Looking up,uP,UP

With the course over, we asked Brecht if we could stay an extra day or so to catch up with our own computer work.  The morning after we had scheduled with our friend John, of Wild Rose Yoga, to visit their new business venture, a house boat yoga/relaxation retreat on Mae Ngat Reservoir in the middle of Sri Lanna National Park.  Leaving late, we pedaled hard to our destination only 20 kilometers away, with the last one being straight up the dam.  However, when we got to the spot that John had pointed out on the map all that was there was a spillway structure, with the boat launch visible on the other side of the mile long damn.  He called moments after our arrival confirming our concern.  Hopping two locked gates and avoiding paying the parks entry fee, we found John eating breakfast in a lakeside restaurant, waiting for the boatmen and other guests.

Once the carload arrived, we boarded the longtail boat with our fried rice lunch in tow  (in five layers of packaging as usual).   Unlike our normal conceptions of outboard motors, these boats look more like a car engine mounted to a 3-D pivot with a long protruding shaft coming off the back with a proportionally small propeller on the end.  After just a few hallow coughs the engined roared and we were off.  Passing many other houseboats, some guest houses, and modest fishing shacks we continued to one of the far more remote coves of the lake.

Swelling in front of us  was an immense bamboo structure with sweeping rooflines emulating those of Buddist temples.  This is what the men are working on and is to be their breezy yoga studio that will serve as a center piece of their floating oasis.  Once on board things began two slow down.  The men fired up the generator and got to work.  The two french women began tinkering with the various potted plants.  Lauren and I gazed and wandered.  At one point John invited me to the top of the new structure and so we pulled ourselves up amongst the bamboo, some of it scafolding some of it structure, gently feeling for the stiffness of each member before giving it our full weight. Bamboo is an amazing building material, flexible but stiff and lends itself to beautifully elegant lines.

Once down we spent the rest of the afternoon sitting, reading, swimming and generally relaxing. Work continued till about 5:00 and we rode the boat back into the sunset. By the time that we got to our bikes it was getting dark and we prepared to travel by our wits and head lights. Previous to this I found a route back that would be about half the distance compared to how we arrived. However, road conditions were unknown and this lead us through spillways with water of unknown depths and dirt roads with no other lights than our own. The waters turned out to be easily fordable and our lights plenty bright to return us safely to our permaculture paradise.

We planned to spend one more day at Panya writing and applying for future jobs, but with plenty of distractions and more time needed than originally anticipated this quickly turned into two. Everyday Brecht would prod us on to stay another. We would always reply by saying that we love it here, but it is time to go.

Finally, noon on the fourth day after the course, we were able to break ourselves away after performing our first water test at Panya. It was sad, but the road ahead was calling us and it was time to go. The day was incredibly hot, and we immediately felt the fact that we had not ridden significantly in over two weeks time. Every rise felt like a mountain pass, and sweat came out of every pore depositing salt all over our skin. After a mere 20 kilometers we had to stop and get some food and a cold drink. It was a little disheartening to feel so out of shape, something that we hadn't really experienced in the last four and a half months time. After a total of 50 km we decided that we needed to stop, so we settled on a town whose only accomodation was a small temple.

 I approached the only monk around, who was helping an unmasked welder with some construction, and handed him a pre-translated letter requesting a place to stay. The monk was all smiles and showed us to the reception hall where we were to sleep. So for the first time in about a month or so, we inflated our sleeping mats and prepared for bed.

 The next morning we made a valiant effort to get out early and beat the sun--before it beat on us. Unfortunately, the sun was unbeatable and the heat was felt through the entire day. Eventually, we made it nearly 50 km to Phrao. Here we ate lunch, and printed our newely translated water questions at a coffee shop. It was then that I asked Lauren if she was interested in visiting the Cal Poly EWB project in a village to our east. She agreed that it was a good idea, and I proceded to try and figure out exactly where it was. After browsing the documents that had been forwarded to me by the previous club president, I found a phone number of a NGO representative in Thailand.

 I gave it a call. A young girl answered and I asked for Joni, she said that Joni was actually "Johnny," her father, and he was at church in Chiang Mai for the next hour. I left a message with her and waited for the return call. When an hour passed, I decided to call again, this time Joni answered. I explained who we were and that we were interested in visiting the Cal Poly project. I tried to explain where we were and that we intended to cycle there. "Motor bikes?" he replied and I said, "No pedal bicycles." Shocked, he said that we were indeed brave and were in for an adventure. I would not understand the magnitude of this statement for about 16 hours. Over the phone he tried to explain the landmarks that we would pass before we would reach the town of Mae Tam, where we should call him again and he would have our arrival to the village all planned out. I thanked him and we were on our way towards the mountains.

I guess they aren't called a hill tribe village for nothing. About two kilometers out of town, I decided that my tires were too low pressure to climb the mountain ahead, so I paused to air up all of our tires for maximum hill climbing efficiency. The grind began, first modestly then suddenly with a consistent, what seemed to be 10% or greater grade. This would be the first times on our trip so far that I would visit gear one. Before long I realized that my front tire was actually losing air. Based on Joni's phone description I figured that the call point couldn't be to far away and I decided to nurse the tire instead of repairing.

 Once I had done this about two or three times, it became apparent that there was nothing but up ahead of us. I caught up with Lauren, who was stopped and chatting with a Norwegian man on a motor scooter. It was indeed time to repair the dang flat. Deploying the kickstand and removing the front bags in haste, I listened to the Norwegian gentleman warn Lauren about the drug smuggling activity in the area ahead. While I was getting a whiff of the rubber cement for the patch, the stranger told us his own story of buying a tainted soda, then getting busted by the police on his way home. Patched, gassed, and re-packed we thanked him for the advice and continued the grind.

Up and up and up, it seemed to go on forever at a thigh burning incline. As dusk was approaching, we came across a small village and decided that we better give Joni a call, as we were hours later than he had estimated and still no sign of the fabled Mae Tam. When he answered the phone, I explained that we had just passed the town of Sam Li, and we had been climbing for hours. There was a pause on the other line... "Oh" he said, sounding a bit surprised, "I thought that you were coming from a different direction." Apparently the mountain that we had nearly crested was not in the route that he had described over the phone. He told us to keep going and that he would call the head man of a local village to meet us and give us a place to stay for the night before continuing on.

 "Does that sound alright?" Joni inquired.

 I informed him that I could not think of a better idea, and we continued to grind. About 20 minutes later a truck passed us and a man on a cell phone wearing some awesome green velvet pants got out. As we approached he held out the phone saying only, "Joni." I caught my breath took hold and answered, "Hello." Joni gave me the run down and we followed the head man, Sam, back down the hill to the village that we had passed half an hour earlier. It ended in a sharp 25% upgrade before arriving at Sam's house.

 It was a beautiful traditional style stilted teek house, and we dropped our bags in the large, and sparcely furnished common room. Once we were set up we were called to "Gin cow," which simply means eat rice. The kitchen/eating house had a beautiful porch overlooking the valley below. Sam's wife had made us dinner, but we ate alone as Sam watched. We thought this as good a time as ever to hand Sam our water and sanitation questionnaire. He looked it up and down, nodding occasionally, before handing it back to us. It was unclear whether he could read it or didn't understand that we would like hime to fill it out. So we finished our meal without anymore prodding.

Afterward Sam led us down past the community church, which was Christian, to a view point near another house. Two curious young women peered out from behind the door before coming out and joining us. They pointed out the faraway lights of the cities that we had passed through earlier in the day. When we were comfortable with each other's company we decided to let the young women give our questionaire a try. They accepted and filled out the form by porch light with much giggling. This would be our first water survey, bringing some small sense of accomplishment.

 We headed back towards the house and found that our separate sleeping accommodations had been set up in the main room in our absence. We brushed our teeth, and I performed a water test before drifting off to sleep. The next morning we awoke to a chorus of roosters and other exotic birds, time was skewed as this house, like many others in Thailand, does not have actual glass windows, but rather shutters, shrouding us from the morning's light. Before we knew it it was time to "gin cow" once more and scurried over to breakfast.

Once again we ate alone. As I took my last bite Sam's wife instructed me with some waving and hand signaling that Sam wanted me to take a phone call from Joni. I walked to the only corner of the yard that got reception and I received my days instructions. Sam would drive us up the ridge to a rendezvous point where we would be met with a man on a motorcycle who would lead us to Huai Nam Khun, the location of the Cal Poly Projects. When the signal cut out, promptly ending the phone call, Sam signaled that it was time to leave.

We gathered up our things and threw them in the bed of the pickup truck. The tailgate slammed and we crawled into unfamiliar territory, the seat of a car. Again we went up past the place we had been met the night before and kept going. At the ridge-line we made a hard left onto a concrete road up further still. One turn later the road conditions degraded significantly into a heavily rutted dirt road, hardly passable by two vehicles. We were beginning to wonder if we would need the biking outfits we were now wearing at all.

Coming into an area cleared for agriculture and inhabitation, we approached a makeshift gas station in the center of a new village, far from anywhere at a fork in the "road."  Sam exited the vehicle, and we quickly followed suit and began to unload the truck and load up our bikes. Sam called Joni again signaling me over to talk.

Joni told me that we would follow the gentleman on the motorcycle to Huai Nam Kuhn, stopping at his village approximately halfway for a lunch that was being repaired. I asked if we needed to pay Sam anything to compensate for gas, food or general hospitality. "No," replied "accept the hospitality, you are about to enter really beautiful country." I accepted, handed back the phone and thanked Sam profusely with "Kop kuhn kup" for all of his generosity. He nodded re-entered his truck still wearing those epic velour pants, and drove off in the direction from which we came.

We threw our legs over our bikes, our guide offered to carry some of our weight, stoically we refused and followed him up through the village. Immediately the road was yet again steeper than anything else that we had encountered. Up up UP then in half a kilometer we turned into a school yard. Confused we dismounted in the swarms of small school children dressed in their uniforms. We were approached by the headmaster and the school's English teacher from across the yard. They greeted us and told us the brief history of the school, a royal project. We showed them our questionnaire and they gathered some pupils and whisked us into an administrative office.

 The young girls sat down pensively, and looked the sheet over. As an example we showed them the one from the night before and they began to scribble away. The whole time another hip, and oddly out of place, individual snapped photos of us and some other children brought us coffee and cake. This entire affair was a bit strange, but we were glad to finally have some opportunities to find out how people deal with water and sanitation in extremely rural areas. In parting, the headmaster told us that there were three "quite difficult" sections in the 18 km ahead. We shrugged it off, how much worse could it get. Leaving the school yard we were greeted by more, you guessed it, UP. Pausing briefly at an overlook of the town, the guide took our picture, while we could still muster a smile.

Ups, despite disbelief, just kept getting steeper and more rutted. Before much time had passed we were pushing our bikes up the steeper more rutted hillsides. Our guide got in the habit of riding to the top of a steep section, then sauntering down the hill to help Lauren push her bike up to the next plateau. Down hill sections also became increasingly impassable, and Lauren with her less treaded tires often had to walk as I rode down the short steeps. It took us 3 hours to get the 10 km to our lunch time destination.

 This village was about as remote as I have ever seen and will probably never be visible on any map. It might have had 20 or so inhabitants, not including the chickens and pigs. However, aide had reached this location as well, and there was a beautiful adobe daycare center filled with naked babes lining up for their showers. Upon inquiry I was told that it was built by a Canadian, and resided just below the community's Christian church. When we entered the dimly lit cooking house of our guide, he offered us water from the tap, I was skeptical, but Lauren just drank it up. I proceded to use the Steri-pen to ensure its safety.

After lunch we asked our guide and his friend if they could fill out one of our water surveys as well.  They worked on it together and I prepared to perform yet another water test, which would determine whether or not Lauren's gulp would prove potentially hazardous.

Embarking on our last 8 km, we again headed up, stopping briefly to investigate the village's storage/sedimentation tank on the hill above.  The road just kept getting worse and seemed to go up for ever.  Eventually we were amongst pine trees and a flowering poinsetta, a strange sight.  The last kilometer was all down, but too rutty for Lauren to confidently ride with her heavy load.  So she not only got to walk up the hills, but now she got to walk down--bummer.  As the mountains shadow cast over us the village finally came into view.  Our feeling finally went from that of punishment to exhilaration, we had finally made it.

We weaved through town to the dormitory where the head man, Mudi, of the Huai Nam Kuhn Village, resided.  Again I was handed the phone to talk to Joni.  I told him that we could not have been happier to have made it in one piece and thanked him for arranging the wild journey that we will now carry with us for the rest of our lives.  I hung up and immediately inquired about a shower, something so simple as this has rarely felt so good.

That evening we once again had dinner prepared for us.  We sat and spoke to Mudi about our plans and asked if he could show us some of the Cal Poly drinking water projects in the morning.  He agreed but said that first he had to see the children off to school before he would be ready at 9:30.  This was music to these two weary travelers' ears, and on that note we slipped off to bed.

The children woke with the roosters at 5:00, and due to our rooms proximity to the wash/ prep area, our morning was not that restful.  We managed to keep our eyes shut till 7, before going out for breakfast.  Carefully placed next to our seats was a diagram of the Cal Poly slow sand filter system, with an accommodation price list on the back.  Included on the list was the 300 baht/day cost for a guide.  Mudi informed us that our guide had called him saying that we didn't pay--oops!  We felt like such jerks for misinterpreting Joni's previous statement.  At 9 we packed a backpack and headed out following Mudi to the first of the 4 projects that we would visit that day.  After only a few hundred feet it became apparent that Mudi had poor eyesight and the going would be resultantly slow.

We spent the day peering in tanks, looking at piping, and talking to locals and system operators.  When the dust settled 2 of the 3 systems that were to be operating were not and the third had a leak at the inlet that threatened its operation.  The forth system at the school had long since been replaced by a government installed reverse osmosis system, and was completely overgrown.  The Cal Poly EWB team had been at the sight in June and are scheduled to return again in December.  I sent them a damage report and intend to document my findings and impressions on our developing Thirsty Cyclists web page.

The next morning we headed down the hill towards Chiang Rai.  It was another steep and rutted road, alternating between concrete and dirt for 15 or so.  We were thankful to be going down instead of up, riding instead of pushing, and to have good brakes.  At the bottom we never would have guessed how excited we would be to see flat road.  Lunch was enjoyed while watching Thai coverage of the US presidential elections.  What a(n electoral) landslide!  We motored down the remaining 70 km to Chiang Rai, stopping only for a coconut outside of town.  Once again we felt in shape.

The Guide

Body Aches and More Thai Hospitality

As we left Ayutthaya, Brant's body began to ache with the sad sad signs of inevitable sickness. Feeling weak, we decided to move a few miles at a time, pulling over whenever necessary.

We had all the time in the world to make it to Chiang Mai. Our permaculture course just north of Chiang Mai begins on October 17th, so with 17 days to get 450 miles we took it easy. Not to say it was easy for Brant. The sun was scorching, illuminating all of the color and foliage around us, but still powerful and wearing. We passed by herds of cattle and their shepherds and noted that cows here look very very different than cows at home.

We made a pit stop for lunch and Brant ordered sweet and sour soup and sipped on a fresh coconut. That is one thing you can count on here, good healthy food. Good luck finding soup and a vitamin rich coconut on the side of the road in Kansas! But here, a standard roadside stop offers what's good for anyone's tummy and immune system.

Around three in the afternoon we arrived in the small city of Sing Buri. We were told to call Mr. Nhong when we saw the "Money Pub" sign just outside of town. We both crossed our fingers and hoped that we were not expected to go to "Money Pub." But we called and Mr. Nhong said he would be there in minutes. Hot and sweaty, we sat under an  awning across the street waiting for our host.

You never know what to expect when meeting a stranger. But in a few minutes a kind looking middle-aged Thai pulled up on a Surly Long Haul Trucker. His bike was decked out with fenders and larger tires, all of the signs of someone who travels by bicycle. My favorite of his bicycle accoutrements was a cup holder basket zip tied to his handlebars. He tried to give it to me. Believe me I wanted it, but I couldn't bare taking such an awesome accessory. Instead, I pedal looking for roadside basket shops.

We quickly learned that Nhong's English was not fluent, but way way better than Brant and I's Thai. We communicated mostly in English, pulling out our Thai dictionary to help fill in the gaps.

We didn't know if we were going to stay with Mr. Nhong or what to expect, but within minutes he was guiding us to the local Thai  Temple. So that's how it happened, all of the sudden we were staying with monks. Apparently this is a normal occurrence. I had read on cycling blogs that if you ever can't find a place to sleep in South East Asia that the monks will always take you in, and that leaving a donation was all that was expected. Without any effort at all, we were experiencing this Buddhist phenomena.

Nhong spoke to the monks and then we were guided to a large room on the  temple grounds with tile floors, a bathroom, and some air conditioning. We were told that the head monk couldn't see us right away but looked forward to practicing his English and meeting us later. A very friendly monk who spoke fantastic English asked us how long we were staying. When we told him only one night he reassured and prodded us to stay longer. This monk used to work in a hotel in Bangkok, he explained, and that is where he perfected his English.

With the air con on, Mr. Nhong said he would meet us back at our room and take us to a good spot for dinner.

Poor Brant needed some rest and respite from the sun. We rolled out a big rug on the floor, drew the curtains, blew up our trusty old Thermarests, and laid down for a siesta.

We woke up to find that our shoes had been absconded by canines. Many dogs live on temple grounds, and like good old pups, they stole our shoes. Brant walked around the grounds retrieving our goods, laughing at the simplicity of life. Whether you're in Thailand or San Luis Obispo, dogs like shoes, toddlers have tantrums, pregnant women seem magic etc etc. My shoes came back with only a nibble in one of the straps (they have seen worse days).

Mr. Nhong escorted us to a restaurant and did all of the ordering. It was delicious fresh food paired with soup and rice.  Mr. Nhong and I split a beer and Brant nursed his health. But over food and Leo we learned much about our host. He used to be a policeman but quit two years ago. He now sells dried fish at the Sing Buri market, a trade passed down from his wife's side of the family. We learned that he is back in university studying public policy. He explained that many Thais want more money; he said he just wishes he could ride his bicycle around the world, and wants to work in his local government to help nourish his community. Every year, he rides a loop around Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam on his bicycle.

He refused to let us pay for our dinner, and then escorted us back to the temple.

As I lay there trying to sleep, Mr. Nhong stuck in my mind. There is a kindness about him, a peace, that makes you too want to be kind and warm. I felt sad too for some reason, in his struggle to communicate with us he felt so bad that his English wasn't better. But it just made me wish I could speak Thai. Why did he need to know our language? That weighed  a bit heavy. In America, Americans freak out if someone doesn't speak English, and here in Thailand, Thais are expected to speak English for the ease of tourists. It is true that English is spoken by far more people than Thai is, but still, it made me want to give my all to attempting new languages as we travel--whether I sound stupid (because I surely will) or not. I have felt extremely attracted to Thai culture ever since we got here, but speaking with humble Mr. Nhong made me want to learn just a little more Thai everyday.

The next morning we were set to meet our friend at 7 am. We packed up and drew our curtains and were quickly visited by the head monk. He invited us to sit and drink coffee while the monks ate a communal breakfast together. The monks eat every morning together but separately for all other meals. Brant and I  sat as outsiders looking in on a very intimate moment. The monks sang their prayers together before eating, and we sipped Milo and instant coffee. We exchanged Facebook contact with the English speaking monk, and spoke about our trip to the very interested head monk. We went back to our room to meet Nhong, and before we left, the same monk came back with a bag full of food he had purchased for us: three different types of milk (kefir, soy milk, and regular old milk), banana chips, mama noodles, and coffee.

Once again we were overwhelmed by kindness only to be overwhelmed by more kindness. Mr. Nhong greeted us with gifts, little wallets and journals, and then took us to see the central Sing Buri market where his wife was selling the fish they smoked in the wee hours of that very morning. Afterwards, he took us to eat a breakfast of beautiful green curry with eggplant, then to get some meds for Brant's aches, and then to get coffee. We got to experience the infamously cheap prescription drugs sold outside of western countries. Brant told the pharmacist how he felt and three dollars later he was given a set of drugs including antibiotics. He only took the ones for back aches and head aches, saving the antibiotics for a rainy day, but nevertheless it all cost three dollars.

Afterwards, Nhong escorted us down a road that followed the river out of town. These types of roads are Brant and I's favorite to ride. It winded us slowly along the contours of the river bank. We may have seen two cars for seven miles. Houses and people living their daily beautiful lives lined the small road. As we passed many shouted "helloo" at us and we shouted, "Sawadee ka/kruhp," back, which always makes people laugh.

The river was big and strong and brown.

Mr. Nhong wanted us to see a two hundred year old wooden Buddha at a very old wat. This wat was just off the small river road and was a peaceful sight. While we were there, a preschool class of little Thai children made a stop there too. They melted my heart as the said in unison, "Goooood morning" I said my usual "sawadee ka" back and placing my hands together and bowing my heard. They bowed back. Its such a polite culture, even rambunctious three and four year old's have so much respect. The kiddos took off their shoes before singing their prayers under the wooden beams of the old wat. I couldn't take my eyes off of them.

Mr. Nhong taught me the Thai word for children, "dek lék" (I am sure I have the accents wrong).

Just us a few kilometers up, Mr. Nhong left us and we were back on the highway. We thanked him profusely, and he explained that he wished he didn't have to work so he could ride around South East Asia with us. We wished he could too. Experiencing a country with a local is invaluable, but we were so thankful for the glimpse of Mr. Nhong's life and his love of cycling.

Escaping the Chaos

After some debate we had decided to leave Bangkok by bike rather than by train.  This would be described as suicide for some, but after nearly a week of observing the traffic and some reading, it seemed like a safe option (especially when compared to cycling in the states).  While the traffic in Bangkok is thick and the motorists seem to only loosely follow the rules of the road, all road users seem to be given their fare share.  Never would a motorist yell at a cyclist from his passing vehicle to get out of the road, or to use the side walk, or any number of obscenities that we received in the states. They simply pass when it is convenient.  Traffic jams in Bangkok are merely a way of life, and road users are no more bothered by being held up by a bicycle than they would say a bus, or a motor bike, or a woman pushing cart overflowing with wares or anyone else with a right to use the road.  That being said, getting out of the city was by no means easy.

There are several factors contributing to this difficulty, first to be noted is that here in Thailand you drive on the left.  In a car, the steering wheel is conveniently located on the side appropriate for driving in its associated country, positioned in the center of the road.  On a two wheeled vehicle you are not offered this reminder, and on smaller streets with low traffic it is easy to drift to the side of the road that you have been conditioned your whole life to be on. Until of course you are faced with on-coming traffic.  Secondly, road signs are difficult to read, granted in the city the anglicized versions of the street names are provided, but they are clumsily long and only sometimes readily visible.  This fact required us to frequently stop and find our location on the map before casting ourselves off in the right direction again.  Finally, as was mentioned earlier the traffic is dense.  This makes crossing large intersections challenging.

Anyway, long story short, after leaving our hotel at 1 pm, having a late but delicious lunch and slowly braving the streets we were not in line to reach our originally planned destination of Ayuthaya.  As it began to get dark we were passing through more and more rural areas.  Knowing that it might take a little while to find a place to lay our heads we used our broken Thai and phrase book to try and ask a family where we might try to find a place to sleep.  After several verbal attempts and much hand waving the son decided to lead us to a guest house in his truck, and so the wild goose chase began.  We were led to a beautiful rural resort that looked entirely out of our budget, and it was.  With our original guide now gone we asked the attendant if there was something in the area that was a bit cheaper.  They pointed north and said something about wave sport and 3 kilometers.  So we headed down the road a little further until we heard the whine of jet-skis on the river and a sign for the Wave Sport Jet Ski resort.  At the front desk yet another language barrier was reached and once again the accommodations were over budget.  Once the clerk was thoroughly frustrated with us we went off on our own, in the direction not recommended.

Before long the newly paved road turned to dirt and we seemed to be getting further and further away from prospective guest houses.  As we passed through a small village we decided to turn around and ask the locals for directions one more time.  By this time we had resorted to simply waving our hands wildly and making a sleeping motion with our hands and head.  The locals waved back pointing this way then that way to signify the roads that we should go down.  Eventually we were routed back to the road that the Wave Sport folks had originally told us to follow until we hit the main highway that we had been avoiding.  With no guest house in sight I made one last effort to ask at a nearby gas station.  Fortunately my thai greetings, thank yous and bastardized sign language were enough for the employee to point at a visible building about a kilometer away.  Feverishly we headed in the wrong direction down the divided highway, turned right on a smaller road, then following the neon arrows left down an even smaller road towards what now felt like a strip club.  Pulling up we found what appeared to be a nice motor lodge with little curtained cubbies for your cars.  The price was okay so we payed and moved our stuff on in.  As we pulled in the attendant quickly drew the curtains for reasons not yet known.  We changed and went back to the highway in search of street food.

Once again the first place we stopped redirected us across the highway towards the 7-11, of which there are many littering the landscape.  So we U-turned under the overpass, a common way to bypass highways or change direction, and pulled up to a small shack on a tiny street.  Immediately we were welcomed in and seated.  Our hosts were gracious, but spoke no English.  By now we had become accustomed to taking everything that came our way as long as we could communicate that we like spicy food, which had quickly become a priority.  The food was great and before we could thank them they handed us the phone with their daughter on the other line speaking English to us for her parents.  She asked if we wanted anything else and recommended the chicken fried rice, which we were obliged to order and it was delicious.  The daughter said that her parents just wanted to thank us for choosing their shop, and suddenly we felt very at home.  Not paying much for our three course meal we vowed to return in the morning on our way out.  We returned to our cubby and passed out in an air conditioned oasis, exhausted from only 30 or so miles.

We awoke in the morning to our air conditioning unit over freezing and spewing ice onto the ground, it was time to go.  We pulled out of our cubby and said goodbye to our motor lodge and went for breakfast.  Again we were delighted to see our family restaurant and ate a standard issue plate of fried rice.

It was about this time that we received a somewhat frantic facebook message from our friend Natasha who lives in Bangkok.  Apparently our cubbied motor lodge was not as innocent as originally perceived, but in fact a place where Thai men meet their mistresses.  The curtain is intended to hide the vehicle from jealous wives and the promise of 24 hour surveillance is not to protect you from thieves.  Oops, I guess the padded head board should have been a dead giveaway. 

I was starting to feel feverish, so our goal was set to the previous days at Ayutthaya, the old capital city.  Passing by many stilted river houses and small villages the evidence of last years flood was becoming more apparent.  The high water line sometimes reached as much as six feet up the walls of lower lying houses.

We reached the island of Ayutthaya by early afternoon and began the search for a good guest house. In city's, especially those that are well touristed, this is not a problem. Using the travel website Travel Fish we decided on a guest house called Baan Lotus. The only difficulty is that Google maps rarely seems to have the location of things all figured out. But after going up and down the same street several times we were able to locate our stilted teak refuge set back from the main road. The price was right, about $10, the hostess was lovely, and the rooms were simple, clean and comfortable, except that we got two single beds.  Not long after we settled in, a pair of Australian men checked into the adjacent room with a double bed.  We inquired if they would prefer to switch, but they assured us that they preferred a double bed to our chagrin.  We followed the couple, now friends, to a noodle bar and slurped Tom Yum soup while talking about our respective Thailand experiences before anyone had time to get "hangry" from the days travels.  From what they told us we were glad to have missed riding the bus.  The rest of the evening was spent walking amongst the 500-700 year old ruins amongst the elephant riders and decided to stay another day.

On the second day we took the opportunity to ride our bikes without their heavy burden to quickly skirt the city.  about a quarter of the way around the island I spotted an unfamiliar sight, a fully equipped touring bike.  I stopped without informing Lauren and inquired as to  its owner.  A pony tailed Thai man standing nearby said it was his and we immediately hit it off.  Before long he had told us about his  own bike tours in the area and his most recent endeavor from Moscow to London.

Without hesitation he, Mook, told us to follow him to his photography studio to share stories and photos.  He took us to lunch, where he would not let us pay, and for the first time we experienced some unfettered Thai hospitality.

Back at the shop we exchanged Facebook profiles, made mutual connections over another Thai bike tourist Soniak Siraphon whom we had both met on separate occasions, Lauren and I in California and he in Europe.  They provided us with some cheap passport photos so that we might cross borders without interruption.   All of this made us glad that we had decided to stay an extra day.  We said our goodbyes, took parting photos and continued our perusal of the city.

About at the same place that we had encountered Mook earlier in the day we found a sewing shop where I bought a thimble and Lauren found some sharp scissors to enhance our sewing kit.  We passed ruins, plowed down narrow alleyways, found local Thai outdoor markets and sought restrooms at schools, which are always a good bet.  Feeling exhausted we went back to our guest house and I collapsed on the bed beneath our drying clothes and Lauren took a shower.

When I awoke to go to the night market for dinner I found Lauren in the hallway less twelve inches of hair.  Sewing kit eh?  To her credit she also used them to cut the sleeves off of one of her T-shirts. Lighter and cooler we drifted off to the night market for our evening riverside dining experience.

The next morning we packed our bikes while the local kittens played amongst our bags.  I sat outside trying to update my DeLorme InReach while Lauren went out for some Thai iced coffee.  While being distracted, I found that Mook had sent me a Facebook message that his friend in our next destination, Sing Buri, wanted to meet us and provide more hospitality, we of course were obliged.  Before long Mook showed up in person on his road bike to confirm that the message was received.  We thanked him and we were off as well.  On our way out we filled our bottles at a local reverse osmosis booth and swore off rest days until we reached the northern city of Chiang Mai.