Travel – Page 41

The Road to Wisdom (part two)

The cold seeped into my bones. The heat my body generated while I rode kept me warm; that is, until I reached a straightaway and was hit with a crisp headwind that left me shivering. My derrière was about the only part of my body still dry, and it ached from saddle sores. I could hardly peddle and labored mightily to continue. The road ahead disappeared into a wall of mist. I was numb but kept pedaling, driven by the urge to find Wisdom. I pedaled and pedaled. My eyes wandered to the river meandering next to the highway, one of the few points of interest not shrouded in fog that offered an escape from my predicament.

I rode on alone. Not a single car drove by. Only the sound of the babbling river and rain pelting on my saturated windbreaker filled my ears. The rain never stopped, at times pouring down on me in sheets before dissipating into a lighter downpour, then growing heavy again. Water filled my glasses, and I had to clear them with my finger like a makeshift windshield wiper in order to see the road. Water filled my ears, and my finger doubled as a swab.

After a couple more hours, I could no longer ignore fatigue. I chided myself for getting separated from my group. Perseverance, or perhaps stubbornness, had brought me to this point, stranded in the middle of nowhere. My mind resolved to continue even after my body begged to stop. Wisdom couldn’t be that far, I reasoned. I am almost there. The town had to be after the next few bends; surely I would be there soon. My body rebelled, but my mind won the argument.

I spotted a green highway mileage sign with neon white letters in the distance. I pushed myself as fast as I could go, sprinting to the sign. If it proved me right, I could ride the last few miles to town and then wait for the others to arrive.

“Wisdom – 14 Miles,” the sign taunted me. It crushed my spirit. The distance was almost five times farther than I thought! I gave up and stopped then and there, refusing to go on. I would wait in the rain for someone to find me. I prayed someone would rescue me soon. Heavy rain continued.

At that moment I heard the sound of a car horn. It was the sag wagon! The blue Ford van pulling a large trailer stopped on the shoulder next to me. The driver rolled down his window and yelled to me through the rain, “Hey, why don’t you load up your bike? We’ll take you to Wisdom.”

I couldn’t believe it! I was saved. The driver loaded up my bicycle, and I hopped into the warm cab, relieved that my ordeal had come to an end. We drove to town and spent the night. The next day, the rain let up, and we spent two more sunny days finishing the ride to Missoula.

The experience taught me a valuable lesson. I realized that when you find yourself in a difficult situation, and you’re ready to give up, draw strength from God. He often saves you from yourself. The road to Wisdom is best taken if you don’t try to do it on your own.

The Road to Wisdom (Part One)

During the summer of 1986, I set out with a group of cyclists on a 250-mile tour of the Montana countryside. Youth for Christ organized the five day, round-trip tour starting and ending in the city of Missoula. The circuitous route took us through some of Big Sky Country’s finest scenery. We followed the Interstate for about 50 miles before turning south on Highway 1 heading to the town of Anaconda. Each day we rode about 50 miles, far enough for us to enjoy the tour without wearing ourselves out. Two sag (supply) wagons followed us, hauling luggage, supplies, first-aid kits, tools and accessories, and spare bicycles. The sun beat down on us the first two days of the trip, and the sag wagons relieved us from the high heat with shade, water, and snacks.

A mix of riders and bicycles joined the tour. Sexagenarians rode with teenagers. Racing bikes peddled side by side with mountain bikes and rickshaw bicycles with bulbous tires that looked as if they were featured in a vintage 1950s film. I rode a Schwinn Traveler touring cycle that I had bought for this kind of tour.

We rode in groups of five to six about ten minutes apart. Traveling in small groups helped us get acquainted and support each other if needed.

The leisurely ride to Anaconda and relaxation we enjoyed there on the second day lulled us into a false sense of confidence that the rest of the tour would be easy. More than a third of the journey lay behind us, and we were well-rested and ready, we thought at the time, to tackle whatever lie ahead. Nature has a way of humbling even the most confident. We woke on day three to heavy clouds so laden with moisture that they dragged on the ground and covered the highway in mist, an early indication that the day was going to be harder than the last two. Our guides warned us to expect difficult riding conditions. We left Anaconda dry and were accosted by a downpour half an hour after departure.

I refused to let the rain get the best of me. I climbed hill after hill, pedaling as fast as I could to the top, coasting down the other side, and then catching my breath for the next challenge. The drizzling rain cooled me down. If I could beat the rain, I told myself, I was not going to let the terrain hold me back. So intent was I in conquering these obstacles that I misplaced my group and found myself riding alone on a lonely stretch of highway.

Another cluster of cyclists rode far ahead of me, and I sped up to catch them, but I never caught up. I continued my roller coast ride over hill after hill. Each time I reached the top, I surveyed the landscape for signs of life. The group ahead was nowhere in sight. Fog made visibility more difficult. Except for small patches of grassland and forest, fog banks covered the mountains and valleys in sheets of gray.

The other group was somewhere ahead, so I picked up the pace and rode on for a couple hours until I reached the end of the road. Highway 274 ended at the junction of Highway 43, and I had to turn left or right to reach our next destination at Wisdom, a small town about 50 miles south of Anaconda. The junction did not have any road signs to indicate direction or distance, and I did not have a map. I was not sure which direction to turn. If I made the wrong decision, I could end up lost and separated. I thought about stopping at the junction and waiting for someone to pass by, but I decided to press on because I was cold, wet, tired, and hungry. Rain fell in sheets, soaking my windbreaker and biking shorts. My shoes felt like concrete. I decided to turn right and ride west. Our route, after all, took us west all the way to the Idaho border. I prayed that I had made the right choice and kept going.

The Giant Swing

My family and I paid a visit on September 25 to Sao Ching Cha, also known as the Giant Swing.

The free-standing structure stands in front of Wat Suthat temple in the middle of a busy traffic circle on Bamrung Muang Road in central Bangkok. Built from tall teak wood beams with an ornate wooden crown on top, it stands more than 30 meters high (almost 100 feet) and looks like an inverted goalpost.

Sources indicate that the original Giant Swing built in 1784 by King Rama I was used to celebrate the year’s rice harvest, to thank the Hindu god Shiva for a bountiful crop, and to ask for his blessing on the next one. The Swing is based on a Hindu epic that tells the story of Shiva’s descent to the Earth; its pillars symbolize mountains, and its base depicts the Earth and the seas.

During an event known as the Swing Ceremony (Triyampawai), Brahmins would swing on a platform suspended between the pillars of the Giant Swing and try to catch a bag of silver coins dangling from the Swing with their teeth. The ceremony, performed during the reigns of King Rama I and Rama II and again from 1920 until the early 1930s, was discontinued after several fatalities occurred. The swing was renovated in 1920 and 1959; its most recent incarnation was dedicated in September 2007.

On our way to the Swing, we walked from Wat Saket (also known as the Golden Mount) about 1.5 kilometers along Bamrung Muang Road in the Banglamphu neighborhood of Bangkok. One of the city’s oldest neighborhoods, Banglamphu has some charming and historic buildings. Unfortunately, the area where we walked was gritty, chaotic, and forgettable.

Another 1.5 kilometers on the same road takes you to the Grand Palace and Wat Pho, two of Bangkok’s most prominent and popular sites. We decided to cut our journey short at the Giant Swing in midafternoon and to save the palace and temple for another day. The hot, muggy day had left us exhausted and tired of touring.

What should be a pedestrian-friendly thoroughfare that links major attractions, Bamrung Muang Road is actually an exercise in accident avoidance for tourists who opt not to travel by taxi or tuk tuk. We walked on narrow sidewalks along streets choked with cars that spewed smoky exhaust and dodged vehicles fighting to make their way through heavy traffic. We abandoned Bamrung Muang Road after one block and fled to a side street. Although this street was just as busy, idling traffic dampened the noise level.

I enjoyed browsing shops that catered to local tastes. One shop sold fans galore, another oversized Buddhist icons that reminded me for some reason of FAO Schwarz, and another was crammed wall to wall with old compressor components, dirty rags, and newspapers. I was surprised that anyone could navigate through a place so jam packed with stuff.

Banglamphu looked as if it had seen better days and had deteriorated into one of the poorer areas of inner city Bangkok. However, it was not a slum by any means.

For those adventurous enough to get lost in its labyrinthine streets, one can find some hidden gems, such as antique furniture stores and artisanal shops, lurking in the shadow of some of the city’s most popular attractions. The neighborhood is definitely worth a visit.