Going slowly is just fine.
The honorable bicycle is now my main mode of transportation. This requires an element of planning. I’m a 15-minute-kinda-girl. That’s about as long as I take to: get up, shower, choose an outfit, and eat breakfast, before getting on the road and zooming into work, usually a minute or five late. Call it a love of sleep, call it impatience, call it what you want. It’s just my style. But since I’ve had only two wheels on the road, my life has slowed down considerably. Sure I’ve seen movies where cyclists do crazy stunts, negotiating heavy traffic and skipping robots/traffic lights (I myself quite enjoy getting up the adrenaline once in a while). It is possible to be speedy, but since arriving at work, sweat dripping from the nose, covered in dust/mud with bits of plastic caught in my hair is generally considered unprofessional; I’ve had to make some lifestyle adjustments. Lately, I’ve been seen sipping my coffee on the balcony, before pushing off at a leisurely pace. And when I do arrive at the workplace, mildly warm and a little windswept, I sigh to myself: “hmmm… still 5 minutes late.”
Trees are a shady blessing.
In temperatures upwards of 35 degrees, cycling for extended periods can mean sweat, strong bodily odors, sun burn, fatigue and the worst – dehydration. I’ll find myself taking the route which is 10 minutes longer than usual, just for the trees. In Cambodia, cycling under the right foliage not only means shade, but a juicy reward too. Hot season is also mango season, and those honeys are ripe for the picking. Street vendors also have huge cooler boxes of icy fresh coconuts- a tasty source of electrolytes. My favourite part of these leafy giants is their standing beauty. I sound like Mrs. Rose a little here but - I just love trees!
I can say more with one arm than with 2 flickers and a hooter.
(If you don’t know what “flickers” and “hooters” are – get a South African dictionary.)
Hand signals are the official form of indicating the cyclist’s intentions. On a road without rules and crowded with motorbikes, hand signals take on an additional function; self- defense. Flickers are too polite. Hooters are just passive-aggressive. Arms mean business.
Just imagine you are driving on the right-hand side of the road, in heavy traffic. OK? Good. Now imagine trying to get from the outer lane to the middle lane in order to turn left. You can: slow down and wait for a gap in traffic (not happening); inch closer and closer to the middle of the lane and miss your turn, having to back track; OR you can throw that arm out at full force, causing everyone behind you to slam on breaks and let you through.
My skinny little arm is powerful. My arm says: “Here I come! Ready or not!” My arm says: “Let me through or I’ll separate your body from your moto!”
Potholes are a mystery best left unsolved.
The roads here in Siem Reap are holey, dusty and hot. When rainy season hits, the holes expand, the dust turns to mud and it gets increasingly humid. Hidden in the ankle deep mud could be all wonder of things. I’ll leave this one up to your imagination.
Traffic is never to be feared when your vehicle is flexible, light-weight and very replaceable.
On first arriving in Cambodia I was terrified of the traffic. It took me a month to build up the courage to negotiate my own way through the streets. I finally did rent a 1$ bicycle and head off to my first job interview. Going there was awesome, but coming back I landed in a rush hour craze. Have you ever seen a feeding frenzy at sea; Birds flying, dolphins jumping, fish squabbling, sharks lurking? Instead of birds and fish it was cars, motos, trucks, buses, tuk-tuks and me – the flying fish. It took a cold beer, a spa day and a week before I managed round three.
It was in round three that I discovered my bike’s flexibility in a strange-death-avoiding maneuver, involving a bus, two motorbikes and myself. Each subsequent experience has taught me a new thing, chiefly that bicycles are a cheap force to be reckoned with. If you don’t believe me, watch Premium Rush. Better yet, buy me a GoPro.
The breeze is cool now, but the heat will come.
Moving through the open air has a cooling effect. Even as my heart picks up its beat, I feel the wind keep my temperature in check. But the moment never fails to come. The moment when you pause for just long enough. The heat creeps up. The temperature of my blood shoots up. My cheeks flush. A minute later I will be wet from my scalp to my wrists down to the inside my shoes. The heat always comes and it always has the same result. It is for this reason that…
May is a month for Motos.
Truthfully, it’s more like April, May and June. It’s 44ºC. I can sit still at my computer and sweat buckets. I’m not ashamed to say I haven’t touched my bicycle this month.
Cyclists are not people’s favourite commuters.
Since learning how to kick ass on a motorbike (if I do say so myself), I have discovered a new sense of importance. Not because I think driving a more expensive vehicle makes me better, but because suddenly people show a little more respect for my personal space. It took moving up the hierarchy to discover that one exists. I guess now that I am considered middle-class I’m slightly more valuable. It’s not my favourite idea.
My stomach could, might, maybe - never will be flat.
Despite getting a daily dose of exercise in my daily commute, and living on a diet of rice and vegetables, my body remains the same. Oh tummy! Alas I shall settle for being healthy, happy and (sort of) fit.
Bicycles are the new black.
My bicycle is low on the street hierarchy; people will cut me off at every chance. It requires me to plan ahead. It doesn’t keep me dry in the rain. I get wet even when it isn’t raining. My white clothes now have a reddish-brown tinge. These points are the height of insult directed at poor old’ trusty, but he did teach me a few things.
My bike teaches me to: be brave; be daring; trust in my decisions. He teaches me that: terrifying can be fun; slowly does it; (white) stuff is replaceable.
Thanks boy!
