The Odyssey of Gertrude and Bertha: Part Six – Bertha Flies Solo
Distance so far: 2946 km
Bike repairs: Bertha’s pedals have self destructed. My solution: ignore it until a bike shop appears, or I get stranded. Whichever comes first.
It was inevitable, and yet came about so suddenly. The time arrived where our desires and priorities differed radically. The moment where our individual reasonings for this crazy adventure became apparent, and formed a crack in the dynamic duo. And despite this, we were not phased, we were not deterred, and we were not upset. This is the clear upside of having two seasoned and highly independent travellers embark together on a journey; the ability to acknowledge and adapt. That’s right ladies and gentleman, the time has come for Bertha to head out on her own for a couple of weeks, before meeting back up with Gertrude in Chiang Mai.
I cannot speak for Sophie (although after spending so much time together, some people may swear we could speak for each other, and do) so I won’t. But I can tell you that two months to cycle through a massive country like Thailand doesn’t necessarily leave much time for volunteer work, which was more important to Sophie than myself in this instance. For me, the personal challenge of having cycled every last kilometre, pushing myself further than I have before, and achieving the goal I set out for myself was more important. And so the decision was made that I would cycle by myself up to Chiang Mai (roughly 1200km) and then let Sophie know when I had arrived, and we would team up once again, now armed with new experiences to tell each other about. The plan was hatched and executed in a matter of days, and all of a sudden I found myself and Bertha alone on the road. This is our story.
For the sake of not having a nervous breakdown at the massive distance I still had to cover to Chiang Mai, I broke it down into three parts in my mind. The royal coast, the middle flat section, and the part to Chiang Mai which I call hills. I won’t dwell on details of any, because that would bore you to tears, but suffice it to say every day consisted of more biking than I had done to date, and my bike saddle became increasingly more uncomfortable.
The royal coast was interesting for me. It was beautiful, without a doubt, and led me to encounter the largest total number of cyclists so far (I got some great information from some of them), but I found it quite difficult at times, and not just because of the headwind I got to fight through for days while my pedals made a terrifying clicking sound. The routes were interesting, the physical challenge was satisfying, but I was lonely. I hadn’t ever biked alone before, I have still pretty much no language, and I kept seeing things I knew Sophie would like, but I had no one to share with. I spent the days pedalling in silence, only speaking at the end of the day when I needed to find somewhere to sleep, my voice cracking from disuse. The coast rolled along beneath my wheels, the monkeys made me laugh, the wind made me swear, my aching muscles were my badge of honour, and the monks were extraordinarily generous. Everything was perfect, but I couldn’t kick this loneliness which became frustrating that I should be feeling sorry for myself while my life was exactly what I wanted. So I decided the only logical thing to do would be to give myself a half day of cycling, and night in a luxurious non-tent room, and the permission to do nothing more productive than watch youtube and go to sleep. It’s amazing what one night in a bed, and the realization you’ve moved on to the next section of distance can do for your mentality. I awoke refreshed, re energized, and raring to go.
Part two, or the flat rice fields, began in a whirlwind of realizations. The realization that I could listen to podcasts as I cycled gave me conversation and education, the realization that I was a third of the way to Chiang Mai and already cycling better gave me confidence, and the realization that loneliness isn’t a bad thing, even being something I often crave, gave me comfort. The clicking of Bertha’s pedals got worse, and I had no idea what to do about it, until one day on the side of the road near a gas station, she gave one last major click, and then locked up, refusing to pedal either backward or forward. With zero idea what to do, and zero desire to remain on the side of the road, I wheeled her into the gas station and stared at her, hoping she’d tell me what to do to help. As seems to be the case in these types of stories, the locals came over to help. Eventually I found myself on the back of a motorbike while we pushed a guy on my bicycle to the next town, and a bike shop. My saviours explained what had happened, and then disappeared. I couldn’t have gotten luckier. Not only could Bertha be fixed in an hour or so, but the owner of the bike shop, he goes by the nickname Safe, spoke perfect English, had spent time as a Thai chef in Toronto, and let me watch and learn while he worked. A few hours, a new piece in the pedal, and a freshly oiled chain later, Bertha was riding and changing gears better than new. I splurged on a bike computer (not knowing my speed and distance was driving me nuts) and then headed off, getting to know the quirks of the new and improved Bertha.
After a luxurious full day off in Sukhothai, where I treated myself to some short walks and a lot of relaxing, I headed into the hills section of the ride. However, I think I naively misnamed the section. It really should have been called HOLY SH*T MOUNTAINS! And so my pace slowed considerably as I sweated my way up these intense climbs. The roads were pretty empty, my hills playlist was in my headphones, and my legs were constantly and slowly pumping their way along this beautiful path through mountains and forest. And then I truly came to appreciate a well earned downhill. Hitting a top speed of about 60 km/h as I rolled down the other side of the mountain, singing as loud as I could, and shivering as the sweat evaporated, I was in heaven! For the next three days this pattern carried on. Me struggling and swearing and sweating my way up one side of a mountain, and then whooping and rejoicing down the other side. With Chiang Mai in my sights I pushed on, picturing the glorious moment when I could do laundry and sleep in a bed, and speak to people in English again. The feeling of elation when I cycled into the city cannot be put in words. A sense of pride and accomplishment, mixed with total physical and mental exhaustion is a strange combination, but one that I am glad to have achieved. This solo portion of the trip taught me a lot, but it also made me excited to become the dynamic duo once again!
