wind. Bad attitudes get left at home. The clubs, for example, are The Immortals, The Jesters, The Head Hunters and the ubiquitous HOG, and don't have territory. They are not "out-laws". They are however great hosts, and pretty much a bunch of guys (and girls too) together for the fun of it all.

Bikes, Broads & Booze

Phurgis is about bikes, broads, booze and bands. Essentially a party that goes form one night to the next, with the hot days left for sleeping, and lunch at 4pm. The Rock Hard A Go-Go and bar is the headquarters. Lithe Thai dancers writhe around the bar. At the Jesters party, the wet T-shirt comp draws a big crowd of contestants and onlookers, and the girls become more brazen as the tournament heats up.

Last year, the Head Hunters put on a party that starred a young lady that had mastered the art of firing small darts from her nether regions, bursting balloons hung above the bar, a good two or three metres away. She was unerringly accurate, and I made a mental note to get hold of her training manual, of which I am sure the trick with the darts constitutes but one chapter. This year the Immortals entertained us with a lady who who could do truly amazing things with day-glo string, and I stand  appreciative of the education in anatomy.

Phuket is not a large island - perhaps on the scale of Singapore. It is pleasant to follow the road around the coastline. We did so, and at one point came over a rise as big old elephant crossed the road. It shied, and its mahout used all the skills Mick Dittmann might employ on a testy thoroughbred, at the cup.

Phucking Elephant!

"It's a fucking elephant", my mind screamed at me, as I went into elephant evasion mode. "It's a fucking dickhead on a Harley", glared back the elephant, busily restoring its dignity.

The daytime activity tends to be informal - like riding the bike around Patong Beach, or taking a swim. There are some magnificent machines and some of the best paint jobs you will see anywhere. Some of them are copies from US bike magazines, but a number are uniquely Asian. There are a few Arlen Ness specials about the place, and everybody has "all the groceries", new bike or old.

Orgasmic Dreaming

Who knows all that happens at Phurgis? Last year I wobbled off home, and crashed into a dark, dreamless sleep induced by 30 beers and the odd Jim Beam chaser. I wake to a bump in the night, and heavy breathing next door. The walls might be of tissue paper. The female side of the congress was clearly enjoying herself, and into a long and successful orgasm.

Western women tend to come with a bang - the 1812 Overture style. But this was, I believe, definitely Asian: more of a muted Madame Butterfly, in C major with errant cello and sitar infusion. Something like that makes it hard to get a good night's sleep.

Like all good things, the week of riding in someone else's country to a different set of rules, comes to an end. Phurgis is about a long, hot, ride and a damn good time with folks you might otherwise never get to know. You'll end up being a broader person for it. Come up and see us some time - the Wallet Doctor did.

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