From Kratie to Stung Traeng: We learn the meaning of a “bad” road…

From Kratie to Stung Traeng: We learn the meaning of a “bad” road…

Everyone had told us that the 200-km. stretch of road from Kratie north to the Laotian border was “bad,” but just how bad was “bad?” No one seemed to know or to be able to tell us. We couldn’t find anyone who had actually traveled it. I have to admit that after our painful ordeal on the road from the Thai border to Siem Reap, we were tempted to take a ferry boat along the river north to the border so that we could avoid this bad road. But because a new road were being built (it was as of yet incomplete), the locals now preferred the road to the boat because it was cheaper, and so the ferry boat companies had all gone bankrupt one month earlier. There was, of course, the speed boat that could take us to the border, but we didn’t even check on those prices because we heard that they were very expensive. The last option was a shared taxi, which would take us, our bikes, and all of our luggage to the border for only $7 per person. This was tempting because it was cheap and would save us one week on the road and perhaps another very painful and difficult experience on the bikes. But we also had left Phnom Penh less than two weeks previously, and we were not adverse, after an extended stay in the capital with no exercise, to continue pedaling. And so it was that we chose to continue by bicycle.

We visited the market in Kratie one last time before taking off. We knew it would be our last time in civilization for at least several days. After eating our noodle soup for breakfast and looking at the severed pigs’ heads, fuzzy baby chicks in a basket, writhing snakes and catfish with whiskers, fried banana and pumpkin fritters, and all manner of bark, wood, grasses and leaves for sale, we headed off under an overcast sky and soon found ourselves pelted with rain.

The first day out of Kratie was quite possibly the most demoralizing, discouraging, and hardest day of my life – perhaps even worse than our days on the road before Siem Reap – but in a different way. We managed to bike only 40 km. that day, the first 25 km. fairly pleasant along the Mekong, before the road split off. Just before the turn-off, the road became difficult and then turned into a muddy swamp, too bumpy for my liking. Several trucks were stuck in the muddy mess, and then so were we!

We came to realize later that when we thought that we were stuck the first couple of times, that it was just a joke! A kind of warm-up for the real thing! Because then we became submerged in the gooey stuff for real. I fell twice, sliding when I tried to chase a mosquito from my arm, and then wham! We were so deeply entrenched that I couldn’t get out of the mud by myself. It took ages to get free, because even my sandals had sunk so deep that I couldn’t move my feet! When I finally freed them, they were so encaked in the gooey brown mess that they felt like 10-ton bricks! With help from Stephane, we got the bikes free, and then spent a good 45 minutes cleaning the mud from the tires in a very muddy puddle, while dozens of mud-covered villagers watched us.

As we washed ourselves and our bikes in the mud puddle with leeches, we saw several cars and a truck get equally stuck. It made me feel better that it wasn’t just us! The craziest was a large pick-up that held two buffalo and five men in back part. When the truck hit the mud, it went skidding and almost turned over, ending at a startling 60-degree angle! I was sure it was going to tip over, but the men, who were hanging onto the railing, started to jump up and down on the truck with all of their might in order to right it up again. The villagers ran from the spot where they were watching us to help them. As the truck spewed fumes and mud everywhere, a dozen boys and men pushed from behind. The process continued, as two other cars got hopelessly stuck.

The second day was even worse than the first day, mostly because it started out so difficult. My new tires were much bigger than the last ones, leaving almost no room between the tire and the hub, so that any tiny bit of mud was sure to get stuck. For the first three hours, we had to stop every 0.2 km. (0.12 mi.), on average, in order to scrape the mud away! It went something like this: 30 seconds of biking, 10-15 minutes scraping mud off the tires, 30 sec. of biking (or, more likely, pushing!), 15 min. of mud-scraping, etc. It took us 3 hours to advance 4 km. (2.4 mi.)!!!!! Three hours of hard, continuous, non-stop, strenuous and sweaty work! The only positive part of the whole day was that just when we absolutely needed a break, we were invited to lunch in a small village. On the menu: eel!

We found a nice camping spot that evening – a little clearing in the woods, where we were happy for the much-needed break. Against my instincts, we slept under the mosquito net instead of inside the tent (it was a trade-off between the heat and the possible rain). Well, it being the monsoon season, we shouldn’t have been surprised when a sudden downpour came upon us around midnight. We thought that possibly our plastic camping blanket that we had attached above us in guise of a roof would protect us, but it wasn’t long before our mattresses, sheet, and pillows were completely soaked through. Stephane set to work to pitching the tent in the driving rain.

It poured non-stop all night and all the next day, and we were forced to remain put. The continuous rain made the roads impassable. The mud multiplied 100 times over, and our tent was in danger of succumbing to the rivers of mud that seemed determined to sink us and everything we owned along with us. So Stephane saved us by digging a drainage system around the tent with our foldable shovel. We collected rainwater in our pot and pan and filtered it – to wash up, brush our teeth, and cook. But the smell of sweat and mildew from our wet mattresses and clothing just wouldn’t go away! It was here that we celebrated my birthday – in a mud pit in the middle of a monsoon rain miles and miles from the closest village.

The sun came out two days later and we spent most of the day drying all of our material and our clothing and waiting for the mud puddles on the road to dry up. The road was a bit better afterwards, but we still managed only 18 km. that day! Still better than the 14 km. of our last day biking, but it seemed as if Stung Traeng was farther off than ever.

On the fifth day, we were already sweating like pigs by 7 AM. We had gone less than 1 mi. when we came across a small river whose bridge was not yet finished. We had to cross the river by foot! As we breakfasted by the rapids, we watched a couple of cars and jeeps come and go, the water seeping into them. As on the roads, the oxcarts had the easiest time of it. We passed only one village, where we were invited to join in a drunken karaoke party. And then…against all odds…we were in Stung Traeng! Woohoo!!!