Mr Kip's dodgy bike

Most disturbing, though, is frozen mileage: 31,009.7 kilometres on the clock. What cataclysm befell the driver at that point? And how many kilometres has this thing done since?

But after two hours of beautifully smooth road, the bigger question is: what's the big deal about the Loop? Barely mentioned in most guidebooks, the route is pretty but it's hardly the infamous challenge we were led to believe. Logbooks in Tha Khaek were full of complaints: too dusty in the dry season; too muddy in the rainy season; one Dutch couple even had to be rescued by a local with a lorry. And yet, at this moment, such travails seem like a laughable impossibility to us.

In fact, the thing causing us the most discomfort is the heat. We top up our sunscreen but with another couple of hours until we get to Tha Lang, where we will spend the first night, we both feel unmistakably burnt.

Although the road now disintegrates to dirt, we motor on to the town of Yommalat and examine ourselves. In three hours, my arms have gone from tan, to mahogany, to red, to purple. Katy suddenly has the nose of a terrible alcoholic.

We look at our cheap Thai sunscreen: we have been swindled.

This is technically the rainy season but today there isn't a cloud in the sky. And, though there are pharmacies in towns like Yommalat, not one of them has anything close to sunblock. In weather like this, the locals simply stay indoors or cover up.

We decide to hurry on to Tha Lang and, just as we get to the edge of town, the chain slips from my bike. I jump off and put it back on but the repair lasts barely 100 metres.

Four or five slips later, we accept that No.37 is dying. Luckily, there is a mechanic's hut nearby; unluckily, he is out of town. But his wife and children are willing to give the repair a go.

I get Ku on the phone, who mercilessly haggles over the price with the woman. She finishes the work and I barely have the heart to tell her she has clearly put the back wheel on at an angle. Then the heavens open - it is rainy season, after all.

We awake in a nameless guest house with our hands feeling as though we have been playing lucky dip in a deep-fat fryer. Down but not defeated, we must now take the bikes through the the Loop's most testing section. There are 62 kilometres between Tha Lang and Laksao, along a stretch of road classified as being only suitable for four-wheel-drive vehicles and said to be impassable in the rainy season.

But again, things start very smoothly as we pass through eerie, dead forests, the petrified, blasted ruins of incessant logging in this part of the world. Before long, we leave it behind as the road starts climbing into the hills. A sumptuous valley stretches down to our left and thick jungle fringes the right. Alas, the road beneath is less welcoming. The surface changes repeatedly, without warning, and it's hard to say which of the conditions is toughest: large rocks and potholes, cloying mud, sliding gravel or oleaginous goo. Old No.37 seems to be holding up, though, despite the testing terrain. My riding, too, seems passable - easing off the accelerator and a quick wiggle of the hips later, I've navigated a chicane.

Eventually, in spite of my growing confidence, I come undone. Taking a slimy ridge at too shallow an angle, the back slides away and I am dumped in the mud. For an instant, I worry that I've seriously damaged something on myself or the bike but so far as crashes go, it could hardly be more gentle.

But inside I'm trembling.

Now that I feel the need to be cautious, I become more inept in the conditions.

I limp down the hill, out of the jungle and into some wide, spacious farmland. The trail here has taken the full brunt of the rain and degenerated into an endless mire.

Aching and burnt, we start negotiating the muddy stretch. With nothing but water ahead, it's impossible to know how deep it all is. We follow the locals as much as possible but when left alone, disaster comes calling yet again. A puddle suddenly bottoms out and I find myself in half a metre of water, my puny engine giving little protest as it drowns in the mud.

Thankfully, a benevolent local turns up to get us going once more but the day continues in this farcical pattern. By the time we crawl into Laksao, I have visited two more mechanics, Katy has had to repair the starter twice and we are caked in mud, which at least offers some protection from the merciless sun.

The 62 kilometres to here have been the longest of my life - and there are more than 100 kilometres still to cover today.

Mercifully, however, this section is once again on tarmac and only takes about two hours. Not only that but it passes through some of the most arresting scenery in all of south-east Asia. Sudden cliffs rise from neon-green rice paddies, farm animals throng the roads and once in a while the road passes alongside a stone forest of craggy limestone peaks. Cheery locals wave beneath signs that proudly herald German-Laotian co-operatives that have cleared the region of unexploded devices from Nixon's so-called "secret war".

We end the day at the affable Chantha House in Konglor, where the kind owners give us a bucket of ice in which to dip our seared hands.

After much-needed showers and a hearty dinner of sticky rice, we fall asleep almost immediately.

The third and final day of the Loop is supposed to start with a visit to the enormous Konglor caves but we've spent so much money on repairs for the bike and calls to Mr Kip that we simply don't have the 230,000 kip required for entrance and parking fees. With the nearest ATM more than 100 kilometres away, we decide to cut our losses and head for home.

Despite our suffering, we can't help feel that this final section - which runs along a major highway - is a little dull. Even my bike running out of petrol provides little cheer.

As in many parts of the world, petrol is sold in Laos by the litre but in rural areas such as this, it is sold in litres literally - old Coke bottles seem particularly suited to the task. Katy rides ahead and gets a bottle for each of us, just enough to get us back to Tha Khaek and the now-sheepish Mr Kip, who at least has the decency to refund all the costs of our repairs.

Our hands are blistered, our faces burnt, our shoulders tight, our forearms in spasm, our clothing destroyed, our backsides might never been the same again and I reek like a feral beast.

And yet, when were we last so satisfied? When did we last achieve so much?

FAST FACTS

Getting there

Thai Airways has a fare to Vientiane for about $1550 low season return from Melbourne and Sydney including tax. You fly to Bangkok (9hr) then Vientiane (70min). Tha Khaek has no airport or railway station and it is a six-hour bus ride south to the town. Australian passport holders can obtain a visa upon arrival for $US30.

Staying there

There are basic guest houses in almost every village — many without names — but none better than Chantha House in Konglor village where rooms start from $25 a night and include hot showers and wi-fi. See chanthahouse.com .

Pre-trip, many bikers choose to stay at the Tha Khaek Travel Lodge, where it's possible to study logbooks and pick up hints from those who have completed the route. Basic double rooms (shared bathrooms) are $10, while beds in busy dorms are just $3. See ede.ch/laos/thakhek_travel_lodge.html.

Riding there

There are other places to hire motorbikes in Tha Khaek but Mr Ku offers the most comprehensive service. Located at the door of the Tha Khaek Travel Lodge, he charges 100,000 kip ($12) a day for a bike with a little fuel, a handy map and he guarantees to refund any fees incurred for repairs en route. Do not accept bike No.37.