[Note, 2017: Hi! I'm going to start posting random bits of writing on this site. They will be mostly text, fewer photos, and unrelated to the textile topics that are current on my main website. Hope you enjoy reading. - TH]
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| Mekong River, seen from Luang Prabang (photos are not from the ride , btw) |
While in Luang Prabang, helping with
a textile conservation project at Ock Pop Tok, I've had the use of one of their
town bikes. A basic one-gear affair, this bicycle is best suited to cruising
through the flat streets of Luang Prabang proper, where even the cars rarely
exceed 15 miles per hour. When trying to ride in a way I consider fun, i.e.,
slightly fast, I find the pedals spinning fruitlessly, and occasionally hear a
disturbing clacking noise from the drive train. So I knew if I wanted to do a
real ride here, I'd need to rent a proper bike with gears. Given the condition
of many of the roads in Laos, mountain bikes are the most practical, and
various types are available for rent, including some labeled Giant and Trek (whether these are in fact
Giant or Trek bikes is another matter.)
I'm working 9-5, five days a week,
so any rental riding has to be on the weekend. I'd been considering the Kuangxi
Waterfall, a destination tuk-tuk drivers are constantly offering, about 30
kilometers outside of town. I visited the waterfall on my first trip to Luang
Prabang three years ago. It was the most beautiful waterfall I'd ever seen:
limpid pools of turquoise green, with smooth white chutes falling in terraced
levels. The day I went, we arrived early and had the pools to ourselves for a
short while, then the best swimming spots filled up with tourists while dozens
of Lao families brought picnics to the forested surroundings.
I remotely checked the route, through my
husband, unable to look up the terrain without my laptop. He described two
major hills on the way there, which are also mentioned in the guidebook. I knew
an 18 mile ride with climbing on a rented mountain bike would be a challenge,
but I considered the reward of the waterfall, and that the trip home would be
"downhill" (cue foreboding music).
Saturday was already hot and sunny
at 8am, but I was eager to try going somewhere, and I have a limited number of
weekends here, so I couldn't resist renting the bike. Once I weaved my way
beyond the excruciatingly slow Luang Prabang traffic of motorcycles, cars, and
pedestrians, it felt great to be on a bike with gears, able to push the pace
and make tracks through the landscape. I passed one guy in Serious Cyclist gear
as I left town, who gave me a thumbs up. The road climbed gradually, past
thinning mechanic and general goods shops, domestic dirt yards with roosters
and children, construction sites and open lots. The dusty town gave way to
agricultural fields and green, green hills. Much of the road was shaded at this
point, and it made for enjoyable riding.
Soon the first big climb began. It
had been described as 400 feet in 2 miles, which I realized is quite similar to
one of the climbs back to our house, up along Discovery Bay. I wished my water
were more accessible: I had to stop in order to get a drink, and I kept waiting
for a patch of shade. Finally there was shade, and the top of the hill, with a
group of French-speaking people on a cycling tour having a break. After some
water, I headed down the hill, passing an overly cautious car and settling into
a section of mostly-flat with rollers. This part reminded me of the
agricultural valleys near Port Townsend, except that the surroundings are
tropical rather than temperate - banana trees rather than Douglas fir.
Riding a bike gives a more intimate
experience of the Lao countryside and the villages one passes through. There is
time to examine the wooden houses, to appreciate the river running alongside,
to wonder at the dramatic, lush mountain ridges. And there's always the
possibility of stopping at will, as when I noticed a proliferation of looms in
a village near the waterfall, and stopped to admire and photograph some work in
progress.
I'd tested the gears on my bike in
town, making sure they were all functional, but once I was out on the road, the
front derailleur turned fickle. Occasionally it would ease the chain onto the
smallest ring, but more often it would get stuck between, and I'd have to shift
back to the second chainring. This, of course, was only discovered in times of
need, and made for some awkward attacks on hills. I count myself lucky that the
gears cooperated on the final approach to the waterfall, which would have been
impossible otherwise.
That last, intense climb snakes up
through a busy village full of children, and it felt as steep as the Basque village I'd watched a cyclist climb as a stunt on YouTube: turn after turn,
going at near walking pace. I kept expecting children to tease or run along
next to me, but thankfully they ignored me. When the road straightened, I
recognized the end, the strip of juice shops and restaurants leading to the
waterfall entrance.
There was nothing on my mind but
getting into the water. I paid the entrance fee, drenched in sweat, prompting
the ticket man to say "Very hot - swimming good!" Entered the park
like a zombie, walking straight past the bear rescue center and up to the first
pool of water, which I noticed was muddy brown and churning. Of course. Rainy
season, every river is muddy. The limpid pools are a different time of year,
but no matter, I was going in that water. Changing room, bathing suit, and in I
went, the water bracing and refreshing, despite its muddiness. Absolutely no
one else was swimming, which made me a bit of a spectacle, but I didn't care.
The cool water pulsing against my back was the opposite sensation to my long,
hot climb, the antidote.
Return trip: at one o'clock in the
afternoon, the heat was fierce. The road collected and magnified heat, and each
little patch of shade felt drastically cool by comparison, a quick breath of
freshness, instantly dispersed. This road was way hotter than the fresh black
asphalt of Whidbey Island in August, which my father-in-law likened to walking
on coals. This was more like swimming through coals - a complete surrounding of
heat. I looked at the shaded sides of the road longingly, imagining a parked
bicycle and a nap in the shade. But each time I stopped to drink, I found the
cool of the shade deceptive, for as soon as I stood still, the breeze of riding
ceased and the sweat could flow freely. There was nothing for it but to keep
going, even though each minor bump or incline was a slog, and climbing back up
the main hill nearly did me in. I couldn't fathom why I'd forgotten that I
would have to go back over the hill I climbed in the morning. What made me
think the return trip would be easier and mostly downhill?? The only elevation
saved on the way back is the final climb to the falls, which was a distant
memory by the time I was halfway back.
As I neared Luang Prabang, the
kilometer markers by the road counting down: 9,...8,...7, I began fixating on
orange Fanta. I'd tell myself I could stop at the next roadside shack selling
cold drinks. Then I'd pass one, unconvinced. Memories of India made me wary -
whenever we were most desperate for a cold drink, we'd end up at a place
without a working fridge, or they'd have just put the bottles in to cool
recently. Electricity is more reliable here and now than 20 years ago in the
mountains of northern India, but my caution remained. Not to mention my need to
simply keep going, to keep putting kilometers behind me. Every glimpse of
liquid refreshment beckoned, even bottles of water (while I still had water in
my own bottle). I remembered such fantasies from other long rides or tough
indoor classes: promising myself I could drink All The Things as soon as I was
done.
Just when I thought the persistent
inclines would never cease, and would ultimately get the best of me, I came to
the sweeping view of the bending river, with Luang Prabang spreading beneath
Phusi hill's golden pagoda. Still five kilometers away, but below me now - the
way was at last downhill.
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| View of Luang Prabang at sunset - I wish I had a photo of the view described above, but no. |
As I re-entered town and the shops
and traffic thickened, I pulled up short next to a small, shady shop/house with
big, promising fridges full of soda. Chose and downed an orange Mirinda, while
huffing and dripping in the nice people's little space. A small boy was
summoned, who greeted me "Sabai Dee!" with hands together. Then he
surprised me with "How are you!" in the same tone, with the same
gesture. Otherwise, I was pleasantly ignored and left to drink and sweat and
sit in their doorway. I appreciate the Lao acceptance of foreigners with our
strange ways, the tendency to let us be - a contrast to the staring and
questioning in India.
Fortified, I rolled on into Luang
Prabang, fully finished with being on that bike. Even taking it back to the
rental place later was painful. I'd learned how much difference a small thing
like the height of the handlebars can make. Not to mention the fickle gears!
Next weekend I'll have to choose a different bike. Also learned that if it
seems too hot to ride at 8am, it probably is.
