[editor's note: what follows are Erica's contemplations on the nature of mountain biking in Thailand]
However, after six days of kicking ass, yesterday, Thailand kicked our ass. Big time.
It started over breakfast the day before. I had pulled all the biking-related brochures to plan our next day trip. The conversation was as follows:
Me: want to go mountain biking tomorrow? We can go in the national park and even do a hike there first. You love national parks, Dave!
Dave: I don't care. It may be nice to just do an easier bike trip on roads. But whatever you want. [Dave returns to eating his Thai omelette which is just eggs over rice]
Me: nah, let's do this "hike and bike" trip. It looks awesome. Plus, I really like mountain biking.
Here's where I must stop the reader. I do like mountain biking and I am very good at it. However, this was when I was 12 at Jewish sleep away camp. I was so good that I passed the test to go on an off-site bike trip. And I crushed it. I was the best little Jewish camp bike rider there ever was.
However, cutting your mountain biking teeth in Asheville, North Carolina at the age of 12 amongst pre-teen, awkward Jewish kids does not prepare you for biking the trails of Southeast Asia when you are 32. (This is foreshadowing).
ON OUR WAY [erica's posts have subheadings --ed.]
The next morning we departed for our adventure. First we picked up a motley crew of people who clearly did not have the training or skill set I possessed for the art of mountain biking. One French guy in a Wu-Tang tank top only brought a half-full bottle of water and nothing else. What a chump. We had TWO full bottles of water, snacks bought from one of the 3 million 7-11s here and a backpack. (Another thing I learned at Jewish sleep away camp is to never run out of snacks. Ever).
So we all get deposited at the cycling center where we get our helmets and just wait around. The Thai do not appreciate timeliness. Then they split us into groups "regular riders go to this car. Hike and bike to that car." Wu-tang Frenchie does not join us. Only two other couples amongst the masses join us, in fact. This is when I realize I have made a mistake. A huge mistake.
The first couple is a nice Norwegian man and wife who are both built like they have spent their whole lives running and skiing through the snow covered mountains outside of Oslo, subsiding only on fish and the occasional salad. Which, coincidentally, they have. In fact, our Nordic friend said he dislikes heli-skiing because he enjoys the climb to the tops of mountains too much. The climb with all his skiing gear. In the snow. To the top of the mountains that most everyone does not want to climb (hence the use of a helicopter).
The second couple was no better. They were a ridiculously fit duo from Singapore. The wife had recently returned from a month cross country ski trip across the entire country of Greenland. But not to worry, she hasn't been training too hard since then. Only running--and by the looks of her legs, a lot of "only running".
But our group is friendly and they don't seem to be judging our level of athleticism in the same way I am judging them. I make a joke about Frozen and the Norwegians are nice enough to laugh. I then ask them if Santa brings children presents in shoes. They look perplexed. Looking back, I think I was confusing Norway with the Netherlands. Or maybe France. I don't know. [it was the Netherlands -ed.]
THE HIKE AND BIKE BEGINS
We start on what the guides tell us will be a 10km hike. Dave uses an app that tells us it will be about 6 miles. I know it's supposed to be mostly uphill, but hiking is just walking, and I'm really good at walking. Not to mention we did a 16 mile hike in August in Yellowstone. 6 miles? No. Big. Deal.
Finally we get to a beautiful waterfall and take a photo break (not that we need a break since we are kicking butt).
We begin our ascent, starting with an almost vertical climb up that once-idyllic waterfall. Legs get tired, trees are grabbed as makeshift ladders, feet slip, and the Singaporeans and Norwegians begin to get smaller and smaller. Our hike consists of the following pattern: walk, climb, stop for water, tell the worried guide we are okay, talk about hitting the gym hard when back in NYC, gather energy and repeat. Every so often our foreign teammates will stop and wait for us--which is nice in a very patronizing, humiliating way. Walking up to them panting and covered in sweat makes me feel like in some way I am giving credence to whatever stereotypes they have about lazy Americans. Sorry for that America.
We then ate some cool noodle/pork soup in a H'mong village.
MOUNTAIN BIKING
We gear up for the biking section. My time to shine! We put on our helmets, knee pads and elbow pads. No ones pads stay velcroed because the equipment is about as shitty as it could possible be. No problem though. I just remind Dave to keep his butt back and his feet parallel--things I learned back in the mountains if NC--so he doesn't fall. There was no formal training on the bikes, so good thing I was there to help Dave out.
And then we start. The road is uneven, rocky and so steep that rocks kicked up by bikes fly down the mountain with great speed. I am scared. I was not prepared for this. I squeeze my brakes as much as I can without having my bike flip forward. This is nothing like Jewish sleep away camp.
We stop for a quick lesson. "pump your breaks" says our guide "if not the rubber burns." And the rubber was burning--you could smell it. Me and the other girls all expressed our fear, but then we were off again. I don't think they were as scared as they had said.
And then I had my first fall. I was going pretty slow, since I was fighting my hardest not to give into gravity and let the mountain zoom me downhill. That's when Dave started getting scared too--not for himself, but for me. And he was right to be fearful.
We press on, but I fall again. A lot harder. The nice Singaporean man removes my bike off of me. I got a cool scratch. I say a lot of not cool phrases, mostly beginning with "fuck" and ending with "I hate this."
The rest of the ride goes a bit like this: Dave asks me if I'm okay. I reprimand Dave for talking to me. Too scared to talk. I fall a little. Dave checks on me. Dave asks if I want to walk. I say no waking! I want this to be over and get back on the bike. Then things get steeper and I start to walk. More curse words. Rinse and repeat.
At one point I took my water out of Dave's bag to rinse out my shoulder wound. I forget to zip up the backpack all the way. Two minutes later--crash! This time it's Dave. He is covered in both mountain bike and water bottles. The water bottles fell out of the backpack and caused him to get off balance and fall. Great. Now I am not only going to kill myself on this mountain, but I'm taking Dave with me. [this hurt a lot. -ed.]
Finally, we see a truck. In what was the guide's best English he says to me "safety first" and motions to the car. I crack a quick joke that I want to keep going, but everyone knows that is a lie. "Halfway" the guide exclaims and we hi five. The guide breathes a sigh of relief that he won't loose (probably another) biker this week. We get in the car. I am carrying a big piece of humble pie on my lap.
On the way back to the lake to meet those who actually finish the ride, we see the Singaporean lady. She wants to quit too! as she gets in the car I tell her how much better I feel that she quit too. She and Dave both give me odd looks. Dave whispers that she is not the Singaporean lady and was doing a different trail. Further disgrace to America.
We made it to a pretty lake and hung out there for awhile.
We head home and Dave and I fall asleep and sleep through dinner--and the night. What a great wedding diet!
[nice post, Erica! Very loquacious. -ed.]
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