Bright orange tuk-tuks lined the resort driveway like a row of tropical beetles ready to race. Their chrome gleamed in the early Chiang Mai light, and our small group fell silent. This was the moment it hit us: for the next 11 days, we’d be piloting these quirky, three-wheeled icons through some of Thailand’s most remote and spectacular country.
We’d driven all kinds of vehicles in our travels — bicycles, scooters, even the occasional campervan — but never a tuk-tuk. That novelty alone had rocketed this trip to bucket list status. The adventure promised mountain passes, misted valleys, and laughter echoing through the Thai highlands — with us at the wheel. The next morning, engines coughed to life and our convoy rolled out, a parade of orange, buzzing toward the mountains.
Learning the Ropes (and the Cones) of Tuk-Tuks
The Tuk Tuk Club’s founder, Bruce Haxton, greeted us with stories of how he’d built this one-of-a-kind tour company — and how it had survived the lean COVID years by sheer grit. He introduced our six bright orange chariots, each with its own name and story. When we learned one was called JS, after British journalist James Stewart, the first travel scribe to cover the tour, we claimed it immediately—poetic fate for this travel writer.
Then came driver training. Foreigners can’t legally drive tuk-tuks in Thailand without an international permit (IDP), and for good reason — these little beasts are quirky. You sit directly over the front wheel, feeling every dip in the road, while the back two wheels swing behind like a wide tail. The first exercise — weaving between orange cones — revealed just how easy it was to oversteer. A few cones fell victim to my enthusiasm. My wife, cautious and precise, nailed the course and earned bragging rights.
By day’s end, we’d all passed the test and earned the right to drive. Over dinner that night, there was the electric hum of pride — and mild disbelief — that tomorrow we’d hit real mountain roads in these machines.
Our Orange Chariot to the Hills
Each tuk-tuk came equipped with a small ice chest refilled daily by support staff, refillable water bottles (no plastic here), and a sculpted roof with roll-down rain curtains. A support vehicle carried our luggage, allowing us to travel light. The tour, a looping route of roughly 850 kilometers (530 miles) and 1,800 bends, follows much of the legendary Mae Hong Son road — the holy grail for motorbike adventurers in Thailand.
But this wasn’t about speed. Tuk-tuks max out around 30 mph, and most of the time we cruised at less than that. The slower pace opened this region of northern Thailand in ways no tour bus could.
From Mae Wang to Mae Hong Son, every curve brought something new: rice terraces as bright as emeralds, dark chocolate colored fields of maze, roadside shrines strung with marigolds, kids waving from schoolyards, and the hum of cicadas louder than the engine.
Elephants in the Rain
On day two, rain began to hammer the tuk-tuk canopy as we reached Mae Vang Elephant Home. Lunch was served in a covered pavilion overlooking the muddy river, where two young elephants wrestled gleefully in the downpour. Their keepers laughed like proud parents.
The family that runs this sanctuary has cared for elephants for decades, long before the concept of “ethical tourism” became a buzzword. There are no rides here, no chains. Just elephants being elephants — eating, playing, socializing. Tuk-tuk Club owner Bruce supports them closely; during the pandemic shutdown, he famously cycled 1,430 miles to raise funds for their feed. Watching the elephants roll in the mud, the rain steaming off their backs, felt like a rare privilege: an experience both joyous and just.
Courtesy Tuk Tuk Club
Life on the Mountain
The climb toward Doi Inthanon National Park, Thailand’s highest peak, was both literal and spiritual. We swapped tuk-tuks for songthaews — open-air pickup trucks — and rode into the clouds. At 8,415 feet, mist curled through the moss forests. We wandered the Ang Ka Nature Trail, a raised wooden path through an emerald hush so thick you could hear raindrops fall, the sound like metronomes on leaves. Atop the mountain, we stood between the twin Royal Pagodas, their spires slicing the mist.
Doi Inthanon had long been on our travel wish list. Experiencing it after days of challenging yet exhilarating navigation of the back roads made it feel earned.
That night, we stayed in Mae Klang Luang, a Karen hill-tribe village that became our favorite stop of the trip. Our balcony overlooked a quilt of rice paddies so green it almost glowed. Meals were cooked by the local family who operates the homestay — spicy soups, noodle stir-frys, and vegetables grown right below us.
The Karen people here have embraced sustainability through the Royal Projects, swapping opium crops for tea, fruit, flowers, and shade-grown coffee. Their success stories are rooted in the same soil we walked on — and you can taste it in every cup.
Courtesy Tuk Tuk Club
Coffee, Rice Spirits, and Kindness
One rain-soaked morning, when a planned hike was postponed, our guides improvised a visit to a nearby village café perched high above the fields. There were no walls, just the soft drum of rain on the roof and the smell of freshly ground beans.
The owner’s wife served us surprisingly good espresso, while her husband appeared carrying a bunch of sweet, juicy rambutan fruit straight from the tree. He followed that with a plastic bottle of homemade rice spirit and a grin that needed no translation. Ceramic shot cups went around. Smooth, slightly sweet — and very strong.
No money was asked, and none was expected. It was a pure act of welcome. That kind of unscripted generosity happened often on this trip. It’s what lingers.
Through Villages and Valleys
Back on the road, we passed hill-tribe children walking home from school, their uniforms edged in the vibrant patterns of their hill-tribe roots. Sometimes they’d stare, sometimes wave, always smiling at the sight of these orange contraptions rumbling by.
Every few hours or so, we’d stop — for coffee, for fuel, for legs that needed stretching. One café in a nondescript village boasted a $35,000 espresso machine. The owner, a retired engineer, pulled shots like a craftsman. In Thailand’s far north, the unexpected is the norm.
© Michael Cullen
In Mae Sariang, a sleepy riverside town near the Myanmar border, we found the best steak in the country at Coriander in Redwood. As Australians, spotting a bottle of Penfolds Max Cabernet on the menu sealed the deal — and the coincidence wasn’t lost on us. One of our six tuk-tuks was also named Max.
Rain, Laughter, and Lost Visibility
By the time we reached Mae Hong Son, rain was constant company. It was to be expected, given that we traveled in August (the rainy season). Our stay at Fern Resort — bungalows backed by a forest and a lively stream — became a study in serenity. The sound of intermittent downpours on thatched roofs, the scent of jasmine and pandan after a storm.
One evening, we rode a disco-lit minivan up to Wat Phra That Doi Kong Mu, the temple that watches over the valley. But the clouds swallowed everything. Not even the chedi was visible. So, we descended through a monsoon, wading knee-deep to dinner at a modest edge-of-town restaurant — soaked, laughing, and completely in the moment. That night’s Khao Soi, Chiang Mai’s signature curry noodle soup, tasted like victory.
Pai: A Swing Back to Civilization
After days of remote villages, Pai felt almost cosmopolitan — a lively town with bars, street food, massage parlors, and music. The “Walking Street” wasn’t strictly car-free, but that didn’t matter. We grabbed beers, people-watched from a curbside bar, and soaked up the chaos.
For fun, six of us — including our guide Boyz — played a round of Pai Bamboo Mini Golf, where bamboo clubs and tennis balls turned the game into slapstick. Boyz took home the winnings and our applause.
Tuk-Tuks and the Joy of Slow Travel
Over 11 days, we drove north-western Thailand, which felt like many different worlds. We saw elephants and monks, rainforests with teeming waterfalls, verdant farmlands, roadside shrines, and the middle-of-nowhere coffee houses. We switched drivers with each roadside stop, alternating the thrill of controlling the “beast” with the joy of simply looking.
Was it comfortable? Not always. Was it worth it? Absolutely.
© Michael Cullen
The tuk-tuk turned travel time into adventure time. It made the journey — the stretches between sights, the hum of the road, the smell of wet earth — the main event.
For us, this wasn’t just another trip within Thailand. It was the discovery of a new rhythm: one gear slower, infinitely richer.
If You Go
The Tuk Tuk Club
📍 Chiang Mai, Thailand
🌐 www.thetuktukclub.com
Tour: The company offers 3-, 5- or 11-day Tuk-Tuk Adventures in Northern Thailand — self-drive journeys through Doi Inthanon, Mae Sariang, Mae Hong Son, and Pai.
Requirements:
Drivers must hold an International Driving Permit. A training session and test drive are conducted before departure. Alternatively, as one of our group members did, you can select the “with a driver” option.
Sustainability and ethics:
Each tuk-tuk is custom-built for safety and comfort, and the company operates with a strong sustainability focus — no single-use plastics, ethical elephant sanctuary visits, and support for local communities and Royal Project farms.
Best time to go:
November through February for cooler weather and clear skies. Rainy season (June to October) brings lush green landscapes — and the occasional adventure in the rain. Our guide Boyz recommended October as his month of choice.
Getting there:
Chiang Mai International Airport (CNX) is about 15 minutes from the starting point.
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Read more from Michael at https://www.clippings.me/michaelcullen
