Tour de Cambodia and another vomitting faux pas (posting from the road)

I think you can imagine that cycling is not going to end well. We arrived today after that horrid bus ride in the small town of Kampong Cham, a less than attractive town on the banks of the Mekong River. Dino, our over zealous guide suggested that we should go for a bike ride (and by suggest I mean he already arranged it).

Given the fact that it was the only attraction listed in the Lonley Planet Guide, we all decided why not - despite the 36C heat. Sure none of us have cycled in years - what's that old saying, "It's just like riding a bike...". That is a stupid saying.

Before I go on I feel as though I must explain that what we were riding would be VERY charitably referred to as 'bicycles'. Maybe one day they were, many many many years ago. There is no shifting, no suspension and in my case no brakes. But we set off - destination adventure. In this case adventure was at the end of the world's longest bamboo bridge. There is an island that sits in the Mekong, just off the shores of Kampng Cham. In the wet months, you take a ferry but in the dry months there is a 800 m bamboo bridge that is constructed every year.

Accident number 1 occured before we reached the bridge, poor Kerry's bike failed to negotiate a turn causing her to go skidding across the pavement. Bruised but not broken, she carried on. I thought I might go over the edge of the bank trying to reach the bridge, pesky no brake issue coming back to haunt me, but luckily I hit a rock, bounced in the correct direction and ended up on the bridge!

You know those action adventure movies where the hero is running/riding across a bridge and it is collapsing behind him. That is what it sounds and feels like when you peddle a 1915 bicycle across the bridge. It is terrifying. Reward came at the other side in the form of a cool refreshing sugar cane drink. Plus it was there the majority of us decided to never cross that bridge again, we planned on just swimming through the river.

We were calmly cycling around the peaceful, no cars (only bikes and motos) island receiving cheers and high fives from the local kids when the second accident occurred. Scott, turning to follow Dino, failed to hear the honk of a moto. Probably because the previous 7 straight hours of honking had left him deaf, anyway the moto hit him. It took a few minutes to untangle everything but we determined that no serious damage was done and continued on.

Now Dino has led us down a 'trail' used by oxen. It is mixture of loose sand and hardened mud ruts. We have tried to discourage Dino...2 accidents should be enough - but he insits, saying that it will be fun and the view is amazing. So the disheartened group peddles on, through tobacco fields while famers and cows stare at us in awe.

Accident number 3 - the last thing I remember was thinking how sore my ass was and what a stupid f#&*ing idea this was. Then I went off the trail, bike went one way and I another. I awoke after what I assume was just a few seconds on unconsciousness to a raging headache and a bleeding left upper arm. Not wanting to appear like the big sissy that I truly am, I assured everyone that I was fine and hopped back on my bike, tears streaming down my face and peddled/wobbled back to flat land. The good thing about my concussion...I don't remember how I got back to the mainland.

The adventure continues for this was the night that Dino had arranged for us to go to dinner at 'some guys' house. Dinner was amazing. This guy turned out was our tuk-tuk driver earlier in the day and had offered to host us that night. This is not uncommon, you give them money and they give you food. The man of the house was proudly introducing his family; 3 boys and a pregnant wife who had been cooking all day. The man is very excited about his upcoming child, another boy, saying that soon he will have enough for a football team! Dino decides to inform him that he will also have enough for a boy band (I choked on my dinner laughing at the man's expression to Dino's suggestion).

You all seem to like stories where I almost vomit....well it's now time for the customary after drink...rice wine. No worries, I can do a shot with the best of them (ask anyone who has seen me down Silvio's grappa!). So the man brings out the clear jug which has the 'wine', all I can see is some sort of sediment at the bottom , no biggie I figure, it is homemade. The shot goes down, burning all the way and then I see the container more closely. I knew I should have brought my glasses. The sediment at the bottom...20 tarantulas. I think you can imagine the retching noise I made next...it turns out that almost vomiting someones homemade prize moonshine is as offensive as actually vomiting it up. Who knew?

A-gun for reading!