The next morning I repacked my bags, everything I'd need for the next five days had to fit into a daypack which I'd be wearing for 6-8 hours of dirtbike riding. Weight was key as I sorted things into piles of "essential," "would be nice," and "leave behind." I settled on bringing my camera, spare batteries, lenses and memory cards, a small medical kit, toothbrush, soap and chapstick, a rainjacket, a pair of pants, underwear and socks, flip flops, small amount of cash, and a t-shirt. That's it. On my body was dirtbike boots, knee and elbow armor, pants and shirt, kidney belt, gloves, wristwatch, helmet and goggles. Everything else was crammed into a suitcase to leave at the Hidden Cambodia office.
Sheila came to collect me at 8am. We crawled through a sea of scooters and bicycles in our gigantic LandRover to the office, just off the main road. There Paul gave me a quick debriefing on the trip. Originally there had been others signed up to join this adventure, but they'd since canceled, so it was now just me and two guides. Paul had just returned from a ten day trip and needed to make a run for supplies in Phnom Penh, so I would be accompanied by his two assistants, Lee and Slim. My bike was a Honda XR 250. There was a 250cc limit on bikes in Cambodia, so I'd be on the most powerful two-wheeled vehicle in the country. Before I departed Paul asked to see me take my bike for a quick few laps around his house. Suddenly I was nervous. What if he thought I wasn't good enough? What if the bike was too tall. I hopped on, started her up and prayed I wouldn't do something completely dorky like stall her in front of my guides. I took her around the house, carefully avoiding the gigantic bullfrog that hopped out in front of me, Paul's dogs, and his small daughter. He seemed satisfied, and before I had a chance to get nervous again Sheila came out to take a few photographs, tie a Khmer scarf around my neck, and wish us luck. Holy crap, I was actually doing this.
We turned a corner and suddenly a gigantic temple peered out of the woods. This was the back of one of the many temples of the Angkor Wat complex. It took my breath away. I desperately wanted to stop and take a photograph, but Lee and Slim had picked a steady pace and I knew I'd be back in a few days so I pressed on. Leaving the temple was like stepping into a new world. The pavement had ended and the endless rows of tour buses and LandRovers disappeared. I was hardly 10 kilometers from my hotel and suddenly I felt like I'd finally discovered Cambodia. The road was red dirt and gravel and spotted with pot holes, along side were rows of wood houses on stilts populated by little girls drying rice on tarps, a half dozen chickens, and small tan dogs sleeping underfoot. We pulled over at the first intersection. Lee, whose English was a good bit better than Slim's, asked how I was doing then announced it was time for breakfast.
We sat ourselves at a picnic table and Lee asked me what I wanted to eat. I honestly had no idea. It was 9am and food hadn't even crossed my mind yet. I asked him to order me whatever they were having, figuring it would be the safest way to go. At this point I realized I was already committing every travel food safety sin Lonely Planet warns you of, eating at a stall with chickens at my feet. I had to laugh to myself thinking of all the warnings of Bird Flu my friends had given me before I left. It was eat like this, or starve. Slim ordered me some sort of noodle dish with chicken and a bottle of water. I made myself promise I'd drink water whenever possible, dehydration was easy enough dirtbiking back home. When our noodles arrived Lee and Slim began plucking leaves and flowers out of two pots which I'd mistakenly assumed were decor. I also made the mistake of following Slim's lead and popping a small pepper into my mouth. The dish had a pleasant ginger flavor and was surprisingly appetizing for breakfast.
Slim and Lee finished off breakfast with a cigarette and we were again on our way. Lee always led, followed by me, then Slim bringing up the rear, and I figured to asses any damages should I crash. The road was surprisingly good here, mostly hard packed gravel and we managed to hit speeds of 50-70 kph while weaving around the occasional pothole. Bridges were always sketchy, usually two sections of 2X4's a tuck tire's width apart followed by gaping potholes before and after. Livestock was constantly in the road, chickens, cows, dogs and pigs, often followed by small children. Farmland a rice fields gave way to jungle and soon we were speeding through flocks of technicolor butterflies. Today's ride called for around 150km, and it seemed we'd be to our first destination in no time. After a few hours we stopped at a small stilted house in the middle of the jungle for more water.
"Are there snakes here?" I asked looking up into the canopy of the tree we sat under, thinking of a story I'd read in Outside magazine about the scientist who was bit by a Krait in Vietnam and didn't live the half day it took to get him anti-venom. "No snakes, we'd be lucky to see one," both guides agreed. "At one time, many animals here, elephants, tigers, but now? No animals. All eaten or landmines." I tried to wrap my mind around the mental image of an elephant finding a landmine. This was far more horrible to me than the idea of them being eaten. During the reign of the Khmer Rouge the Cambodian people had to eat what they could just to survive, even into the 90's people were living in a state of fear, holing up in bunkers during times of attack.
A few more hours of riding and we stopped for lunch in the village of Anlong Veng, just south of the Thai border. This village is known as the last stronghold of the Khmer Rouge, only falling to government forces just after Pol Pot's death in 1998. We stuffed ourselves with noodles and chicken and departed for a nearby landmark. This was the home of Ta Mok, aka The Butcher, the one-legged military chief of the Khmer Rouge. He now resides in prison, awaiting trial for genocide. His home was strategically placed against a large lake for protection. It has since been emptied and looted, but you could still make out huge murals depicting Angkor Wat on the upstairs walls. Several small trapdoors led to secret hiding places under the building. Outside were two huge metal cages. "They call them tiger cages," explained Lee, "but I don't think they were used for tigers, just people."
We headed further north, up a great hill with deep soft dirt in places. I had to remind myself to keep my body relaxed as my bike shifted in the sand and mud while passing gigantic construction vehicles. Half way up the mountain a gigantic bolder on the side of the road had been carved into the image of Pol Pot by his followers.
The top of the road was just a few kilometers from the Thai border, here we took a short jeep trail to the site of Pol Pot's remains. A surprisingly modest site, he now rests under an aluminum roof lined with glass bottles. A small Buddhist alter sits nearby, carefully attended with fresh burning incense. "It looks as though people still pay respects to him here, does not everyone think of him as a monster?" I asked my guides. "Well, Pol Pot was very good to the people in this town. Built many schools, gave lots of money." Lee reminded me that there are always many sides to history.
We attempted to take a quick look around Thailand, but the border guards insisted on Visas from all of us, most definitely because they saw me as a cash cow. Other locals were passing back and forth without questioning, so it was only logical that I was targeted for being a tourist. It dawned on me that I hadn't seen a single other white person since Angkor Wat and I was suddenly very thankful I had guides to order food and ensure I would make it to the next village without running out of gas. I'm sure it's possible to do this trip on your own, but I found the convenience and safety of having someone along who knew the area to be invaluable. Very few locals spoke English and Khmer is a language I found baffling to even pronounce. Running out of gas or injuring yourself miles from medical help seemed likely, not to mention the very real threat of landmines. Despite these things, I felt very safe. Having been to the Congo the year before, I pictured a country with such recent turmoil to be filled with men with AK47s. I wouldn't see a single gun till the royal palace guards in Phnom Penh.
My guides inquired if I was tired yet. Truthfully, I was feeling pretty good. "Ah! Very tough," Lee laughed. I'm sure that translated to "very tough for a white woman," but I decided to take it anyway. From the border we set out on a very narrow jeep trail into the jungle. It quickly degenerated into the type of single track riding I'd typically take on a mountain bike. Large, wet rocks, mud, sand, huge puddles to ride through, low tree branches and steep hills. Suddenly I worried I was in over my head. It couldn't have been more than 10 kilometers till the first fork in the path and already I was exhausted. We continued into even more dense woods littered with rocks. This area is well known for being densely populated with some of the 4 to 6 million unexploded landmines thought to exist in Cambodia. 70 percent of all landmine injuries came out of this corner of the country. A gigantic bolder at the top of a hill sent my front wheel off the path and deep into the bushes. My brain screaming thoughts of landmines, I heaved it pack onto the road, and held my breath waiting for impact. But I didn't fall. I'm not sure how, but I didn't fall. At the bottom of the hill we came to stop and I picked the tree branches from my handlebars and laughed with my guides who seemed as amazed as I was that I'd somehow managed to stay upright.
The view was stunning, we were at the top of a jungle mountain, with Thailand stretching below us. To our left was a massive hole carved into the ground for holding water, to our right was a small cement structure, Pol Pot's bunker. It was here that he holed up during his final days, hidden in the dense jungle with an easy escape into Thailand, should he need it. His home was nothing more than a concrete block with an escape hatch leading to a small bunker under ground. We climbed around the area, careful to stick to the paths. This was something very few people got to see, I thought, and well worth the effort.
We switched riding order, with Lee behind me, for the return back. He was able to give me a few tips, corrections on habits I'd picked up from years of street riding, such as relying too much on my arms and not enough on my hips. I already felt this stretch of road alone had propelled my riding skills a lightyear ahead. Our accommodations for the evening were at the top of a cliff overlooking Cambodia and Thailand. I had a simple room with a bed and a mosquito net. We had power via a gas generator for two hours, long enough for dinner and an amusing glimpse into Cambodian television. I asked if there were showers, anxious to wash off the thick layer of cambodian dust from my face, "yes, but not showers," was my answer. In the bath was two large barrels of pond water and a small bucket. I'm not sure if I felt more or less dirty after dumping a few bucket fulls over my head. Sleep came quickly and I even managed a quick nap in a hammock before dragging my sore body to bed. It'd only been one day and I felt as though I'd been riding for a week.
