There’s a moment, somewhere on the winding roads of Hi Van Pass, where the engine hums beneath, the hairpin curve ahead is blind, and you’re inches from a sheer drop off a cliff into the sea below. You should slow down, play it safe. Instead, you lean in.

Riding motorbikes in Southeast Asia is the ultimate trade-off—one part liberation, one part mortal danger. It’s the closest thing to flying without wings, an open invitation to the road where you call the shots. But to many of my friends back home, it’s lunacy. A death wish on two wheels. “Are you crazy!?” they ask, horrified. I’ve seen the statistics, the numbers aren’t pretty - Thailand has one of the highest motorcycle fatality rates in the world and accidents involving tourists are a big part of it. Vietnam and Bali aren’t much better, with thousands of deaths a year, many of them foreigners who thought a rented scooter was as harmless as a bicycle.