November 21, 2016
The day of great suffering: To Senmonorom
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"ROYAL visit today."
"At Senmonorom?"
"Yes, royal visit."
We must have been a haggard sight. On one side of the table, a smiling man who shouted his few words of English - it's always best to shout when there's a risk that foreigners won't understand - and next to him a young, silent, acne-marked soldier with a scuffed assault rifle on his shoulder.
Beyond them, a teenage girl with long, dyed auburn hair was chuckling at a Charlie Chaplin film on television.
We were sitting at a wooden table in a dark roadhouse, fit for anything but a royal visit. Fit to be put down at a vet's, yes, but not to meet the king.
The morning had been monstrous, repeated climbs, steep and unrelenting, and then whooshing swoops on a quiet road before climbing all over again. We were fringed by protected forest, a nature reserve, riding to a shrill, unidentified whistle or high-pitched hum from within the trees. Birds we could hear but never see sang songs that western ears didn't know.
"Are there monkeys?" I asked our neighbour, because I'd seen the tops of the trees shake.
He looked puzzled.
I raised an arm and scratched my armpit. He beamed in comprehension and burst into chimpanzee shrieking.
"High trees," he said, pointing upwards and shrieking again.
It confirmed what we'd thought when we slumped against the low white wall of a short bridge. It was one those moments we've all known, when you hope with no evidence that body, soul and determination will rally to get you through. But the best we could hope was a weak rearguard action.
All morning we struggled on that road. The sun was either unobstructed and biting or briefly covered by gossamer clouds that made the humidity soar.
The long protected forest meant no buildings, no shops, nothing for 50km. That's not a long way when you're prepared but so far there'd been water at the end of every street and we'd set off with a single bottle apiece to make the hills easier. A silly idea, given that we saved less than a kilo, and - in time - a deeply foolish idea.
I swear our blood thickened. You don't need to sweat much for your body to suffer, and we had sweated buckets. And not eaten enough. Boy, can experienced cycle-tourists be stupid sometimes.
And then, at the top of a hill, at the entrance to a sloping, stony trail, the gods flew to our rescue. A dark man with sun-wrinkled skin and only some of his teeth was running an impromptu drinks stand with his plump wife.
They were as surprised to see us as we were relieved to see them. Theirs was an exercise in hope. A few cars and buses had passed or crossed with us, and a handful of motorbikes. But who would stop and buy a drink at the glimpsed sight of a roadside refrigerator?
Answer: we did. We bought as many cold drinks as he'd hoped to sell all day, then water to fill our bottles, then more to stuff into our bags.
He beamed, his teeth ragged and brown. He had suffered without complaint in an earlier life and we were his reward, his karma. He overcharged us wildly but we were in no position to bargain.
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In time the road flattened a little, then rose again to that roadhouse with its monkey impersonator, silent soldier and Charlie Chaplin fan. Steph got there first, riding better than I was. She waved back down the hill to me like a prophet who has seen the promised land. She tottered through the door and I melted through it.
From there, Steph rode the hills. She prefers that, however hard, to pushing. I confess I walked a lot. Senmonorom was still a distance and inquiries in a village 30km before the end confirmed our gloomy suspicion that the hotel mentioned in blogs had never existed.
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But at least we were out of the humidity of the forest. The contours were less bad-tempered but they still grumbled. Steph rode and I walked, confident I could get through if I didn't wear myself out.
We came out on a densely green plateau. One more effort and we were in a long, busy street half-filled by a red and white marquee. Polite people in smart clothes were taking ceremonial tea. They took no notice of the haggard scarecrows who limped by them. And the king hadn't waited for us.
We dripped into a square of travellers' bungalows and here we will stay a few days while we await our turn to visit the elephants.
Today's ride: 71 km (44 miles)
Total: 367 km (228 miles)
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