It's like somebody deflated a big balloon. Not with a big bang, but just letting the air out. We're back. It's over. Slightly disoriented. The dirty, banged-up bikes get wheeled over to the shed, the truck gets unloaded.
We're all sitting around my blue octagon table in the middle of the lawn. Our maid brings beers and glasses. Ten minutes and everybody has got his bearings again.
"My-old-geriatric-grandmother" versus "your riding skills" is hard at work again. One after another the guys take a shower in our guest bungalow and dump our dirty riding gear outside. The maid immediately soaks it for tomorrow morning's cleaning. The pants will be dry within a day, but the boots take at least three days to dry out and get re-oiled.
They make a quick collection for a tip for our support riders - they have earned it! Six days of constantly picking up dropped bikes, dusting off fallen riders and starting the bikes with flooded carbs for them has been hard work, too.
The end of the last day mirrors the end of the first - seven guys in the back of my Toyota Tiger, back to Chiang Mai.
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