I had just come off a long bus ride from the Thai coast, the last hour of which was spent crawling through Bangkok traffic. Being a bicyclist, I’ve never built up a tolerance for sitting in traffic since I can easily weave my way through gridlock. It’s one of my favorite things about commuting by bike: the travel time is always the same regardless of any obstacle a vehicle might encounter.

As the bus inched forward, I kept looking at my map in frustration. If the driver would just let me off now, I could jump on a metro train and make my way home. Granted it would not be a direct route; I would have to go all the way into the center of town, change trains and come out again to get home, but I figured it would probably be quicker and, if nothing else, at least I would be moving.

So I slouched in my seat, nodding off while reading, bored at having already done these things for the last few hours. The worst part was that I would have to take a taxi home once I got to the station, and it was clear that I would be sitting in this mess again for another hour as the meter ticked away. I’d probably end up paying more for the taxi ride than I did for the bus from the coast. By now I was frustrated, angry, hungry, tired, and I just couldn’t imagine sitting still any longer. Seriously, I was at the stage a child gets to right before they break down into screams of frustration.

When I got to the station, an idea occurred to me. A friend told me she always took motorcycle taxis around Bangkok. Having been in Asia for several months now, I knew that motorcycles never waited for traffic, so I decided I would check into it. There are motorcycle taxi stands throughout Bangkok. You can spot them by looking for groups of guys standing around in fluorescent orange vests. They also have their motorcycle taxi license hanging from their neck. I thought it odd that they had such a regulated system in a part of the world where there seemed to be no rules.

I was quoted a price that was higher than a car taxi. I thought this to be odd since car taxis allow you to sit comfortably in an air conditioned cabin with your luggage stowed away in the trunk. On the motorcycle, I would be sitting on the back with my backpack strapped to my shoulders. I took one last look at the traffic, and my decision was made.

We took off like a rocket, the time just after it breaks the inertia of the earth’s gravitational field. We began to weave between the stationary cars, dodging left and right to avoid clipping mirrors with the handle bars of the bike. The first thing I did after grabbing the driver’s waist in an iron grip was to try to make myself as skinny as possible. I used as a gauge, the driver’s arms and legs. I figured he would take the brunt of any scrapes if I did not protrude any further than he did.

We eventually got to an intersection that managed to clog up even the motorbikes. From the moment we started, I had been peering over his shoulder trying to anticipate his course so that I could move my body with his to avoid throwing off his balance, so when we got to the blocked intersection, I relaxed a little thinking we would be still for a moment. I was wrong.

He turned the motorcycle left and we jumped onto the sidewalk. He began weaving through pedestrians just as he had through the cars. The locals just stepped aside to let us through. The westerners seemed startled or irritated and acted just like they do in the movies when you see a motorcycle chase down the sidewalk. I was in my own action film, and I was loving it.

We got to the end of the sidewalk, and he made a quick turn into an alley and gunned the engine again. I was impressed and somewhat frightened that I could no longer anticipate his moves. This guy was thinking outside the box in a way you could never do in western countries. I gave up anticipating and just enjoyed the ride as we spent the next several minutes racing through alleyways across town. I was surprised to see that there was no one in the alleys despite the gridlock on the main streets. When we’d get to an intersection, he’d just honk once and dart through.

A few minutes later we were back on the main roadway. We hit jam, and he made another move I couldn’t have predicted. He drove down an embankment to the road below, which was empty of vehicles, and we were moving again. He looked back once to see if I was okay, and I gave him the thumbs up, I guess an indication that he was free to do whatever was needed to get me to my destination.

Several exhilarating minutes later, we arrived, and I hopped off the bike with a gigantic grin. Frustration had turned to elation, and I understood why these guys were paid more than car taxis. I handed him a fistful of money I didn’t even bother to count. Whatever it was, it was worth it. In Bangkok, money can buy happiness, on the back of a motorcycle taxi.