Bike riding in the jungle with Ben : DONE.
First, let me rewind. Saturday night was one of the best night’s I’ve had thus far in Bangkok. The international girls, as we affectionately call them, in addition to myself, Ben, Khun Usanee and her husband Khun Sommai, were all invited to a dinner of seafood at Khun Ratana’s house. ((Khun Usanee is the Executive Director at Mercy and Khun Ratana is Father Joe’s right hand woman.))
We sat outside on the upstairs patio, with views of the river and the King’s bridge, eating crab, prawn, shrimp and clams. We drank delicious red wine from oversized glasses and playfully conversed well into the evening. I learned more about Ayutaya, a previous capital of Thailand, and the golden Buddha that is missing its head. Khun Usanee told me about her family's house just two hours south of here and the seafood restaurant they own and run. There’s nothing quite like good friends, good conversation and good food.
Sunday, my phone buzzed around 8am.
“I’ll be over at 9… no wait, make that 8:30.”
Ben and I had discussed crossing something off the bucket list the night before at Khun Ratana’s, but we hadn’t set a time. I lay in bed thinking, “Just 5 more minutes…” but was happy that Ben was ready for an early start. There is no time to waste in this city. I pushed back, asking we stick to 9am, and by 9:15 we were on our way to the port. Hopping in a gondola shaped boat, stripped down to the barebones, we made our way to “the other side of the river”. We threw down 100B ($3.50) for a day’s bicycle rental and we were off.
The other side really is like stepping into a different world. It’s quiet, the air feels cleaner, the streets are smaller and gives way to an exotic, sabai twist on Bangkok life. First we rode through this manmade jungle park; palm trees create a canopy of shade and the paths were wide enough for Ben and I to ride side by side and chat. I felt pretty good about my bike riding skills, since it had been years. I openly admitted to Ben, ((read: foreshadowing)) that the last time I’d ridden a bike was over three years ago in Munich, on a bike tour, and before that, who knows.
As we made our way from the park to the quiet streets, my biking confidence grew, but prematurely. We ventured on, finding the “floating market” which is not quite like the more famous one an hour north of here. Instead of everyone in boats, it was more like a market built along the side of a canal. Some of the restaurants cooked from their boats, which were docked alongside the concrete walking path, but most were on land. All of the cooking fumes started to irritate my face and I itched to get back to the bikes and to see more of “the nature”, as the Czechs would say.
“This will be our last little off-roading adventure,” Ben said, as he made his way down this narrow, concrete catwalk, standing eight feet above the swampy jungle waters below. I had ridden on paths like this before, but they had been wider, with a railing on one side - and they still made me nervous.
“Just say yes,” echoed in my head; I have never been one to back down and now was not the time. The night before Ben and I drank clam blood, a little bike ride was nothing to fret over. As Ben led the way I couldn’t help but think, “I have a bad feeling about this.” My body seemed to tense up and fears of falling consumed my thoughts. Talk about a self fulfilling prophecy- as if it all happened in slow-motion, I felt the bike pull to the left. There was nothing to hold on to and in that second I knew I was going over. All I could do was prepare for the drop.
In a flash it was over and I was soaking wet. “Bennnnnnnnnnnnn” I screamed, although I’m sure the sound of splashing water gave me away first.
There I was, still on the bike, sinking into the dark waters. I tried to climb up the embankment, but there was nothing to hold on to and it was clear this was a man made canal. ((Read: drudging)) Ben jumped from the catwalk to the land in an attempt to help me, but fortunately someone else had heard my scream. An older, sinewy man appeared like a mirage, from out of the jungle, with a sword through his belt. He instinctually grabbed my arms and pulled me to safety, as if he were trained to rescue balance-challenged farangs in the jungle. I had no idea if I was hurt, I felt fine, just mortified and pissed that my bag had come in with me. Miraculously my phone survived, but the jury is still out on the camera. Fortunately, for posterities sake, Ben was camera ready once I was out of the water.
The next few minutes felt like a blur; the man rushed to get me a clean bucket of water. He rinsed my arms, which had suffered some cuts and bruises and splashed water over my clay caked shoes. That’s when we noticed the blood gushing from my left foot. Perfect. We rinsed it the best we could and I thanked the man for all is help.
“Ben, can we go home now?” was all I could manage as I slowly walked my bike back from where we’d come.
We laughed the entire way home about the complete absurdity of the situation. When I arrived back at Soi 14 I asked the girls to run and get disinfectants for me as I sat in the shower and scrubbed myself clean. The pain was starting to set in and I knew it would only get worse as time went on. The bruises are starting to take shape and my body is slowly reacting to the self-inflicted trauma.
My favorite part about this story is that it can be summed up so beautifully:
Remember that time I flew off the concrete path in the jungle and the man with the sword came to my rescue?
Ben, we better stay friends forever, because you’re going to be the only person I can ever truly say that to. Here’s to fears, friends, and men with swords.
Pictures compliments of Ben's phone. ((If I can salvage the card from my camera I will have the more beautiful pictures of our day pre-crash.))
The path in the jungle.
And the scene of the crash.
My savior with his bucket of fresh water. Feeling pretty stupid.
The sword!!! Ben and I didn't notice this until we got home and saw the pictures again.
Like a mirage...
"Ben, I want to go home now..."
Dropping off the bikes, I hoped they wouldn't ask why the bike was soaked and covered in mud and grass...
ABA
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