DrGMIA
Senior Member
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2011
- Bikes
- Oldest 1931, newest 2016, numerous makes and models in between on several continents
Sauerborn's V-Max sidecar outfit, equiped to hunt Tiger. (600 x 450).jpg[/attachment:1j57061r]
The flooding in the central part of Thailand had limited the manufacturing (as in the brewery not operating) and transport of certain swill to the north, where we were located. The previous month had seen Tigers (small bottles and large) dwindle, and then disappear, from shelves in stores and bars. Formerly wetted with Tigers, our mutual geographic area had become devoid of Tiger beer. One could hypothesize that Tiger Lager Beer had become an endangered species.
Sauerborn and I both knew a real Tiger when we saw one, as pictured below.
Some people think they know far more than they do and could be easily fooled into seeing Leo The Lion hiding behind the paper tiger on the pictured bottle below.
Before roosters crowed on a Saturday morning, Sauerborn and I were on the hunt, maneuvering through traffic out of Chiang Mai, me testing my mental strength in the “chair” and Sauerborn on another test of his Yamaha V-Max sidecar outfit. Our hunt was to remote areas of the Golden Triangle where we hoped to bag some of the rare Tigers in boxes or bars away from the demand for the swill in the urbanized area around Chiang Mai.
A tiger was waving, wishing us “Good Luck,” as we left town. This tiger, pictured below, was hiding behind glass, not bottled.
It was a dangerous hunt. Gun guys and drug runners were skeptical of our intentions. We knew none of the police would believe us when stopped if we said, “Were on a Tiger hunt.” And the drug runners and drug gangs would scoff if we said, “No yaba, yeah we are motorcyclists, but we’re on a serious hunt for Tigers.”
To throw the wannabe adventure followers and paparazzi off our trail we often left the pavement and took small tracks through the jungles, zigzagging our way deep into the bush and jungle of the Golden Triangle.
We camped in a wooden guest house in Chiang Khong for the night and took our hunt into the urban jungle of this lion-roaring megatropolis. Hopping from bar beers to restaurants, our hunt lasted early into the night and by 10:00 PM ended at the north end of the town.
Walking back to our base camp we were slowly weakened and caused to stumble by the numerous lions foisted on us under the name of Leo but having been camouflaged as tigers on the outer label, a slick marketing ploy.
Awakening the next morning I knew I had been attacked by lions, a large pride of the Leo. I had been unprepared for the nocturnal jungle hunt, having previously stayed well away from Leo and any other head pounding swill for several weeks. As I crawled back into the sidecar and bounced the first kilometers south I knew I had been attacked, my head feeling the mauling it had taken.
We returned to our starting point in Chiang Mai. The jungle hunt had been unsuccessful but filled with the feline essence of adventure.
Over the next days I recovered from the mauling by Leo with repeated readings of the BIG BOOK and taking Twelve Steps during each reading.
Rewards had been promised for any sightings around the area of Tigers. A tip led to a supply where Tigers had been spotted. I reloaded my hunting wallet with Thai baht and followed the lead. The tipster had been correct and I brought out two holders of young Tigers. Rather than drape them over the front fender on a car and proudly display them on the drive back to my base camp as was often done by some hunters with deer when hunting in America, I hustled them to their temporary cooling container, as pictured below.
Looking back on the adventure, I had to give Sauerborn credit for the success. I knew him to be knowledgeable in the matter of Tigers. When I had asked if he knew where I could find some he suggested the roads and jungles of the far north. After two - three weeks of unsuccessful hunting on my own, the net result was 100% proof that Tigers did exist in Thailand.
One could say the adventure included being “bagged and tagged,” a term often used in morgues and attempts at making tough-guy sounding cop talk when referring to the toe tags on former living humans inside rubberized body bags laying on the steel autopsy tables or in the coolers. I had been bagged by some lions hiding behind a picture of a tiger, and at the check-out register of the market my paper cash receipt was proof in the form of a paper tag.
[The words and photographs in this aimlessly wandering post are my jaded journalistic way to have a little fun, counter-postulate or postulate and laugh at myself. No one should take anything included personally unless they perceive the literary shoe as fitting, and that is their opinion, a reflection of how they see themselves, albeit not my intention.]
Admin Note: DrGMIA, is Chief of the World Adventures Affairs Desk for the publication CITY BIKE Magazine. He told us one of his next motorcycle adventure hunts will be to tag by tossing on the remaining “Yellow Toothed Little Sh** Weasel” one of a mix of unique tagging tools such as a condom filled with man-water or well worn toilet flip-flop from a motorcycle. He said, “The Yellow Toothed Little Sh** Weasel” can be hard to find. If he stays quiet like most wish he would and out of sight, impossible to tag. But when he hits his Send button word goes out about him or when he injects himself uninvited into a group, beaters and scouts immediately sound the alert.” A Bangkok publisher has been promised the story for print but we’ve been assured some pictures and a snippet post will come our way.
The flooding in the central part of Thailand had limited the manufacturing (as in the brewery not operating) and transport of certain swill to the north, where we were located. The previous month had seen Tigers (small bottles and large) dwindle, and then disappear, from shelves in stores and bars. Formerly wetted with Tigers, our mutual geographic area had become devoid of Tiger beer. One could hypothesize that Tiger Lager Beer had become an endangered species.
Sauerborn and I both knew a real Tiger when we saw one, as pictured below.
Some people think they know far more than they do and could be easily fooled into seeing Leo The Lion hiding behind the paper tiger on the pictured bottle below.
Before roosters crowed on a Saturday morning, Sauerborn and I were on the hunt, maneuvering through traffic out of Chiang Mai, me testing my mental strength in the “chair” and Sauerborn on another test of his Yamaha V-Max sidecar outfit. Our hunt was to remote areas of the Golden Triangle where we hoped to bag some of the rare Tigers in boxes or bars away from the demand for the swill in the urbanized area around Chiang Mai.
A tiger was waving, wishing us “Good Luck,” as we left town. This tiger, pictured below, was hiding behind glass, not bottled.
It was a dangerous hunt. Gun guys and drug runners were skeptical of our intentions. We knew none of the police would believe us when stopped if we said, “Were on a Tiger hunt.” And the drug runners and drug gangs would scoff if we said, “No yaba, yeah we are motorcyclists, but we’re on a serious hunt for Tigers.”
To throw the wannabe adventure followers and paparazzi off our trail we often left the pavement and took small tracks through the jungles, zigzagging our way deep into the bush and jungle of the Golden Triangle.
We camped in a wooden guest house in Chiang Khong for the night and took our hunt into the urban jungle of this lion-roaring megatropolis. Hopping from bar beers to restaurants, our hunt lasted early into the night and by 10:00 PM ended at the north end of the town.
Walking back to our base camp we were slowly weakened and caused to stumble by the numerous lions foisted on us under the name of Leo but having been camouflaged as tigers on the outer label, a slick marketing ploy.
Awakening the next morning I knew I had been attacked by lions, a large pride of the Leo. I had been unprepared for the nocturnal jungle hunt, having previously stayed well away from Leo and any other head pounding swill for several weeks. As I crawled back into the sidecar and bounced the first kilometers south I knew I had been attacked, my head feeling the mauling it had taken.
We returned to our starting point in Chiang Mai. The jungle hunt had been unsuccessful but filled with the feline essence of adventure.
Over the next days I recovered from the mauling by Leo with repeated readings of the BIG BOOK and taking Twelve Steps during each reading.
Rewards had been promised for any sightings around the area of Tigers. A tip led to a supply where Tigers had been spotted. I reloaded my hunting wallet with Thai baht and followed the lead. The tipster had been correct and I brought out two holders of young Tigers. Rather than drape them over the front fender on a car and proudly display them on the drive back to my base camp as was often done by some hunters with deer when hunting in America, I hustled them to their temporary cooling container, as pictured below.
Looking back on the adventure, I had to give Sauerborn credit for the success. I knew him to be knowledgeable in the matter of Tigers. When I had asked if he knew where I could find some he suggested the roads and jungles of the far north. After two - three weeks of unsuccessful hunting on my own, the net result was 100% proof that Tigers did exist in Thailand.
One could say the adventure included being “bagged and tagged,” a term often used in morgues and attempts at making tough-guy sounding cop talk when referring to the toe tags on former living humans inside rubberized body bags laying on the steel autopsy tables or in the coolers. I had been bagged by some lions hiding behind a picture of a tiger, and at the check-out register of the market my paper cash receipt was proof in the form of a paper tag.
[The words and photographs in this aimlessly wandering post are my jaded journalistic way to have a little fun, counter-postulate or postulate and laugh at myself. No one should take anything included personally unless they perceive the literary shoe as fitting, and that is their opinion, a reflection of how they see themselves, albeit not my intention.]
Admin Note: DrGMIA, is Chief of the World Adventures Affairs Desk for the publication CITY BIKE Magazine. He told us one of his next motorcycle adventure hunts will be to tag by tossing on the remaining “Yellow Toothed Little Sh** Weasel” one of a mix of unique tagging tools such as a condom filled with man-water or well worn toilet flip-flop from a motorcycle. He said, “The Yellow Toothed Little Sh** Weasel” can be hard to find. If he stays quiet like most wish he would and out of sight, impossible to tag. But when he hits his Send button word goes out about him or when he injects himself uninvited into a group, beaters and scouts immediately sound the alert.” A Bangkok publisher has been promised the story for print but we’ve been assured some pictures and a snippet post will come our way.
