Lets keep this one brief. Half of today’s distance took three quarters of the time due the road’s unrelenting, wrist and arm shattering ‘design’. The other half was lovely.
- I finally got sun burnt today.
- I dropped my bike on Johnny’s already damaged family jewels, right before we set off this morning. Sorry about that.
- I sort of feel I should point out that they do have real roads over here (in at least some of the places) – it’s just that we can’t go on them. The highways aren’t a good place for a team of cyclists, regardless of how good their matching kit looks. The overturned lorry we saw on the way to the start point this morning underlined this again.
- Bamboo train part 2: We got on one at the second attempt. It’s a bamboo platform big enough for 5 people to sit, placed on some rollercoaster style wheels, on a track where not one of the sections properly aligns properly, being powered by a two stroke engine with the throttle mechanism quite simply involving the driver pulling the engine back to increase the tension on the drive belt. Brilliant! Built by the French colonials, the Bamboo Train is about to be decommissioned, so we’re among the last to ride it. I’m glad we did.
- A quick note about money. It’s a dual currency system over here. US Dollars and Cambodian Riels – no coins at all.
- An overdue shout out – To Mr John Mills. To be frank, John’s made a right example of himself this trip. He’s travelling through what has to a man of simple tastes, at times proven hostile culinary territory. As the only person on the trip to have past 20 whilst I was being born, whilst having also misplaced anything resembling regular physical exercise somewhere in a smoke filled back room of a South London boozer before Thatcher was ousted, he’s quietly fighting a mind over matter battle each day that puts my whinging to shame. It’s fair to say that if there was a Yellow Jersey on this trip, John probably wouldn’t be being measured up for it, but there isn’t one anyway as that’s not what it’s about. John has been the embodiment of a tenacious spirit. What’s more, in a glorious ‘up yours’ to us whipper snappers in support bandages and elastoplasts, he’s not picked up more than a slight graze the whole time. John Mills, I salute you.
Stats:
Blood spill: ZERO
Fall count: ZERO
Hello, hello’s: Back at a dull roar.
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