As a human being, every now and then an event comes along that will test your physical endurance to the very core. It might be something like the act of giving birth, climbing a mountain, attending a Khmer wedding in Snoul or simply moving house. As a result of the decisions you make and the unforeseen obstacles that arise, sometimes the task at hand can become the stuff of legend. I didn’t have a baby, climb Everest or wrestle with a Westinghouse fridge but I have just been to the gates of hell and back. I went on yet another motorbike ride into the Cambodian provinces with my buddies last weekend and whilst we have done many trips together and covered many miles over all sorts of nasty terrain, this trip was to be like no other. It was to take us to the very edge of our limits both physically, mentally and emotionally and I count ourselves very lucky to have arrived home in
Phnom Penh in one piece. The bikes weren’t so lucky but more on that later.
The plan was to leave very early Saturday morning and ride as far north towards Prey Vihear near the Thai Border as we could, overnight it somewhere and then head across to Stung Treng on Sunday morning, hauling arse back down the tar to Phnom Penh all day Sunday. We knew we were setting ourselves up for a long ride, about 900km return, but as the roads were going to be good and the weather forecast was for dry days…..no problems! With a new rider in our midst (Trevor on his new DRZ 400) we were rolling by 7.30a.m and within a couple of hours we were enjoying some great riding through massive banana plantations and huge mango farms as we headed towards Kampong Thom. The skies were clear and blue and the trails were good, varying from wide dirt roads to single track clay and the DRZ400s were performing well.
Bananas Bananas everywhere !
BBQ Lemur anyone ?
Around midday we said goodbye to Trevor as he had to be back to Phnom Penh (how lucky he was he will never know) and after an awful, forgettable lunch in a roadside restaurant we were soon on a wide dirt road that saw us riding 3 abreast at speeds of up to 110kmh. Nothing like the roar of the combined bikes and the sight of stunned rice farmers watching the Three Horseman of The Apocalypse blast past! We stopped to take photos of all manner of things from BBQ’d lemurs to fields full of WARNING! LANDMINES! signs. I had only ever seen the famous red Skull and Crossbones landmine sign on tourist t-shirts and I can tell you, when you are on a road and the land on both sides is dotted with these signs as far as the eye can see, it is quite an amazing feeling. Stating the obvious, Jeff says dryly “yeah man…stick on the paths.” The base of the Cardamom Mountains rose to the west and as the skies darkened and the lightening started to crack we arrived in the provincial capital of Prey Vihear province, Tbang Mean Chey. After 350km and 9 hours, the hot shower and cold beers were a welcome treat and I was soon out like a light.
Don't stray off the track or...BOOM !
Beautiful countryside with Cardamom Mts to the left of picture
After some noodles for breakfast, the hydration packs were refilled, the bikes were checked over and fuelled up and we headed out of town to find the road to Stung Treng. We soon came across a river crossing with the obligatory small wooden boat acting as a ferry and whilst we waited for the boat to come back from the other side, I spoke with some locals in Khmer. They told me “yes, this IS the 110km long road to Stung Treng but it is in appalling condition…in fact you are all mad for wanting to ride over it as there is a much easier road you can take”. As they all look at us like we are demented, I relay the info to my riding partners who speak no Khmer and they leave the decision to me! I have already told them I simply have to be back in Phnom Penh that day as I have some important work starting Monday AND as it is a long trip even on a good road, I just want to get going and get home. So now I have a dilemma. Do I take the easy option and be branded a cop-out forever or do I succumb to peer pressure let machismo (and stupidity) take over and cross the river for the unknown? And here, in essence, did it all go horribly wrong.
That smile is about to get well and truly wiped off.........
We were soon coming of the ferry on the other side of the river and being met by yet more incredulous stares and we traveled a whole 300m before the road turned to a massive quagmire and we had our first little problem. After stopping to check for a way across this nasty 200m wide, lengthy stretch of mud, my bike wouldn’t restart. The Suzuki DRZs are electric start only so we had to unpack the jumper cables and spark start it. No problems….. but then I hit the quagmire, my bike sunk to engine level, I stalled and it happened again. After about a kilometer of mud that even ox carts were struggling with, we were through the mud pit and were pretty tired but this was just the cocktail before the entrée before what would turn about to be a 45 course meal of the toughest biking I have ever done.
And so it began.............
No kickstand required.
To be honest, I am not even sure how to adequately convey how bad the next 10 hours were. We went through swamps the size of Texas, creeks that were waist deep, rice paddies that threatened to swallow you and took many a wrong turn as the road intermittently disintegrated into just cow tracks. Thank god for our GPS units as they were the only things that kept us going in the right direction. Every mud crossing on the big bikes felt like going a round with Mike Tyson as you fought to keep the bike upright and straight and the bamboo forests threatened were treacherous with the risk of impaling at every turn. We came across many single plank bridges that had been hastily erected across swamps for 100cc scooters NOT the 400cc beasts we were riding. Each bike had to be walked across one by one with all hands on the bike, and all feet in the (usually knee-thigh deep) water. One bridge of about 50m took us one hour to get the three bikes over and at the end of it we were all absolutely stuffed. There was another one waiting around the corner. The worst bridges were the log bridges that were 10-20 feet above the creeks with gaps between each log. To walk a bike across these presents a seriously risk. One slip and either your bike is in the drink and irrecoverable or you go with it too and then god only knows what situation you are in and there is no phone reception and no vehicular access out there. I had a small first aid kit but not one that would help with a broken collarbone or leg or worse.
Jeff in the soup.
Brady about to go into the soup.
The whole ride became an exercise in mental and physical survival. As the hours wore on and the body started to scream in pain, all we could do was keep going with small breaks for water and a rest. The searing heat overhead and the scorching engines between our legs sapped our bodily fluids and we all soon sucked our 3 litre hydration packs dry but funnily enough I never got hungry because I was just dealing with too many other woes. On occasion we would snap at each other out of sheer exhaustion and stress but the anger would pass in a moment and we were all a team again as the next hurdle presented itself. The cramps started to hit every part of my body from my neck, my back, my biceps, my inner thighs, my thumbs and my toes. I was simply, in the worst physical state I could ever remember. I could hear my body demanding “why are you doing this to me?” and I wanted to say sorry but my mouth was crusted with mud and sweat.
Hmm...over the treacherous bridge or through the creek ?
Jeff ...still trying to decide.
As we limped into a small village on reserve fuel and below reserve physical energy, I was sure I was going to vomit into my helmet and I tore off my top, grabbed a 10 pack of water bottles and proceeded to drink half of them and pour the other half over my head and body. I had to lie down and as I did, the family who owned the little store could sense our pain and kept watering us down and fanning us with towels. They even let us wash under their house from their huge tub of cold rain water. Whilst Jeff and Brady had a smoke and refueled, I was in meltdown and it was only after about an hour that I could move again. We paid our bill and gave the family a nice tip for being so kind to us and I asked the son how far Stung Treng was and what the road was like.”70kms and the road is really good”. Lying little sod. The final 70+ kms destroyed me. I was using every opportunity to stay off the seat as my bum was now numb and my eyesight was playing tricks on me. Was that a shadow or a puddle? I hated all things motor biking and all things Cambodia and I just wanted out.
We finally arrived in Stung Treng at 6pm after a shitty Mekong River crossing that saw us having to load our bikes into a boat that was ill equipped for them. We had to wrestle them on and then off at the other side and when the lady asked us for $3 per bike she got a mouthful from all of us. Before we could relax we had to wash the now unrecognisable bikes at a wash station. There was mud in every nook and cranny and the terrain had taken its toll. Both Jeff and I had no front brakes left, my rear wheel bearings were shot and Jeff’s rear brakes were also spent. The rotors on all bikes were spent. Luckily the boys are mechanics and had tools and some spares but the prognosis for the bikes was still not good - especially seeing as we still had 7 hours riding the next day to get back to Phnom Penh. I called my work and explained I could not get back and we then found a hotel and showered. I ordered a beef curry to my room and after an hour of waiting for it I went downstairs only to be told the kitchen had shut. **** !!! I found Jeff and Brady at a restaurant close by, we ate and then collapsed into bed in complete an utter disarray. Total trip time; 10.5 hours. Actual Riding Time; 6 hours .Average speed; 10km/h
Running repairs. Stung Treng. Sunday. 7a.m.
The next day we got up early and made running repairs to the bikes and due to a combination of physical exhaustion and not being sure if the bikes would even make it, we then made an executive team decision to truck bodies and bikes back to the big smoke! I went down to the market to try and organise a truck but there were none available so we mounted up tenderly and hit the road yet again. As we hit the Tarmac, the smooth road was a welcome relief after the previous days riding and I roared off at 100kmh enjoying the cool breeze. Eventually I realised that the guys weren’t me so I doubled back some 4 km to the big intersection that takes you either back to Stung Treng or up to Rattanakiri and there was still no sign of them. Jeff had made a comment about going back via Rattanakiri but I figured it was a joke as we had all ridden that way together a year ago. Maybe he wasn’t joking? I took of up the road for 5km or so and as the mud got worse and with a bike that was limping, I started to feel sick to my stomach. WHERE ARE YOU GUYS ?? I doubled back to the intersection and started of for Phnom Penh and there in the distance I saw them.
As it turns out, they not travelled 10 minutes before Jeff’s bike completely blew up and Brady was now peg-pushing Jeff at 70kmh. Not only extremely dangerous but physically exhausting and I just could not believe how this trip was going from bad to worse to terrible to disastrous. Where is my thesaurus!? I told the guys I would ride ahead and try and find a truck and I eventually found a guy with the perfect vehicle for us. After negotiating a fee of $50 for the 100km to Kratie (a windfall for the trucky), we soon had Jeff’s bike loaded and were on our way. Arriving safely, we flopped into the chairs of a guesthouse, ordered lunch and some cold beers and within minutes had organised a mini-bus to take us back to
Phnom Penh for $140. I did not think there was anyway they would get the huge bikes onto the roof but as we sat back and watched, the local lads went to work and 30 minutes later we were on the road.
Just outside Stung Treng.Sunday.8a.m
I told you the bikes were heavy ! Kratie. Sunday.12p.m.
Ok...let's get the hell out of here !
The trip back was just unreal after all we had been through. Finally something was going our. We had stipulated that there were to be no other people in the bus and no other cargo and it was like going back in a Rolls Royce. I stripped and got into some shorts to get comfortable for the 5 hour trip and with a full length seat and my mP3 player soothing my soul, it wasn’t long before I was fast asleep. I woke up some 3 hours later near Kampong Cham and the last 2 hours were spent gazing out the wide open windows watching the Cambodian countryside roll by. It was actually a really nice ride because we got to see a lot of stuff you miss when you are on a bike and concentrating hard on the road ahead.
We arrived back in Phnom Penh around 6pm and had to beg the driver to take us over the Japanese Bridge. He was worried about the cops stopping his bus with all the bikes on but I politely and very firmly told him if he did not go over the bridge, he did not get paid. We limped back to the Adventure Moto shop with Brady again peg-pushing Jeff through Phnom Penh’s peak hour traffic and me riding forward shotgun with my horn blaring and my hand waving madly to stave off cars and trucks and 20 minutes later we were sitting at the pub with a cold draft beer. It felt so good to be home. As we sipped our beers, the guys told me that the ride had been every bit as hard as the Cardamom Mountains and they know of only one Khmer guy who had tried that Tbang Mean Chey – Stung Treng road in the wet season – and he had failed and turned around. If this ride was as hard as all that then I had really achieved something to be proud of. Sure, we had broken bikes but there were no broken bodies and that’s the one thing we strive for – that everyone comes come home safely.
The ride further cemented the Adventure Moto team’s strong bond and put yet another notch on our ever growing list of amazing rides. To be honest, I don’t want to get on a bike again for some time. I have a wife at home and a baby coming an I feel like for the time being I have done enough and pushed my riding skills and physical abilities to their limits. One thing I know for sure…next time the guys tell me a decision is my call…I will call it!
Stewart
Mariam
Humphrey and Maduranga
Dj Dan
Darren's little girl..Tvey
Vicheka,Leakhana, Aya.
Ang
