One of the Trang Cycling Club members had a small 240-person wedding reception on the beach outside of Trang this last Thursday.  Thai people get married on auspicious days that the monks divine.

About 12 members cycled the 25 miles to the wedding and attended in full lycra garb.  We chose to drive the scooter over, like many, and stay less sweaty for the party.  The venue was idyllic and right out of the Thailand tourist resort brochures with pools, white sand beach location and all the amenities tourists clamor for.  If we hadn’t been recently to Myanmar this would have been the most “white” people we’d been around on our travels this year.  Total beach bikini scene right out of the movies. We couldn’t wait to get home and see what tariff was for nightly stays ($200 to $600).  Makes our $6 a night seem paltry.

This couple have been boyfriend and girlfriend for 21 years and finally decided to get married. He’s a distance cyclist who will be riding in the Audax 1200 Paris-Brest-Paris ride this September.  He’s completed his 200, 300, 400 and 600 km rides here in Thailand and now qualifies for the 1200 km.

Only family and very close friends attend the early morning wedding ceremony at their house (monk drops by to consecrate the union) and then they throw a big reception at a hall or resort.  This reception was a sit-down 11-course meal, served on a meter-wide lazy-susan placed in the center of 8′ circular banquet tables, that takes much of the afternoon. We had a great time with our rowdy cycling friends.

Needless to say, most dishes were outstanding, only the final rice platter lacked for flavor.

Interesting to note, you don’t bring a present. Every guest (couple) received an invitation and into that envelope you place your tithing to the couple who come around each table to receive the gift and thank you with a small present (in this case commemorative candles).

Fun to be a part of this event.

In researching the percentage of Chinese demographic in Thailand I learned that it’s over 9 million or 14% of the population and up to 40% of the population can claim some level of ancestral heritage.  No wonder Chinese New Year is such a big deal here in Thailand. It was most apparent when you notice how many businesses are shuttered during the days just before and for the 3 “travel days” after the new year.  Chinese travel to see their parents and relatives generally where they were raised.

Trang’s Chinese New Year is the reason we got waylaid here five years ago, as we didn’t want to be traveling during this very busy internal migration, with buses, trains and hotels packed with locals, coming and going much like the American Thanksgiving holiday period.  So we stayed another week in our Trang hotel and that’s when we got hooked by the Trang Cycling Club and all it’s activities, friendly members and the local community.

It’s such a big deal here in Trang that they cordon off several major streets and intersections for the week with several massive concert stages and  blocks and blocks of food concessions, not to mention of the decorations most visible after dark.

We only enjoyed the melee one night, since the best entertainment tends to be well after our bedtime. The people-watching is even better than seeing families at the shopping centers, if only because they often dress up their youngest children in festive costumes, and to see entire families parading along enjoying various foods and delicacies is wonderful as well.  This year they allocated a 500-meter stretch of matching art show tents to all the Trang hotels and restaurants so that they might feature their cuisines.

Among the displays of Chinese cultural traditions are the food sculptures and banner calligraphy.  They have a large pavilion with as many as 8 old men brushing large gold characters of ancient proverbs on vivid red banners on demand, entirely gratis for the backed-up crowds of souvenir collectors.

Having visited a number of SE Asian weaving sites and villages, this was one of the most remarkable in production and craftsmanship.  Not only did they have the most weavers demonstrating in a single shop, but the variety of materials (silk, cotton and lotus), patterns and techniques were fun to see.

We ended up taking more video than still photos, so we’ll be eager to show the various flying shuttle looms in action.  We have never gotten our flying shuttle on the loom at home to operate as smoothly and effortlessly as on these primitive looms.  (It is alway interesting to see how similar our Swedish Glimakra is to these timeless, rudimentary looms.)  We even took one slow motion video of a man using two alternating shuttles on a flying mechanism, rotating the shuttles with each pick of the weft, quite a feat with the flying shuttles.  He was so quick it was hard to see in real time.

When we entered this 2-story stilted workshop above the Inle Lake waterways, the first thing we were shown the process of extracting yarn from lotus stems.  At a low wooden table ladies were pulling 20″ strands from the stems and rolling with a flat-palm motion to combine the gossamer strands that don’t even show up in a photograph into visible yarn.  Later one lotus scarf jumped into our purchase pile and will be winging its way home to Durango with us, we couldn’t pass up such a unique fabric.

What was so fun was being able to stand over the various weavers’ shoulders on our self-guided tour thru their airy 2nd-floor workroom which had probably 15-20 looms.  Each of these looms was loaded with much longer warps than we usually attempt on our Glimakra; pictured here was one of the grand old ladies measuring a 24-strand multi-colored warp that could have been 40-meters long.  We saw ladies using spinning wheels to load bobbins for weaving the warp; we didn’t see any local spinning of yarn other than rolling the lotus.  The retail shelves were filled with locally handwoven textiles in Inle Lake traditional patterns, Shan district traditional patterns, and other decorative weaves.

In the same village we visited one of the purely tourist-y demonstrations: in the front of that stilted shop were 5 transplanted long-neck indigenous women wearing their coiled golden necklaces.  They had several 8″ and 9″ tall necklaces for demonstration purposes, weighing 8 kilos of coiled metal.  Three ladies were weaving on backstrap looms.  The two older women were clearly live mannequins sitting stoically, employed for photo opportunities for tourists. (See top photo)

Last stop was at the silversmiths  It was most fascinating to see the silver smiths working, one pounding out a 9″ flat disk to be later shaped into a mug-sized bowl, and the other operating his torch.  The fine gassed blowtorch was a foot-powered bellows vaporizing gasoline from a pint-sized antique cylinder.  This particular craftsman was working on very minute silver coils which he was shaping to later cut and form into links for a silver chain necklace or bracelet, or to coil around a piece of jade or other jewel.  In that second-story rickety workshop and sales area they had more silver jewelry inside of wobbly glass showcases than you might see in an American mall jewelry store.  Fun to see the intricate work and craftsmanship but we are more partial to our local silversmith and jeweler Carol Martin.

On a ride last Saturday I got ahead of my group and stumbled across a Southern Thailand traditional dance being performed at a hilltop shrine.  As is common on most “passes” (high points) on mountain roads the Thai people erect elaborate shrines to Buddha.  It’s mandatory to honk when passing and some people stop to leave “tribute” in the form of flower wreathes, soda pop with a straw, burn an incense stick or light a reel of firecrackers.

As I crested the hill I could hear drums and chanting at the shrine, so I dismounted and climbed up to see what was going on at the normally dormant site.  Evidently a family was celebrating or invoking merit by having a troupe perform and lavishing an entire roasted pig to the alter.  Here is just a short clip of this lengthy performance with many different characters.  (appears to take a minute or more to load the buffer).

I could only stay for 15 minutes but got served a cold beverage while I filmed from ringside.  Fascinating slice of life along the road.

We often visit the coast of the Andaman Sea but not very often get out in it. Snorkeling isn’t interesting this close to the mainland, there are no waves this time of year on the west side of the peninsula and mostly we’ve had “years” of beach time. So it was a very different kind of weekend bicycle camping trip for the Club this past Sunday.

We rode, paddled and soaked over the two days for a total change of pace.  Pak Meng which is only 25 miles from Trang has a wide variety of beach opportunities and this time we rented two-person sea kayaks and paddled out to the karst islands and poked our boats in and out of the limestone structures.

It should be pointed out that this was a catered camping trip, with one of the club members bringing all his restaurant pots and dishes, not to mention his cooking skills to provide snacks, meals and refreshment every step of the way.  As Mike Taylor often chides me for, we did eat early and often on this trip, just never set foot in any restaurant or kiosk.

Whether it was tailgate fruit bowls, beach front buffet, 5-course truck-bed entrees or the morning fried eggs, ham, sausage and toast with butter and marmalade, he never ceased to amaze us with the fare.

Our overnight stop was at the Kantang Hot Springs, and believe it or not we just rolled our bikes and gear thru the front gate and set up our tents on the lawn right next to the hot springs or in the pavilion.

These “wells” as the locals call them are all thru a 20-acre park and vary in temperature from one pool so hot that the sign says “Don’t boil eggs” to 105° temps we like for our hot tubs. They even have several private tubs with showers and “mix-your-own” temp faucets.

We took pre-tub soaks and private tub soaks before dinner, and after dinner soaks.  

And of course since ours was a leisurely breakfast buffet on the pavilion tiled floor we took before and after breakfast soaks.

It’s a good thing these rides are always over 100 km because we sure need to work off all the food we consume.

Life goes on between Sundays, which like most folks means a regular routine.  Ours amounts to daily morning rides (Fahsang 60 km starting at 4:30 am for me and Stanna’s “ring ride” at 6:30), catching up on news and communications, study and reading, lunch on the town, shopping for dinner and then a little more “down time” before dinner on the porch and early to bed.

Since the arrival of our Belgian friends we’ve added afternoon tech support lessons (Rik got his first iPad in Trang last year and his first iPhone just before his arrival here – he was a true PC guy before seeing what we do with our mobile devices and wants to learn more than I know) and a movie after dinner (if we eat early enough). Rik comes with about 50 movies loaded on his laptop so we get to see the pick of his litter.

Rik’s biggest tech discovery this week was learning that he could track his missing Apple device (Find My iPhone) from anywhere. Almost every question he asks causes me to dig deeper into iOS which pleases both of us: him for an answer and me for a solution and new feature or technique.

They’re also joining us for Panang Curry and Cashew Chicken at least once a week.  Their main interest, besides relaxing in warmer weather than Europe is combing the beaches for sea shells.  Louisa is quite a collector and even brings a field guide to shells of this region.  Rik has commissioned the restoration of one of the Trang Cycling Club’s road bikes so he can ride and train during his absence from the continent.  At 71 he’s a very strong rider and enjoys the longer rides (100+ km like they do in Belgium) rather than the pre-dawn rides I make 5 days a week.

This week Rik and Louisa visited their favorite “crab lady” on the coast and brought back 12 or more local Andaman Sea crabs.  These guys are really small and getting the meat out is only for the aficionados, however for those willing to make the effort the meat is really tasty.  It’s nice having friends come back to Wassana Guesthouse just like we do each year.

The weeks go zooming by, and we’re almost half-way done with our 4 month hiatus.

Lest you think it’s all reading, studying and eating lately, last week the Trang Cycling Club accepted a Sunday invitation to be guided thru the mountains 20+ miles to the north of Trang.  Thirty-six riders headed out for the adventure in Huai Yot but a mutiny forestalled 2/3rds from following the route.

But before discussing the crazy ill-fated ride, let me describe an interesting prologue to the actual ride.  Our gathering spot for all Sunday rides is the Dugong Fountain and as twelve or more riders gathered and primped each other’s rides, pumping tires and lashing down gear, a group of 4 20-something road bike riders with matching Mickey Mouse jerseys rounded the fountain.  Eyeing our bikes and jerseys, they came round once again and pulled up to the curb in front of the group shouting “come, come let’s take a photo” in English no less.  The Thais, always game for a photo op, lined up with the new riders and it was then that I realized these were Malaysian “boys” who’d come up from the South and were heading back home Sunday morning.

More and more of our group materialized, and now almost 20 strung out for the photo.  Then a black economy sedan pulled up and 4 young women with cameras, who obviously were the wives of the riders, jumped out to take photos or pose themselves.  What was way different for the image was that the four young women were all dressed in modish jeans, tennies and head scarves.  These were Muslim couples from Malaysia, where English is a local second language, training by riding to Trang for the weekend. Biking is an International language.

This year the Club has more older and probably less experienced riders showing up for the Sunday rides: at least 4 older women in their 60’s as well as a handful of men with their ample bellies I’d never believe would don a lycra jersey. So as briefed several weeks before, we don’t set a pace that would discourage anyone from participating. It was a highway shoulder ride to a break point at 20 km and the group gathered up once again before pushing up several rollers the last 10 km into Huai Yot.  There we met up with the local Cycling Club president and learned what was in store (or at least those who speak Thai learned).  Incidentally everyone but me was on a mountain bike, since I didn’t get the memo that this would be a trail ride.  

All was well until we got on a heavily washed-out rubble mountain bike trail where I got a flat.  I should have checked the pressure before leaving the house, normally my 25c Gatorskins at 100 PSI handle everything I hit.  Ended up we took a wrong turn onto this rotten section and returned over the same ground. And then into a never-biked rubber-tree plantation bumping up and over each tree’s roots along the rubber-tree tapper’s trail, where the local leader indicated he’s lost.  Back out to the road and then off again on another dirt track, this one beyond a hillside rubber plantation and into the steep jungle.  I heard “sam lo” and interpreted it to mean “only 3 kilometers”, which ended up pretty accurate.

Only problem was we had to carry our bikes most of that way, hiking up thru the jungle on footpaths only the Thai mountain people use.  Within 100 meters of this venture 2/3rds of the group mutinied and turned back down the slope and we didn’t see them again for 4 hours.

Not believing it could get any worse and that this short 30-minute slippery slog was only an aberration, twelve of us literally “carried on” (bikes over our heads – on a steep slope it’s not possible to hold a bike waist high because the wheels hit the ground in front of you before you can take a step).  Glad to have my road bike for this section.

At the top of the final uphill section I came across a 40′ high male Papaya tree and shortly thereafter found two 20′ female ones overloaded with ripening fruit.  Lashing two six foot sticks together was just long enough to reach 4 of the ripest 16″ papayas, one at a time. Since it was a couple hours past lunch the group enjoyed ravenously devouring the sweet red fruit.  Mr. Yao had to carry a number of the groups’ bikes up the last pitch just to pull the group back together.

Down the mountain was less strenuous but no less treacherous, until we came to another hillside rubber tree shack and it’s mountain-bikeable trail to the paved road.  I’m not quite sure what the point of this guided route was about, obviously they hadn’t checked it out or even thought it out ahead of time.  Nevertheless, if laughing and joking were a criteria for a good time, a good time was had by all.  One stop in town for a very late lunch at the night market being set up fueled us up for the 25-mile home run.

Mileage for the day wasn’t what we normally knock off but it took all day from 8am to 5pm.

Just like the medical school student who studies a new disease then finds those symptoms everywhere she looks, I’ve found the last two books I’ve read are particularly relevant to things I wished I’d known earlier and could apply to current circumstances. Now I must qualify that reading, for me recently, has been audio versions of these books. Nonetheless they still impact me, I just don’t get to underline or make footnotes while I’m riding. (Audible does have a bookmark feature, it just doesn’t seem practical when the iPhone is in an armband or in my jersey.)

Pretty much all my “book” reading in Thailand has been on longer solo rides, like the daily 30km return from my morning Fahsang group ride. Most of my free time in our room here in Trang has been occupied with learning Thai this year. At this point I’m crossing the “see the teapot”, “Grandfather looks for the crab at the shore” [ปู่มาหาปูทะาล] milestone, after slowly advancing from the 44 consonants of their alphabet.  Vowels are coming; there are 15 of those and they manifest as diacritical marks, adding a new dimension to reading. My goal is simply basic conversation, however my Thai friends insist I can’t speak good Thai unless I know the alphabet, vowels and tones, because every “word” has a different meaning depending on the tone or inflection which is only indicated by how it’s spelled (and therefore pronounced).

Total language immersion would be overwhelming and nigh on impossible without the distractions of riding and reading. Not to mention ADL’s of eating, shopping, washing and eating that goes on daily.  I’ve been a avid subscriber to Audible ever since I mistakenly joined to provide entertainment for my Southern Tier Ride with Don Ahlert.  What I hadn’t anticipated on that ride, was it’s too dangerous to draft another bike and listen to audiobooks. It wasn’t until later, while standing watch coming from Honduras to Florida on DejaVu, that I realized how much I would come to enjoy audiobooks.

Audible has a annual high subscription cost of almost $180 a year (12 credits or books), but you then can watch for the bi-annual sales of hundreds of classics and special promotion books at $3.95 apiece.  Yes I know the library has audio books for free, but that system isn’t hassle-free or compatible with the “it just works” mindset I’ve grown accustomed to in the Mac world.  For a guy who probably averaged one or two books every five years for most of his adult life, consuming 20 or 25 books a year is remarkably rewarding (and worth the “catch-up” price).

Silly, but I don’t allow myself fiction unless I’ve earned my way thru 4 or 5 classics or best selling non-fiction.  Trying to catch-up requires discipline.  Right now I’m mid-way thru the next series of non-fiction titles and wanted to share those book names if you’re into suggested reading.

“The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat” by Oliver Sachs was a really interesting look at how the brain works and stories of some classic abnormalities illustrating the brain’s amazing complexities. It’s especially relevant concerning the recent news on how iPod music thearpy is transforming formerly catatonic Nursing Home patients back to various forms of reality, or how tumors affect the brain. Fascinating book.

And Jack Cartier turned me on to his enjoyment of Great Courses, a large series of more than 450 lectures on wide-ranging topics like science, fine arts, history or business to name a few categories. Recently one of the $3.95 books was The Art of Negotiating the Best Deal by Seth Freeman.  I wish I’d heard or read about this one 40 years ago, even though it’s probably less than 5- or 10-year-old material.  Each day after a listening ride, I’ve got some point that’s worth applying or passing on to family or friends.  Like Jack, I’m trying to figure how to pass this lecture series on to others. Here’s a link to just one of his negotiating tips Iforesawit.

Just before these two was an interminable science book, about “purposeful knowledge creation,” I couldn’t stop listening to: The Beginning of Infinity by David Deutsch.  The heaviest book I’ve ever been exposed to and I’m sure I got less than 5% of it’s teaching, (Wikipedia Link) but was really interesting to “listen in” to someone who’s thinking and logic is that smart. I’m due for a lighter book so I’ve selected Michael Pollan’s Cooked.

Stanna is listening too: just finished I, Claudius by Robert Graves, which she had read years ago, and Augustus by Anthony Everitt, re-living both her years of Latin study and her trip to Rome & Pompeii a few years ago to finally see real Roman ruins.  Online books from the Durango Library thru the OverDrive app works for her as well, but sometimes the “return” deadline is problematic.

One of the contributing factors to the day-after “bonk” from my mountain ride was I found that the weekend looseness was the precursor to full-on TongSuea, the Thai word for trots.  Evidently it’s a very common malady affecting lots of people, and as is known, I try and eat everything.  Here are a couple of stories to explain just how common it is:

After self-treating the problem with Charcoal tablets, (the oft and previously recommended “medication” easily obtained  – only differing in dosage amounts depending on who you talk to) for a couple of days to no effect, I visited the pharmacy we’ve used probably once a year since coming to Trang, last time for ibuprofen for my recovering rotator cuff injury.  I’d researched the correct pronunciation of my problem, even though the chief pharmacist and his wife both speak passable English.

I noted with relief when Stanna and I entered the store that no one else was needing service from any of the three clerks, nor the woman pharmacist.  Just as I approached the counter with my Thai phrase, “I have Tongsuea” a little guy burst in with a box for delivery, and in true Thai fashion inserted himself between me and the counter asking to have help with his dilemma. All attention went to the local, as he’s easier to understand and far more interestingly in need, certainly.  Once the initial tumult dissipated, it’s back to me to announce, “I have Tonsuea”, and of course now every one is listening to me and repeats, as if to correct me, and help with the pronunciation in unison, “TONGSUEA”.  Even the little delivery guy chimed in “tongsuea”, so I raised my right arm, half in an effort to hide my reddening face, “Yes I”m the man with Tongsuea”, (in Thai BTW) and everyone had a good laugh.

With that, the man pharmacist came out to join in, asked how long it had been going on, and asked if I were taking Charcoal and if I want an “antibacterial”.  He gave me more charcoal tablets, 10x the dosage that had been recommended by my friends but only twice a day. Within 12 hours I’m sold and now will use the mega-dosage routine if the need arises again.

For the second story, we then went to visit our favorite lunch spot to have BaMeNam (yellow noodle and pork ball soup) at Mr. Wat’s and his wife Mrs. Jellie.  I passed on the ritual soup and went for the white diet of rice and plain boiled chicken, KowManGai. Wat, who is a large boisterous and hyper cycling friend, wondered why I was not eating soup and only half my meal. I should interject here that neither Mr. Wat, his wife nor any of the folks in the quasi-open-air food court speaks English (yes, there is a new girl that can understand and say a few words but never a conversation).

I twisted my fist over my stomach and whisper,ed “Tongsuea”, and Wat clearily understanding shouts, “Tongsuea” laughing either at my pronunciation, predicament or both, knowing him. Now the entire food court, all the vendors & customers, know I’m plagued, and you can see laughing and them wrenching their brows in concern trying to figure how to help.  Thai people are wonderful about helping.

In a effort to forestall all the outpouring of suggestions I ask Stanna to produce the medications we’d just procured.  Mrs. Jellie, Wat’s wife (who’s come over from her stall) tries to decipher the prescription and instructions, reading them in Thai, of course, for everyone.  Nods all around that I’m in good hands, but then there’s the worry I don’t understand, “Nueng tablet, song khrang wan, lang an hahn”.  Which I was told in the pharmacy, and actually is basic enough Thai that even I know when spoken in Thai.

But Wat who knows I don’t yet speak much Thai (he has no English except Happy Birthday), takes on the responsibility of insuring me, and the entire food court, that I know when to take the tablet.  He sits down next to me, slides my half eaten KowManGai over in front of him, takes the tablet packet and gestures with one finger, “nueng tablet”, turns completely around with his back to the table and slaps his back shouting “lang”, and then round again to the plate of food, motioning an eating gesture, “ah Hahn”.  And for clarification he does the pantomime once more.

You can imagine the interest and pleasure everyone felt watching Wat communicate absolutely perfectly that I should take only one tablet after eating twice a day.  I’m loving Thailand and get tears of laughter on a regular basis. Lest anyone’s concerned, we are well taken care of here in Trang.

Riding in large groups (this one 500, The Iron Horse 2,500 or the Denver Post Ride 2,000) always seems daunting and disinteresting until you get caught up in the crowd; everyone smiling, laughing and talking, all classes of bikes (95% mountain bikes) in various states of condition and repair, young and old, costumed and serious lycra. Stanna would have been an average rider in this Rally, had we known, she could have easily kept up with the governor and his minions.

Our group from Trang (36 in all, only 10 “camped” – see previous post) opted not to compete in the Rally, which I later learned was similar to a Poker Rally where a rider, or team in this case, draws a pre-numbered hard-boiled egg out of a slotted box, or tosses 3 heart rings around a soda bottle (other two tallies I missed).  We rode, en mass, to four of Pattalung’s feature attractions for a total of 60 km or 36 miles.  The second stop, Tale Noi, is most famous for it’s massive inland sea and expansive floating red lily pads as well as long-tail cayuga’s.

Pictured left is my coach and Trang Cycling Club leader reminding me, “this is not a race, we are not competing.”

Kickoff breakfast was the traditional thick rice (think oatmeal) porridge with pork clumps. Each stop, some less mileage than others, we were offered fruit and water. (Eggs if you competed or were a foreigner who didn’t know they were only for teams.) At the Forest stop (see below) we got more bananas and small cakes and just before that at the waterfront the prized “egg bananas,” Soy milk drink or sugared tea.

We donned purple event T-shirts (100 Baht each – $3 only – entry fee) and followed the Governor out to Pattalung’s famous peninsular plaza to get a 270° view of the lake and then off to Tale Noi.  All this is flat land, delta, so everyone could manage, only the saddle sore complained. One hill leaving the lake-shore separated most and I got caught up in the climb putting me precariously close to the first 100 riders.  A young group of guys on road bikes zipped by in an obvious challenge to the older farange.  So I drafted them till they tired and realized a mountain bike with TT-bars was behind me and wanted to show his mettle.  As Joe Berry says, “It’s always a race.”  I pulled him up to the lead pack, a group of 8 drafting in two rows behind the lead police pickup truck.  Needing a rest I decided to catch their tail for the draft, and shortly thereafter the lead police truck turned and stopped in a National Forest not knowing where to go next.  I desperately needed a piss stop so slid right on by the leaders, and around the bend, saw a road guard waving me on down the road.  Three road guards and as many turns later, found me climbing into the stage finish line to the astonishment of the officials.  Embarrassed to best the locals, I rode right on thru to find that tree I was needing.  I stayed in the middle of the pack for the rest of the ride.  For the record, only 8 of us rode the Rally with all our touring camping gear.  My 19-year-old Trek fitted with Revelate Saddle pack and MYOG frame pack below.

Fun day that lasted until 2 pm and then that group of eight challenged the mountain once again from the east side.  At first we rode as a cohesive group, leaders waiting at hilltops for the rest.  As we neared the top, the Berry phenomenon took hold and three of us depleted every electrolyte in our bodies sprinting home.

I didn’t know about the depletion of body reserves until the next day, I could barely get motivated to eat. A downward dog mimicked a sway-back horse and the calves took hours to recover from just one pose.

As per usual, I never quite know what the Trang Bicycle Club has planned for each weekend, and this one was normal except that I learned there was a ‘Childwren bicycle’ at the Sport Arena and then “we go camping”. You’ve already viewed the kids event in the previous posting and now here’s the “rest of the story.”  Since we weren’t sure what was in store, camping and event-wise, Stanna didn’t come along either on her mountain bike or the scooter.  Ends up she could have enjoyed the Rally in Phattalung, just not the ride over the mountain and back.

As those who’ve followed in past years know: Camping means loading a bunch of boxes, bags and tents on your bike (one guy always straps a good-sized hatchet between his rear hub and rear rack), and sallying off to some location where we more often than not pitch our tents under some building, like a large carport or several times in open-air temples.

Climbing the Phattalung mountain – Khao Pub Pa – between Trang and the east coast is no big deal, a Coal Bank but longer climb, doable by all, just varying in summit times (sometimes by as much as 45 minutes). On the way down, right from the summit, we were in rain, rain and more rain all the way to our camping spot. If I haven’t mentioned it already, riding in the rain is only “wet” with no cold associated with the endeavor.  In fact any rain protection only serves to make you hot inside and thereby wet from sweat, so it’s best to just cycle in a single shirt or jersey and air dry if and when the rain stops.

Coming in ahead of the pack (sorry but it’s a habit) I was given a high-speed escort thru the town to our camping location since I had no idea where we were going, the County Water department headquarters.  Nice grounds, lawns and etc. but the General Manager had the second floor administration office desks pushed aside so we could camp inside with “air-con”.  Bizarre to say the least.  I pitched my tent next to the King, and the only Faux Pas I made was temporarily draping my damp sarong on the Thai flag standing next to the Royal Shrine. (It’s hard when you can’t explain – “it was just until I got my tent up”.) My tent’s in the thumbnail left, between the GM’s desk and the King. Normally camping only requires a tent and air mattress, but I use a silk bag liner just for a little extra warmth and protection.  With the Air Conditioning on I needed the sarong as a blanket, just to hold the body temps in.  I lingered in the bathroom during the middle of the night nature call just to warm up (only the bosses’ offices are air conditioned).

The Rally: but first you know the Thai hosts always provide generously, and dinner was no exception.  That was downstairs in the supervisors’ office where they once again spread the desks, put down newspaper and served a five-course Thai dinner plus bananas for dessert. Fortunately yoga for the past several years has allowed me to sit cross-legged, but only for short periods and never on a terrazzo floor (my lateral malleulos’ just aren’t hardened to that pressure).  I saved face by switching legs often.

Guess I’ll jump to the next post since this is over 500 words already.