Hosed

After 20 km’s of cycling two things became very clear.  The first being that I would not continue to ride at a snail’s pace with the rest of the group – not only because of the culturally complicated discussion I had with one of the guides about eating dogs - but mostly because my arse was bruised and the slower we went, the more I thought about it.  The second is that the only way said arse was making it for the full 90km’s was with all three of my padded bike shorts worn at the same time.  

So at the first break I put on all three pairs of the giant padded biking diapers and informed my guides that they would have a very unhappy American cyclist if they didn’t let me go my own pace.  I literally had a burr up my butt and they could tell, so they let me go ahead but they weren’t thrilled about the situation.

Once I could go my own speed, I was happy, except for the fact that we were cycling through a construction zone.  It is worth mentioning that we were taking the path of Pol Pot in 1979 when they retreated to the jungle, leaving a parting gift of Chinese land mines scattered throughout the country side.  There were signs all over warning of the mines, but I didn’t bother walking out to see if they were still there.  The photo doesn’t do the pot holes and loose gravel justice, but lets just say I didn’t come to Cambodia to cycle through a construction zone. 

Eventually we got to a much prettier part of Cambodia and headed up into the mountain jungle.  

It was a fun climb and the first time we got a decent workout which was a nice change.  The thing is, while I’ve been sitting around practising my patience for the past couple weeks, my sister and father have been training for our Grand Canyon hike that takes place in a mere few days.  My sister had been sending emails about training hikes in the North Woods snow with a hundred pound pack on her back past crazed right-wing militants.  The least I could do was manage a speedy cycle through a mine field.

Finally, we ended the ride at our latest Kakkerlak chalet.  The nice thing about this place was that it was protected – it had Pol Pot security in each room with impressive giant bolts at the top and bottom of the doors.  No need for signs discouraging the use of hand guns here!  The latest disappointment in accommodation was that there were no showers… just a hose.  Now, after a 90km bike ride in 95 degree sun through a dusty construction zone, the only thing besides a cold beer you want is a nice shower.  Instead, I got a hose (and a beer).

So I hosed off and decided the smartest thing to do was take a nap before dinner.  I woke up not even on the wrong side of the bed, but the wrong bed.  It was uncomfortable and I was not happy thinking about what in the hell dinner was going to be and then the 50 km bike ride the following day.  But I did my best to hide my dissatisfaction as you can see from the self portrait upon waking:

That night at dinner, our guide Rong announced that it was a farewell party and gave a very nice speech on how much he appreciated us visiting his country and how he enjoyed the trip.  Then he went around the table and said a few words about each person.  And what had started as a sweet speech turned into a proper roast.  It was relatively uncomfortable for a few of his comments on characters in the group and when he got to me he remarked with a big grin “Christine eat, drink and cycle like a man”  Aw shucks, you’ll make me blush Rong!  I guess he could have said worse.

Side note:  Everyone on this tour calls me Christine which actually pleases me because then I don’t have to pretend like we’re friends.   

Then Rong went on to Jane and said he was proud that she was able to cycle more than 10 km’s that day “but she only go fast down down hills because of her very big belly”   Rong was apparently still harboring some ill will towards Jane after having to literally push her big butt up the hills and then watch her freefall down faster than anyone else.    

The next morning we got up to cycle another 50 km’s through the Cambodian/Thai border.  At this point I was silently referring to myself as Numb Butt because I couldn’t feel a thing.  I was still wearing all three biking shorts and considered borrowing a couple more pair, but given the numbness, I was fine.  It didn’t help matters that I was sunburnt and had broken out in hives because of all the sun.  No amount of sunblock can protect you from that intense heat.

It wasn’t far to the border and I was surprised to see the welcoming garb the Cambodians wore:

I love them too because they let me go into Thailand.  It was like a homecoming of sorts because that is where I had started 3 weeks before and it felt good to be back.   Our new guide – I call him Skippy because that’s what his parents  should have named him if they were thinking – understood when I told him that I would not follow him, I would be cycling ahead or else there would be no smile on my face like the happy Thai people.  He ended up deciding to cycle with me for a bit and it was hysterical because he would cycle hands free with his arms pumping to the sides like he was dancing on his seat.  To top things off he was wearing a purse and thick gloves.  Oh Skippy.

We finished up the ride and I was so happy to retire my shorts – all three pair.  We went for lunch on the ocean…Jack Johnson was playing, we were eating yummy, super spicy Thai food (I decided I haven’t eaten enough Thai food in my life and I will spend the rest of it trying to make up for this oversight), and I was doing my best to ignore Jane who was sitting in front of me complaining about her bleeding ulcer and the spiciness of the food.   I also attempted to ignore everyone else.

Now we’re at the final Kakkerlak hotel which is in the middle of nowhere Thailand – but at least there is a beach and sun.  I tried walking to the ‘town’ which is one shop full of locals who made fun of my sunburn.   There’s literally nothing to do and I felt ship wrecked with a bunch of randoms.  There are worse things.