Here Comes the Avalanche

After the last two months of travel, there is more to write about than ever. From the beginning...of the middle...of where I left off.

From Pai we made our way south to Mai Hong Son, following a route artfully called “The Loop” that’s popular with motorcycle tourists. The first three days of climbing out of Pai had me hanging my body over the front of my bike to keep the front tire from popping up off the road. The hills were steep and relentless and necessary to tackle as early in the morning as possible. We stopped in small towns, waiting out the heat in the afternoon and exploring in the early evenings. By this time we were miles from the Mekong and making our way along the Moie, an unofficial border between Myanmar and Thailand. A day out of Mai Hong Son we ran into the first and only cycle tourist we would meet on the road in Thailand- a jovial, Hawaiian shirt clad Kiwi traveling light with two tiny, half empty panniers. I was green with envy. Because our original plan had us biking through the mountains of Tibet and Nepal through May, we were lugging at least five extra pounds of winter gear, including 3lb zero-degree sleeping bags. The extra weight was particularly insulting as the terrain steepened and the thermometer rose, but ditching the gear wasn’t an option considering the last leg of the trip would take us through the roughest conditions.

Mae Hong Son had a subdued feel to it. The city was tucked in a lush valley and showed all signs of a popular tourist haunt, but the hollow restaurants and quiet strip of shops along the main market implied that the escalating violence in Bangkok was responsible for thinning the herd. The central lake and surrounding temples made up the urban draw. We found a comfortable hotel nestled in an alley off of one of the concentric roads ringing the lakefront and took two days to rest rubbery legs and explore by motor bike. The Mae Surin falls were spectacular. Our waterfall visits had been hit or miss (mostly miss) due to the delay in the monsoon, but this time we lucked out. The falls normally rage, so the dry season is really the only time of year when swimming is possible. We played under the tamer cascades and dove into pool after pool of refreshing, clear, green-blue water. The park was free (as compared to the $10 fees we paid near Loie) and empty. We headed to the hot spring on the other side of town to find it had been captured and held hostage as an expensive day spa, so we skipped it to cruise the countryside and chase after a hard to find canyon. We found underwhelming trickling falls, enveloped in uniquely weathered, spongy rock formations resembling bronze meringue whipped into skyward peaks and slopes. Tanks nearly drained, we headed back to the bikes to find them, and the nearby fence, literally dripping with fluorescent yellow caterpillars. I did my best to shake and sweep them off, but found myself dodging darts of bright mush catapulting from nooks and crannies for a good mile.

From Mae Hong Son we took on a less touristed route and made out way to Mae Sot, a transshipment point and the only open border (for tourists) between Thailand and Myanmar. The road grades between these two cities remain the steepest I have ever cycled…or seen. The combination of steep terrain and rural surrounding meant that we had to maintain high enough mileage to reach food and water by the end of each day. Mae Sariang was a comfortable mid-way stop. We stayed at a family run hotel and the giggly company of two sisters who came to our room toting a costume box and plenty of spunk. It rained with impressive force the morning we planned to head out of town. We had only 40k to go to Mae Ngao National Park, so we risked frying in midday heat and headed out just before noon. The skies were friendly when we left, but the clouds gathered, darkened and burst just 2k from our destination. When we arrived we were told that the park was closed, despite the fact that our Kiwi friend has stayed just a few days before. The park rangers were reluctant to offer up one of the empty bungalows, but apparently our pathetic looks of dejection and our drenched state was enough to win us a huge three bed/two bath bungalow in the end. The power and water had been shut off to the cabins for the season, so our hosts brought us a thermos of hot bathing water and delivered omelets, steamed forest mushrooms, and a pot of rice for dinner. The downpour finally subsided sometime after sunset, promptly followed by a barrage of winged jungle bugs. Thousands of them found their way through the small holes in the window screens and honed in on our headlamps. We sealed off the rooms as best we could, and woke up the next morning to a carpet of carcasses.

Back in India

I have much more to write about my two months in Thailand, but I'm now in India and about to lose internet access for the next 4 to 6 weeks. Here is the general itinerary:

I'll be riding with four friends from Corvallis: Dave, Chris, Danielle and Nyle. Dave is actually "stuck" in Thailand (there are worse things) trying to rectify an infuriating visa problem, but he should join us in a week or two in Keylong. In the mean time, the four of us will take a train to Pathenkot this evening and make our way to Dalhousie and on to Chamba. From Chamba we will take on Sach Pass, one of the highest and most scenic in India. This section should be the most challenging of the trip, so of course I look forward to it...the most. After surviving the pass we will ride along the Manali-Leh highway to Leh, taking side trips along the way. An excursion through the Nubra Valley should be a major highlight with views of the two highest ranges in the world, the Karakoram and the Himalaya. I hyperventilate just thinking about it (the spectacle and the thin air). The plan is to take a bus from Leh to Srinagar to avoid biking the highly militarized area. We'll finish the trip with few days on a house boat in Srinagar in early August before flying back to Delhi and heading off to the next adventure. I promise too much detail and lots of pictures in August! Til then:)

So Much Catching Up!

I have fallen way off the blog wagon. Way off. I'll attempt to breeze through the last month or so without killing off the best bits and pieces with haste. We stayed in Chiang Mai for four days- our longest stint anywhere since Vang Vieng. We took to the hills with unloaded bikes and made the most of our location at the foothills of Doi Inthanon National Park, climbing to the peak at Doi Pio and heading back toward town through lychee orchards. The mtn riding made evident the need to get the bikes tuned. We found a bike magician at Jackie's Bikes who replaced Dave's pedals, crank, chain and cassette and made some much needed realignments to both rigs for an amazing bargain.
Chiang Mai proper was a moted grid of western bars and bakeries bespeckled with towering wats and gilded statues of the Buddha. The constant rush of traffic was best avoided by ducking into the sois (back alleys) that crisscross the patchwork. I managed to find the tastiest and cheapest crop of mangoes at a stray stand down such an alley. If mangoes could dream, they would dream of tasting as good as these mangoes. Good golly. I spent a fair amount of my stay gorging on sticky fruit, machine cleaning my entire wardrobe (twice), gawking at the cost of used books, wrinkling my nose at the Starbucks, McDonald's, and 7-11s on every block (except to dash in and bask in the frigid AC...I'm weak), and reading up on the intensifying battle in Bangkok. By the time we left CM the army had overrun the Red Shirt barricades with tanks, shot a leader in the head (mid interview) and arrested hordes of others. Aside from a red flagged barricade on a street corner and smashed ATMs and telephone booths the day after the government's siege, we didn't see a hint of unrest or hear any concern from locals. A curfew was imposed the morning we left town, so we left at ten minutes after it lifted and left without a hitch.
We made our way to Pai in one 135k push. It wasn't planned or necessarily desired, but we made due after finding little accommodation and no vacancies. The first 50k out of the city were mellow. We found ourselves beginning the ascent just before noon with a very fortunate blanket of clouds protecting us from the mid-day heat. The grade was sustained but relatively mellow. A few showers kept things cool and a jovial band of firemen let us fill up our water bottles mid-way to the summit. From the top we refueld with fried rice and watched with mixed awe and concern at Dave's calf muscles twitching with fatigue. The ride down was seriously steep, windy and hot, but it shot us 8k from town. We limped directly to a guesthouse on the river and passed out.

No Rain to Fend

The heat was intense right off the bat. We rolled out of the border town of Nong Khai well before sunrise and made our way along the scenic highway paralleling the Mekong. The early start was key to making the 105k trip to Chiang Khan before the sun started to sizzle. Laos was a 200 meter stone throw across the river from us for the first three days of riding, but what a difference those 200 meters made. Glorious Laos is not at all like its shiny sassy neighbor. On the Lao side of the Mekong the banks were populated by kids with spears running around in nothing but their Fruit of the Looms and belted fish baskets. As soon as we crossed the bridge the banks were lined with well lit, concrete tiled esplanades and fancy river side restaurants. Thailand can clearly afford its aesthetic. Evidence of the very well established tourist industry was immediate in Nong Khai- map kiosks, menus (and in English), flowers in the highway medians. We passed into a whole new world. A hot new world (I know I already said that). The rains haven't come to relieve the heat. Sancho Z (the rig) has been outfitted with homemade water bottle/zip tie fenders in anticipation of the coming rainy season, but there is not yet any rain to fend off.

From Nong Khai we headed west 105k to Chiang Khan. We rolled along on smooth flat road catching glimpses of the withered river and the uncommonly exposed sand bars and rock formations. The region is no stranger to water scarcity it seems, the banana and pineapple plantations we passed by were dotted with 500 gallon rainwater catchment urns, which eventually became popular fixtures next to homes along the route as well. We rode on to Loei and spent a few days to rest and explore. We caught an early bus to Phu Kradung National Park, paid a hefty entrance fee (clearly well used, the grounds were immaculate) and spent the day hiking up the mountain and circumambulating the plateau. We strolled along the cliff edges for great views until the trail veered off through savannah and crisscrossed a crystal clear stream. We had enough time to play in the water and find one of the many seasonal waterfalls before turning back in time to catch the last bus back to town. From Loei we pedalled on to Phitsanluok through the small town of Dan Sai. We managed to get a quick fly by tour of Dan Sai's famous wat by a visiting nun. The grounds were gorgeous and our hostess incredibly gracious given our dusky arrival. The gardens were in full bloom and lined with precise topiaries. The polished granite walkway wound along a cluster of ornate temples and monastic compounds dripping with traditional decadence.
We spent less than a day in Phitsanluok. The only train with a cargo car for bike transport left in the evening, so we waited it out. The cheapest hotel in town was catty corner to the train station, so our stuff stayed stashed during the heat of the day while we found refuge at a mall. Sacrilegious I know. The building was mercifully air conditioned and sported a whole floor dedicated to whimsy. We killed time playing ping-pong and reading through the Bangkok Post to catch up on the heating Red/Yellow Shirt battle in the city.

Leaving Laos

After waiting out two national holidays we had two 60 day Thai visas in hand. The up side of the holiday delays was the calm that fell over the city, making the transition from the tranquil and traffic-free rural riding a little easier. The owner of the only western bike shop in the country was off racing in Bangkok for all but the last two days we had in Laos. Dave was able to get a new set of pedals and have his crank re-threaded in the final hours of our stay. We rode over the Friendship Bridge and into Thailand without a hitch and began our ride along the Mekong.

We biked on from Poukoun to Kasi, a mid-way stop on our way to Vang Vieng. The route climbed to a high point overlooking another totally unbelievable karst landscape-lobes of weathered limestone pinnacles oddly jutting and drooping in all directions. We descended into the valley below and rode parallel to what turned out to be a ribbon of limestone that continued for several miles. The views continued to Kasi where we found a small partially built guest house. The owner spoke French and told me all about his time in the military, his contempt for violence, and his contentment with recent retirement. Strangely enough it was the first personal conversation I had with a local outside the usual exchanges of personal details, travel plans, etc. It had everything to do with his comfort with the language I'm sure.

Vang Vieng was a giant playground. We stayed for a week in a bungalow on the edge of the Nam Song. It was easy to avoid the dodgy downtown area we were well warned about- the stories of Friends playing on a continuous loop and hopped up young'ns roaming the streets and walking in not-so straight lines were all true. We ended up spending all of our time poking around the giant limestone massif and the 20 or so square kilometers of "playground" surrounding it that was a convenient ankle deep river-wade away. There were caves aplenty to explore- enormous caverns with shimmering walls and formations falling from the walls like dripping wax, and slender tubular caves that required exhalations and carefully engineered bodily contortions to explore. Despite my raging claustrophobia, one of the best cave trips led down to a pitch black swimming hole accessible by rickety wire ladder. The more picturesque places to cool off were the unbelievably blue lagoons equipped with rope swings and tree branch jumps. We hiked, biked, caved and swam are hearts out, which solidly brands Vang Vieng as a cherished spot. My kind of paradise!

Dave's bike continues to die a slow death. He broke a pedal while attempting to ride on to Vientiane. We delayed a day and found a 15 Kip set of replacement pedals at the market. Unfortunately they stripped his crank and left us on the side of the road a few miles out of town. Luckily we waited only ten minutes before a direct bus to VT came rambling along and picked us up. Our bikes were strapped to the roof for no extra charge and five hours later we were in the capital in search of the Thai embassy.

The ride out of Luang Prabang was epic. The climb was tough, but we started out during the cooler morning hours and managed to beat the worst of the heat. As it turned out the relentless climb we previewed was not just 15k, but actually continued on for closer to 60k. The skyward route allowed sweeping views of the hills and valleys of the Luang Prabang province and forgave slightly by cooling as we climbed. Two gallons of water and a few hours of ridge climbing later we arrived in Kietachamba. We immediately dove face first into well earned bowls of fried noodles, eggs and veggies. The next morning we rode off for Poukoun and Phonsavan to see the Plain of Jars. Phonsavan was another of my favorite stops. The city is at elevation and surrounded by rolling, green, pine covered hills. It reminded me of home a bit- breezy, beautiful, territory ripe for adventure. Ironically, this province was the most heavily bombed during the Secret War with only slivers of land cleared of UXOs (unexploded ordinances...bombs). The Plain or Jars is actually three different areas where ancient stone urns are clustered. The sites were only recently cleared of UXOs and opened to tourism, implying that there are likely others that are currently off limits. Though there is some speculation about the purpose of the jars, the locals believe that they were used to as burial sites where the dead were laid to rest until the bones could be collected and disposed of according to tradition. The jars themselves are pretty unbelievable. The stone used to construct them can't be found anywhere near the province, and even the smallest jars weigh at least half a ton. Despite weathering, simple carvings can still be deciphered from the sides of the urns and their lids. Battle remnants were visible at two of the sites caught in the crossfire. Trenches, enormous bomb craters, and bullet riddled jars are clear enough evidence, though it seems so unlikely while standing on a lush hilltop under peaceful blue skies dangling puffy white clouds. That's the tragedy of Phonsavan in a nutshell. All that meets the eye is serene, breezy, beautiful. Unfortunately, due to carpet bombing of the area (not on the short list of things that make me proud to be an American), there are literally millions of unexploded bombs lurking in the forests and under potentially valuable farm land. This effectively paralyzes locals from making a living and nips any DIY adventure in the bud in an area ripe for the best kind of exploration.

We made it back to our riverside perch after all. The return ferry ride was perfectly timed for sunset views of the valley, giving a back-lit glow to the sharp cones of karst looming overhead. Most of the villages lining this section of the river are simple secluded fishing villages only accessible by boat. We passed by during village bathing hour and caught glimpses of families soaping up along the shoreline with waves and smiles. The following day brought epic thunder storms. I woke up early and watched the sunrise behind the thunder and lightening from my hammock. The rain cleared the air, so for the first time since arriving in Laos we could finally see our surroundings in their fully glory. Incredible. It was like wiping thick dust off of a lens- it all finally came in crystal clear. We spent the morning exploring and taking pictures, then set off for the main highway junction at Pak Mong under a very dark and rain pregnant sky. We spent the night at a truck stop style guest house with an oh so avoidable bathroom and hit the road for Luang Prabang before the sun came up the next morning (thanks to a very persistent and loud rooster that crowed 2 feet from our room).

We sped to LP on mostly flat road and spent the next several days hopping back on the bikes and taking short trips to check out the sights. The Tad Se waterfall is supposed to be one of the major draws. We got ourselves unnecessarily lost trying to find it, paid for a boat ride and an entry fee, and ended up at a waterless pit. It's the height of the dry season. Laughable but majorly disappointing after seeing the pictures of the turquoise-hued, multi-tiered falls. Plus, by overshooting the turn to the falls we ended up surmounting a relentless 15k climb and were in serious need of cooling off. We felt persistent enough to follow road signs up a windy dirt road to a second set of falls (also dry)...so the cooling off plan didn't pan out very well, but we did get a chance to preview our ride out of town (HILLS!) and had a laughable adventure.

Most of Luang Prabang sits on a peninsula at the convergence of the Mekong and Khan rivers. The entire town is designated a UNESCO World Heritage site for the well preserved architecture, wats and French architectural accents. The highlights for me were the live music, standing on the bank of the wide Mekong and losing sight of my toes in the mud of its murky waters, and watching the sunset over the river from the top of Mt Phusi. Our guest house was a family run venture complete with a baby bassinet swinging from the rafters in the communal living room. The acrobatic bed belonged to "Meu Meu" (onomatopoeia for kitty cat) the barely walking toddler who probably has more international fans than anyone else I've met.

I had one major goal to accomplish before leaving LP and that was to find "rodent on a stick." We've seen dried and skewered squirrel?? at bus stops and roadside markets since arriving in Laos, but it hasn't looked quite....hmmm fresh or free of flies. I should probably be grossed out by the fact that the head and teeth are intact on the BBQed tidbits, but it mostly just intrigues me all the more. Ok, I admit that I initially thought I was seeing sizzled rat and was a lot less tempted, but I met a Lao speaker from Orange County (yep) and he set me straight. The meat market stalls in LP had all manner of ingenious fly swatter- jerry rigged stick/bag/fan combos- so I figured it would be my least sketchy chance at it. No dice. Turns out most foreigners prefer more recognizable meat varieties like fish and chicken. There was no fillet o' squirrel in sight, so I settled for a chicken thigh and a skewered patty of sticky rice instead. Disappointed for the time being, but no less determined.

It was in LP that we decided to scrap previous plans to bike in China. We had thrown together a plan to replace the Lhasa to Kathmandu trip by riding through Yunnan and Szechuan to redeem as much of the Tibetan Plateau bike experience as we could. With the mounting costs, the increasingly complicated logistics, and the recommendations of Thai touring coming from acquaintances, we concocted a new plan to continue south. My brother is living in Phuket for a few months, so if all goes as planned we will ride along the Myanmar border, bypass Bangkok (yikes), and roll up to his door by early June.