India & Southeast Asia

Day 250's assumed easy cruise through scenic mountain roads quickly became a dirt-biking escapade on grades too steep for the scooter, through streams and over rickety wood bridges.

A mainstay navigation app for most travelers, Maps.me recommended the route, which I was unaware consisted of 28+ kilometers of dirt trails that would have made for great trekking, not biking. The trail led away from the main road and deep into secluded jungle villages. For the vast majority of the several hours I had the back brake fully engaged and the front brake pumping as strongly as possible without skidding. About halfway in, a forge through a knee-deep stream flooded my engine. Luckily, with the Tet holiday (Lunar New Year) still in moderate swing, the nearest village was full of families enjoying some time off. Unlucky for [all 12 of] them, a mechanically ignorant tourist came in and ruined it. That said, working on my engine seemed to become an attraction of sorts and several children rushed out to watch and, presumably, make fun of my peculiar pinkish pigment. Families laughed as I attempted to converse about the bike in Vietnamese, given I only knew how to say (1) hello, (2) thank you, (3) delicious, (4) guest house, (5) key repair, and (6) One-Two-Three Drink!

An hour of tinkering with only a Swiss-army knife (thanks, Dad) and throttling resuscitated Governor Martin O'Malley (my newly named motor scooter, for looking great for his age but significantly underperforming on the trail). "DELICIOUS!" I shouted, throwing my clenched fists into the air and dancing in circles.

A few more hours of jungle biking through trails shared only with large black snakes and the occasional rice farmer resulted in a few spills. I started coming to terms with the prospect of having to spend a night in the great outdoors. Reluctantly I began to consider hiding my finicky Governor in the woods and returning to the village to ask for a place to pass out. Just as I found a small clearing, a lush expanse of terraced rice fields unfurled itself before me... At the opposite end, a flat, hardly paved road. At this point, it could have been a three-feet wide gravel footpath and I would have considered it the Audubon. Whooping and hollering, I raced through the trail in the middle of the fields, feet kicking on both sides of the handlebars and shouting celebratory obscenities of every variety as if I had just won the Super Bowl (shout out to Papa John's Pizza for his big win Sunday).

The next few hours of late afternoon sun and dusk I made easy progress. Just after sundown I arrived at a small family guesthouse and assessed the damage to Governor O'Malley. The casualties: both side view mirrors, odometer, luggage rack, my sunnies, and my confidence in Maps.me.

Day 250 was jam-packed with obstacles, triumphs, nerves, and celebrations. To be fair, it was a slightly exaggerated representation of the 249 days preceding it. And it ended the ideal way, in a local family's home downing beers, eating fresh spring rolls, and communicating via Google translate. Turns out adventure and sucking up to elderly hosts are never lost in translation.Leia mais