I Pedal On...

The Road, Cambodia. My alarm goes off at 5:45 in the morning but the roosters beat it to the punch  again. A sliver of sun has lazily peeked over the horizon, billowing pastel sheets across the dusky fields. The air desperately clings to the last brittle coolness of midnight, held tight in cottony layers of humidity. Within a few hours the sun will squeeze the mercury to a towering 96 degrees.  I mindlessly throw on shorts, button a shirt, zip a security pocket. Within 15 minutes my bags are secured to my bike, and a thin layer of sweat is threatening to break over my brow.  As I begin to pedal, the still crisp air breathes relief across my entire body. I'm on the road.  

Life starts early in Cambodia. Women busy themselves setting up shop for the day, men zip by on mopeds, mobs of children bicycle to school. We all busy ourselves at first light, trying to outrun the zenith that will knock us flat on our backs, victims of the sun's fiery madness. I am leaving the beach-side town of Sihanoukville, pedaling up massive hills shaded by coconut palms, racing down the spines at 45km/hr. The wind in my face is a glorious reward. It is 6:30am. I pedal on.  

Saffron-robed monks, a pair of them, walk slowly down the lane of a peaceful village, an alms bowl tucked carefully under the crook of one arm. The younger, the student, holds an umbrella over his master's head. A women hands the apprentice some food, then kneels and genuflects in the dirt for a benediction. It is 7:00am. I pedal on.

Mopeds and motorcycles zip around me, carefully cradling the days wares for the markets. I dodge around a clucking moto, dozens of live chickens dangling by their feet, secured by two perpendicular crossbeams that mimic a hanging glass rack. An oinking pig-moto cuts around my feet, the massive five-foot hog tied across the rack like a piece of luggage. A goose-cycle zips by, pulling wide to stop the barrel-shaped wicker tube  from hooking my clothing, dozens of quacking duck heads poking through the slats.  It is 7:30am. I pedal on.


After two hours I need a break. Every small town has a few places sporting plastic tables and chairs set under a sun shade, a sure sign of food. Some mornings I have to big through a few villages before I find what I am looking for. Ah, there it is. A large pot and a half dozen men. I pull up on my bike amidst disbelieving stares and curious smiles. Chatter and laughter erupt without fail. I bumble my way through ordering some breakfast--samlor, rice noodle soup. Now start the questions. Where from? What your name? Where go? More disbelief, more laughter. My food arrives. Six men quickly push a dozen different condiments towards me. I better put them in. Lime, sugar, fermented fish sauce, hot peppers, salt, and cardamom, I think. The flavors mercifully fuse. It is delicious. More laughter. More questions. We smile and nod a lot. I am stuffed. A man takes my picture with his cell phone. We all laugh at the silly white man. It's 9:00am. I pedal on.   
 
Little children, naked and filthy, splash down together in muddy ponds and streams. They giggle and scream until they notice me. Then it starts. Hello!!! The dam has broken, and they all come pouring out of the woodwork. Hello! HELLO!!!! HeLoHELLOHelo! Good BYe! They never ask for the anything. They never chase. They are proper. They sound desperate and pleading. I have to respond. I must. I do. Hello! HELLO!!!! HeLoHELLOHelo! Good BYe! they immediately reply, waving madly. I pull away but it is no avail. It carries over the wind, it bends around trees, it makes its way to your ears. 'ellllllllllllllloooooooo! 
It's 9:30am. I pedal on.
 
The road is a river, its asphalt stream carrying me past thatch homes, wooden vending shacks, wild dogs, brilliant palm trees, verdant rice paddies, muddy oxen, snickering women, toothless old men, rotten-sweet-sour-spicy-fetid-sweaty smells, garbage, dust, filth, decay, delighted children, and smiling, bemused adults.
I see them all. They see me too. Sometimes the river is rough, sometimes the river is smooth, and sometimes the river dries up completely. But through it all, I pedal on.