On the 10th of December we finally found the mutual energy required to leave Sayaboury and continue on our way, the vast majority of this energy inevitably being provided by Dea. Our time together was already drawing towards its sad conclusion and, with her flight out from Vientiane scheduled for just five days time, we now had to concentrate our efforts on trying to cycle the remaining distance to the capital. We needed to average 70 kilometres per day now, not overly daunting under normal circumstances but certainly rather more than we had been doing, and more than my weary body felt like. To make matters more interesting, or worse, depending on your take on things, we knew that there was one big mountain day and one dirt road day ahead to overcome too.

It wasn't such a very enjoyable day. It seemed the people on this stretch were not as nice as they had been further north and cheerful greetings and waves were much rarer. I put this down to the fact that people here seemed to be better off, at least based on the nicely painted two-floored concrete homes that had replaced the bamboo huts as the primary living quarters. This was not a big surprise to me. After my many travels I'd come to the conclusion that it pretty much goes that the less people have, the more friendly and open they are. Conversely, with an increase in wealth comes an increase in suspicion. I suppose following this theory I would have to say that I myself had become more and more friendly and open throughout this journey, as a result of the gradual but steady decline of my bank balance. With my bank balance now close to zero I was about as friendly and open as I'd ever been. It almost made me think that my plan to go to Australia to work and save up lots more cash was a bad one. It would just make me all mean and unkind again. I wondered what my Talking Bank Balance would say about all this, perhaps he would have an opinion about whether or not I should fill him up again, but I'd noticed that all of my Talking Paraphernalia had been mysteriously quiet ever since I'd had the company of a real life human being, and so I'd just have to wait, and ask him later.

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For most of the morning the road was quite flat, but in the afternoon we had to endure some very steep climbs. It seemed to me that the roads in Laos were quite a bit steeper than anywhere else, rather a cruel trick for such an otherwise accommodating country, although it may just have appeared that way because my legs were so terribly tired. My medley of illnesses had clearly destroyed most of my muscle tissue and with the hot sun beating down on me and the weakness in my legs I found the going really tough. Once again Dea was amazing, flying up these climbs with a smile on her face, and encouraging me onwards as I continued to struggle.

"Dea," I asked her, "are you more or less inspired now that you've come and cycled with me?"

"What?"

"Well, presumably before you thought that to cycle across continents you needed to be strong and fit and determined. But now you've got to know me better you can see that you can actually do it while being lazy, weak, unhealthy, sick, moaning, unmotivated... feel free to stop me any time you like."

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We made it to our goal of 70 kilometres and then stopped early at a little wooden hut that had some space around it that looked good for camping, and I collapsed dramatically onto the platform. These little huts were literally everywhere all over the countryside and often made for good places for us to rest in the shade, but we weren't really sure what their purpose was.

"Maybe it is just a place for the farm workers to rest?" Dea suggested.

"Yeah, maybe. But I think there must be some other purpose. Maybe they dry the rice here."

"Yes, it could be to do with the rice."

"Yes, maybe they pack the rice here. I bet that's what they do. I bet they sit here and pack the rice."

We both sat back, relaxed, happy with the conclusion that it was definitely something to do with the rice, and looked out at the surrounding countryside and watched the sun sinking low in the sky for some time until:

"What are they growing here? It's not rice is it?"

"No."

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From where we were sitting we could still see the road and when two touring cyclists went by we called out to them, and they came over to meet us. We were super excited because these were the first touring cyclists we'd met in over one hundred kilometres! They were from Germany and went by the names of Henning and Sebastian, and they had only started their South-East Asia tour a few days ago in Vientiane, which meant they were going the other way from us. They joined us on our platform and we asked them about the road we had ahead and they told us that the mountain was incredibly steep and that they had finally resorted to taking a lift that day. Choosing to steer matters away from such scary talk, Dea suggested a sing-song and Sebastian pulled out his guitar and played along with Dea on her ukulele and we had quite a lovely evening in this slightly hippy-like way, singing songs around the campfire. Except there was no campfire of course, that would have been a bit dangerous while sitting on a wooden hut, so we sang songs around the pan of beans cooking on the camping stove. And actually 'we' didn't sing, Dea sang, and Henning hummed a bit, and I complained about everything. All of which attracted the attention of a couple of local men that came and joined us too and it made for quite a little party all together.

In our tent that night Dea was buzzing with happiness about these wonderful chance encounters and unexpected situations that traveling by bicycle can so often throw your way. She was a total convert to this bicycle touring lark and her face was lit up with joy as she envisaged doing a tour by herself in Europe in the summer. When we first met back in Mongolia she said that I would almost certainly not be able to convince her to travel by bicycle, but somehow I had, and now she had seen the light, and understood how amazing this method of travel was. The people that you meet, the things that you see, the way that cycling brings you right into the heart of the real country, not just the tourist sites but the real country, meeting real people. That's the beauty of the bicycle, and Dea was in love with it. And what was more, even though Dea had to go back to Europe to finish her studies, she was now talking enthusiastically about coming to cycle with me again after that, in Australia, or in the Americas. It was an idea so precious I almost dared not imagine it lest I destroy it.