Monsoon offroad

The crickets are churping in the grass around and I am finishing off another Angkor lager. As it seems I am not leaving here today, nor am I leaving early tomorrow.

After returning from the super rough 100 kilometer offroad with just a few little scratches from branches and bushes I managed to crash properly the day after going to a 30 kilomteer away waterfall: It started raining quite heavily and rapidly and after 5 minute long safe ride on the muddy dirtroad I am suddenly on my back with the bike twisted under me. Without a warning or at least a decent slide! Just the fall. We, my lady company and I, were going quite slowly so it was almost like landing on a matrace except for the few bruises and a scratched knee. Mr. Minsk ended up with more damage however and I had to spend the second half of today sorting out the bent front suspension. A lot of bending and hammering. However frantically I tried though I failed to finish before the light was completetly gone - taking apart the whole front wheel steering column is a pain in the arse and takes forever to put back together, especially when it is the first time you're doing it.

So I have to finish off tomorrow morning and push up north through some expected rough terrain, especially after the rains of the prevuious days, since I am out of visa three days already.

I had better go - it's pitch black and I have two kilometers to cover to my little countryside lodge. Mr. Minsk is left behind at the moto service shop so it's gonna be only me and the odd stray dog.

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However hard I try fixing Mr. Minsk always takes longer then expected! And thus I'm staying put for another night after another looong day of bending, hammering, tightening and cursing. What good I managed to do during yesterday afternoon I undone in the last half hour of twilight. So I had to start all over again in the morning. But now I can say with confidence that I can fix a thoroughly bent front suspension.

My fourth day without visa is almost through and I'm only hoping that it didn't rain much in the north since I'd like to cover a lot of ground tomorrow. Starting early with no excuses will hopefully see me all the way through the rough bits. The somewhat confident plan is camping by the allegedly beautiful volcanic lake 200 kilometers away. (There is 200 kilometers and there is 200 kilometers!)

But lets have a few drinks first! Hey, bartender, old boy, get me a white russian, please!

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Shit, a massive monsson rain just came on!

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I'm getting up with the sun and by half past seven am already in town getting a quick breakfast, a pitch black coffee, stocking up on supplies in case the 'shit goes down' and filling up my tank to the fullest. By eight I am taking on the road to Kok Niek, a 100 kilometers of fairly decent dirt surface which shouldn't take more then two and a half hours to cover. Unfortunately, yes you guessed correctly, it takes me almost twice as long - the monsoon rain didn't spare it and being super concious about bikes stability from the fall two days ago I am forced to take it rather slow.

Spending almost two whole days in maintanance would normally mean no bike problems at all but since the nut on the drive sprocket is completely shot I have to stop on several occasions after loosing the drive on my back wheel. Few days ago I also found out that another nut on the transmission side is permanently welded on to the axel. What can I say... never let a mechanic near a bike they don't know.

When I finally make it to Kok Niek I stop at the local service shop and give the nut a good banging to make it a nice ellipse shape - it is a pretty brute force approach but as one mechanic in Malaysia put it, if you have no choice you have no choice (good use of English on that one)!

I've been feeling a bit weird all morning, not really being able to put a finger on it the first two hours until it finally strikes me that I am anxious and a bit freightened of driving. Going 'into the wild' in the clear state of mind is one thing but doing it after a crash is another. Also I had this merry dream of getting bitten by not one but two snakes, swelling up like a pumpkin and being left to die in the jungle all alone. Well, if that wouldn't depress you now what would!

I stop by a little eatery filled with locals watching a muai tai match but this time I don't stick around. I buy a bottle of water and ask for directions. The shop owner points in one direction and shakes his head. That way all flooded. He points to another road and says 'Bad, bad road. You need a guide.' I was thinking myself to get a guide since the stories suggest a really tough ox-cart track with lots of opportunities to get lost and when one of the lads offers himself to take me through the rough 40 kilometers for what seems to be a mere 10$ I do not hesitate and agree. I am really in no state to undertake it on my own and it is already half past one. 

All agreed we we take off into the wilderness, me and the two gents, my guides, sharing a moto.

After two kilometers on a good road westwards we cross onto a narrow trail north. It keeps zig-zagging around but it is otherwise fairly straightforward and relatively fast. As we continue so for another 15 minutes, crossing a few smaller puddles I am beginning to regret taking the guys with me. It is always a different experience doing it on your own. But what is done is done so I focus on the road and chase after my guides who managed to take off ahead. Not another fifteen minutes later the trail roughens and gets crossed by many other ones. Whenever we get 'lost' my guides don't bother retracing their steps but rather confidently take it across a forest or a rice field. It's almost unbelievable what Honda scooters are capable of - the guys seem to have no problem getting through any terrain, they don't even seem to have second thoughts.

And so we continue 'straight' on with a few cigarette breaks. At a few occasions when I stop to take a photo I am said to hurry up. A storm seems to be lurking on the horizon but looks to be quite far west for me to be really bothered. That is at least until we make a sharp turn west and the onset of rain seems now to be imment.

And so it is. An hour into the journey it suddenly gets dark and the rain comes on with all force. I stop to cover my luggage with an improvised rainproof sheet that is actually a torn bag used to transport corn and sugar and is not waterproof at all... But you go with what you've got.

In about fifteen minutes such an immense amount of water falls down that the track turns into a stream. As we head up a tiny little slope all the water comes rushing down and what was riding a while ago feels like water skiing now.

It takes another ten minutes for the surface of the road to turn to a complete slush. It takes all the effort of the arms and legs to keep the bike from tilting over. We slow down radically and I am now permanently settled in the first gear. My shoes are thoroughly soaked, the scab on my right knee nicely dissolved yet it keeps raining. When we cross a little settlement I glance to the right to see a family watching this masochistic procession.

At this point there is so much water everywhere that I cannot see the bottom of the then-trail and keep a good lookout on which path my guides are taking. When the bike ahead seems to struggle the guy on the back jumps down and pushes the moto out. It looks like they're used to it. I rev the hell out of the engine and manage to get out on my own.

And so we push on for another twenty minutes when the rain seems to be settling down a bit. It does not make any difference though since the damage's been done. The soil is soaked, or rather dissolved but still most of the water remains. A little straight ahead was transformed into a somewhat elongenated mini-lake but having no other option we push through. My engine dies out occasionaly and I keep watching my exhaust pipe being above the water level before attempting to start it again. At a few occasions I have to dismount and give it a good push to get it high enough to start and continue. I am truly impressed at having no problems at starting up - especially after the drowning incident from a week ago.

The land seems to be barely moving around us as we struggle in what is now a strolling tempo for the elderly. 

A long while later when the rain almost subsides and I feel my arms and the muscles on my thighs I never though existed burning we make another stop. The guides try to press on since they are planning to return back the same day. To me that seems insane since it will clearly be a deep night by then but then again, I'm not a hearty Cambodian. To reimburse my spirit I casually ask how far till the destination and when I'm told we're just about half way I'm lost for words. Well, except for 'Fucking hell!'. We've been at this for three hours already. And a good part of the journey was in the dry!

Before it started raining we crossed two rather shallow streams, not deeper then half a meter, at least in its shallowest crossing point. Now we arrive to another one measuring not more then five meters across but with depth upto my waist - I jump off and get into the water with the guides to find the shallowest route across. Just ten inches under the waist is the best we can find. Plenty high to submerge the scooter completely and leaving only the handlebars above the water on my Minsk.

The guides look at me and suggest we turn around. No way my friend! It is true I lost my gear pedal a minute ago - it just finally gave up the struggle and fell off together with the bit that was welded (not so) permanently onto the gear shifting axel. But we couldn't be more commited at this point being more then a half way in (from my point of view of course). And I still have the first gear afterall!

The guide throws me a smile that says he knew pretty well it wouldn't fly by. And so we lift the bikes one by one and struggle across the quickish stream with them half submerged. I've been cheering for the decision to get a guide for a while now and at this point I see the money spent as the best money spent in my year of traveling! (Otherwise I'd be forced to 'drown' it and then spent a good two hours cleaning and drying (drycleaning?!). The bikes start no problemo and with no applause we mount and continue in our travail, still most of the time half submerged. 

Only when it begins to get dark the water level drops and I can now see the bottom most of the time. The occassional 'dry' patches where we are totally out of water become more frequent and by the time the twilight sets on the 'dry' land prevails.

It is however getting more slippery, not sure whether due to the quality of the top soil or the fact that water was actually helping the tire's grip. Not much point in deliberating however since there is still loads of ground to cover and there is no option of camping out since my guides set out only in their shirts and jeans. (It makes me smile.) I gave up my jacket a while ago in favor of the other driver since he was visibly shaking from the cold and shared all my food supplies as well. It is actually refreshingly fresh riding only in my tee since that rain has calmed down. It is tropical climate afterall.

At this point my clutch starts complaining about all the mud and when I am forced to use it to prevent the engine from stalling it gets stuck and needs a kick or two into the engaging mechanism near my right food. In the pitch black it is quite a hit-and-miss effort and I keep (unintenionally) revving the engine with no power on the wheels waking up the whole forest.

It is indeed pitch black and with no end in sight. My guides push on as if it wasn't dark at all and I loose them on several occasions when I get stuck in deep mud and cannot get the clutch to disengage. My efforts at explaining that my light is pretty shit and they should slow down when I'm falling behind are met with empty faces whatever pictograms I draw in the air. Bollocks! And so I struggle on my own. At one point I choose the totally wrong route and end up loosing both of my shoes just before stalling in a knee deep water. Bollocks! I dismount and turn the bike around with whatever force that's left in my arms and after a three minute struggle get it out onto a dry patch just as one of the guys comes back. 'Now you tell me!' I mutter out loud when he points onto a little trail just right to my one.

I meet up with the other bike and ask for time out. A little applied brute force on the front light and I can now finally see. Unfortunately only everything to my right but it is progress afterall!

It seems like we've been at it for eterniity when I finally spot a light emerging from the forest. It is a tiny little thing but produces enough power for me to make out the outlines of a house. And there follows another one and another one. When we stop on a crossroad I am hoping that the lads have decided to stay for the night afterall but they are just lost for directions. What seems to me just a lucky guess we take the right turn and emerge onto what is clearly a rice field. The path continues on but is so flooded that the rice field option seems a much better idea.

That is at least until we are commited to it and keep sliding all over the place. The surface feels like an ice skating ring and I can't skate for shit. One of the guys is helping pushing the first bike through and they struggle enough to leave me to my own fate. I keep drawing half circles to the right and to the left while revving the hell out of the engine. The few attempts at clearing the glued clutch did not work and I all my efforts are now reduced to blindly kicking the right engine casing and pushing the bike forward with whatever force I can muster. When one of the guys comes back I am three quarters through and he helps me through the remaining bit. Seeing me pulling the throttle with no result makes him laugh out loud and I cannot but join. It actually makes me proud what my beloved Mr. Minsk is willing to undertake. (Little petrol and oil later sorts it all out!)

When my engine stalls again I can clearly hear music from the direction we're heading. That cannot be bad news! All the more eager we slide the rest of the way into a village.

When we make a stop at a local kiosk I cannot help but ask how far more and when I am told the Sre Pok river, the end of the rough bits, is only two kilometers away I am enthralled!

It is about eight now and I feel we've had enough. To cross the river we'd need to hire a ferry and my clutch has suffered so much punishment that I am quite concerned about its state. I refuse to go on and explain to the guys that I'd like to stay put here for the night. They insist on sleeping at home so I agree that they're duty was fullfilled and cut them loose.

It's time to settle the accounts, it wouldn't go without a drink so I buy three beers at the shop, and when I draw 15$ dollars out of my wallet with a little pride at the generosity of the tip I am surprised when they expect more.

'What do you mean more?' He draws four fingers out of his fist which can only suggest the forty thousand riel (10$) we agreed upon. Unless...

Yes, it is 40$. Forty bloody dollars for, well, quite a few hours of struggling but nevertheless. Forty bloody dollars! In the next ten minutes we establish the fact that the translation has been lost through the old man back at the restaurant who translated his forty dollars into my forty thousand riel. So there is nothing left to do now but to reach a compromise. Well, not much of a compromise since I end up paying him 32 dollars leaving only the last tenner for myself for the fuel to Bang Lung where I should find the next ATM. I think it is more then fair considering the misunderstanding - it is almost a months wages of the poorest people (not much of a comparison I know) and the fuel there and back wouldn't have cost him more then six dollars. Plus I would have never agreed to such price in the first place. He is still not happy but when in the next ten minutes I keep shaking my shoulders saying there is simply no money left he reluctantly gets up and heads for his bike. I see them off and as we say our goodbyes there seem to be no hard feelings.

Mad people, they are actually heading back in the dark.

Once they disappear into the night I walk back to where I parked my bike and continue on to a nearby house on stils. When we arrived a group of people were peeking out of the window to see what is all the commotion about and I can still here them from inside. I knock on the house's support beam since I'm too tired and I guess polite to climb the stairs to get their attention and when a lady puts her head out of the window I smile and ask if I can sleep under their house tonight. She agrees without a moment's hesitation and so I move my bike under the house and set up my bed on an elevated platform at the back. It is too hot to bother with a tent and the bugs are not too many either. 

  I sleep like a baby and wake up with the first light making its way through the nearby trees. I check the contents of my wallet and decide on a coke to wake up a bit. A coffee would be better but I have never seen anyone drinking any in small villages.

After a half an hour of bike maintanance where I clean and oil the clutch mechanism and after a few failed attempts at kick starting the bike I am finally waving my hosts goodbye and head off for the remaining few kilometers to the Sre Pok river.

Before leaving the village I find myself stopped by a good seven meter long and three meter wide puddle, not being able to find another route. I explore the best way through on foot getting my shoes stuck in the sticky mud. Finally I choose the western edge and after an intense labor on both my bike's and my part we're finally on the other side where an old man with very feet teeth stands grinning approvingly.

I ask about the best route forward and he draws a semicircle in the air. And so I follow his instructions crossing a little bridge over a small stream and head on north through a forrest. Not fifteen minutes of fairly easy terrain I spot a house in front to the right and a few meters later see the mighty Sre Pok river itself. I made it at last! I park my bike midway on the steep slope down to the river since my breaks are no longer working (the sticky mud again). A teenage boy appears from the house and sets on preparing the ferry consisting of two tiny long boats and an engine tied together with ropes and with a platform on top. After a combined effort we load the bike on and off we go across the muddy river which is supposedly the one depicted in Coppola's Apocalypse Now. 

How marvellous to be crossing the final obstacle! Once on the other side a similar steep slope is waiting and I have to push the bike up in the first gear with the help of the boy. This is it. Once at the top a nice tidy dirt road appears and I follow it sluggishly in the first gear through some lovely lowland country with rice and fields of other crops emerging on both sides. After a kilometer I get tired of the tempo and not expecting any steeper hills I use my wrench to switch the drive into second gear and later the third and follow the road to Lumphat. I spend a few minutes in search of moto service shop and once found I get my gear pedal welded back on and clean and tighten my front break - can't be bothered to do the same for the back wheel. The oil in my gearbox has turned white from all that water and I rinse it with a good litre of petrol. While I leave it to dry I have a little stroll around the river bank and have that coffee I've been craving. Sat down with my feet up - not very polite in the Cambodian culture, but there is no one watching me - I watch the slow pace of the river.

It is still morning as I set on for the final 60 kilometers to Ban Lung, the capital of Rattanakiri province, the last planned stop before getting out of Cambodia and back into Laos.

All photos slideshow.