20/12/2023
‘It had everything except for snow’
After quite a bit of time in cities and civilisation we were keen to head to the east of Cambodia and get back into offroad and more remote riding. It was an easy run out of Phnom Penh, going against the traffic for a change. Foxy was well over her stomach troubles, but my sore throat had turned into a chest infection and proper head cold. There was a lot of noise in the helmets as a result – part of life on the road unfortunately. Hopefully the antibiotics we’d bought with us would kick in quickly.
On the outskirts of town, we passed a young fella in long pants and a T-shirt who looked like he was on a 250 cc trail bike. He had a small bag strapped to the back and was obviously a westerner out for some adventure. We gave him a wave as we went past and rode just in front of him for a while. When we pulled into a service station for fuel a few kilometres later, he rode in behind us with a mate. It turned out they were pair of civil engineering interns who were in Cambodia for two or three months working on road projects for their German employer. They had a bit of time off and were out to explore some of the same country we were and, as we were heading broadly in the same direction, we decided to ride together for a while. This is the nice thing about adventure riding in any country – the camaraderie and bond you have with other travellers, regardless of what you are riding. Felix, an experienced rider who had bought a bike in Phnom Phen, was keen to take the lead and Thilo who had never ridden a motorbike before that day and was on a rental, was to follow. While it was incredibly game of Thilo and a very impressive effort, Foxy rode in front of him with me behind. We wanted to watch how he handled the traffic and to give him some pointers if need be. He did a remarkably good job and there was little that needed to be said other than some general guidance and instruction. He was very grateful for this and said it felt like he had a mother and father protecting him. That felt nice in the busy traffic he later confided. We spent a few hours riding along the Mekong enjoying both quiet and busy towns and roads. We got some lovely views of the river before pulling up around lunchtime to have a beer and something to eat. Foxy and I needed to pick up the pace a little and, as we were all heading towards Kratie, it was likely we would meet up again that evening. It was great to get to know them both a little and hear about their time in the country. They’re only in the mid-20s, so it was quite an experience. Good on them for having such a go.
We spent the rest the afternoon on the Mekong. The roads were narrow and rough and alternated between broken concrete, bitumen and dirt. We saw heaps and, whilst it was hot, it was very nice to be riding in the dry. As we’d moved further north and east, the humidity had reduced, but the temperatures were still often in the mid-30s. We didn’t stop sweating or getting sunburnt, but it was a lot more comfortable without the wet weather. Hopefully this would continue.
We found an adequate Chinese guest house that evening and, wandering around the town looking to change some money and find somewhere to eat, we heard a ‘hey’ and there they were, Felix and Thilo. We were all pleased to see each other and spent the evening together having a few drinks and dinner. We were in a backpackers restaurant, so ended having burger baguettes and getting to know the two a lot better. The little restaurant was owned by a young Aussie woman from the Sunshine Coast. It was great to hear her accent and have a bit of a chat to her as well.
There were few things to see in Kratie other than endangered pink dolphins. However, it was pretty apparent that it would be unlikely we would see any. To have the slimmest of chances, we would have to go on time consuming and expensive tours, something that we were not really into. So, the next morning, we headed east. We’d been expecting dirt but it wasn’t to be. The bitumen was top notch and we covered some really good kilometres stopping at a the Bousra waterfall and enjoying the slightly more mountainous countryside. We were only 30 or 40 km west of the Vietnamese border and realised we were running parallel to the Ho Chi Minh Trail. This had been saturated with bombing during the Vietnam war and it was quite surreal to think that the jungle and bush on either side of us would be absolutely riddled with unexploded ordinance and landmines. As always, a sobering thought.
Another nondescript Guesthouse for the night at a cost of $10 USD with the usual rock-hard bed served us well that evening. We has decided not to stop at Senmonorom where we would have met up with Felix and Thilo again. At this point Thilo was to return to PP to finish his thesis while Felix, who had completed his, was going to tackle some of the same roads that we were considering. It had been thought that we might ride more of it together, but it wasn’t to be. We were always a little in front of Felix, but it was good to keep in touch and answer his questions about what he might expect moving forwards. We had a pretty light meal of the Cambodian version of takeaway chicken – mostly nugget type pieces with a single drumstick. It was actually pretty good.
We’d been doing some research and had both found a trail between Krong Ban Lung and Siem Pang, a distance of 94 km that Google maps said would take 2 hours and 29 minutes. Foxy also found a blog written by a guy riding a BMW F650 GS who, starting from the first river crossing at Pa Kalang 45 km up the road, had spent 8 hours riding the next 29 km to Ban Chuntong. While Google Maps suggests this should have taken 28 minutes, he described it as one of the hardest rides he’d ever done in his life. He wrote that the only thing the track didn’t have was snow! Did we really want to do this? Considering that the blog was written 12 years ago, we figured that the roads ‘had’ to have been improved since then. This had been our experience to date when comparing what we’d recently ridden through (ie, the Cardoman Mountains) to what I’d experienced a decade ago. Doing a bit more research, we found another blog written by a couple who had ridden the route 3 years earlier. Nope, no change. It had taken them 7 hours to do the worst section with lots of sand, creek crossings, ruts and slow, hard navigation.
As the least experienced of the 2 of us, it was Foxy’s call. There was no pressure and I was fully expecting we’d give it a miss. However, hoping that we were a bit better set up and (maybe) more used to gnarly riding, without any hesitation at all, said ‘let’s do it’. We’re on!
We had soup for lunch at Krong Ban Lung and loaded up with extra fuel, water and food fully expecting to be camping out that night. With tyre pressures reduced to 18 in the front and 24 in the rear (to start off with) we cruised along the first 45 km of formed red dirt to Pa Kalang with our tails up and at close to 100 km per hour. The first ferry was a reasonably large one that could fit 3 or 4 cars and maybe a dozen moto’s. The middle section was always going to be the hardest, so we headed off with the road becoming narrower and more rutted, with small timber bridges in very poor repair going over the multitude of streams and depressions we encountered. There were still a lot of people everywhere, something that always gives us comfort when heading into the boonies. We came across one man near a long timber bridge that had lost his leg to a landmine. He was very gracious and told us a little about his life. Having lost both of his parents he had their names tattooed across his chest. Despite this, he said life was good. He lived simply. It was nice to know and it bought a lot of things into perspective for us.
In the village of Ban Bake we came across people having quite a party in a small structure on the side of the road. They had a big esky that was full of energy drinks so we joined them for one of these each. These are commonly drunk throughout Cambodia and are absolutely disgusting. We then discovered another esky that was full of beer! Much better and this explained the state of everyone. One young woman in her 30’s was quite off her chops, sculling beers and forcing everyone else do the same. She thought we were hilarious and insisted on giving us both kisses. This had ‘never’ happened before. The party was starting to get a bit more than we were keen to be a part of and, after she tried to grope Foxy, we decided it was time to go. It was all pretty harmless and very funny.
We headed off in a bit of a rush and managed to take what turned out to be the wrong road. We only discovered this about 15 km later. It had been very wet previously and was pretty messy with quite a bit of water still in the tracks. The bridges were dilapidated and falling down, taking a lot of negotiation. When we realised where we were, we had to go back and do it all again. Foxy had a spectacular off with her front wheel bouncing into a rut on the left while the rear wheel stayed right. She wasn’t hurt and it provided some great photos. Ther’s an unwritten adventure riding rule that if you come off your bike, it doesn’t get picked up until the event has been recorded. Foxy wasn’t quite so sure this was helpful.
In going back, we passed the party to cheers and applause, once again, very un-Cambodian. They knew perfectly well that we’d gone in the wrong direction and were happy to see that we’d worked it all out. From this point, the road turned into what was really only a myriad of walking tracks. The motos had been using it of course and the multiple options wound in amongst trees, along creek beds and were exceptionally difficult to navigate. We were crawling along having to virtually stop the bikes to negotiate around trees and through the deep ruts, roots and holes that comprised the way forward. The panniers were the biggest problem and it was a real challenge squeezing them through gaps, often having to lean the bikes over and on an angle to make them fit. Hard work, particularly on the much bigger KTM. This went on for a long time. Landlines were in the back of our minds but, being on well-worn paths, we were confident that there was little risk. It took us well over 2 hours to cover a few 3 kilometres. This was some of the hardest riding either of us had ever been exposed to. There wasn’t a breath of air and the humidity was through the roof. If we’d walked into a creek, we wouldn’t have got any wetter. We had to stop reasonably regularly to try and cool down a little, reduce our heart rates and catch our breath. Our jackets, pants, boots, and helmets were twice their usual weight with the added sweat they had absorbed. When pulling my helmet back over my head and compressing the cheek and helmet pads, rivers of sweat would pour out and roll down my face, under my jacket and into my already saturated shirt. Come to think of it, would’ve made a typical soup. ‘You can’t write that’ Foxy said ‘disgusting’. It’s true though.
We considered turning around at one point but, as always, moved forward in the hope that things would get better. We were obviously in a catchment that had countless creeks running through it and thought that surely we would get out it at some point soon. It was so dense and we couldn’t see very far ahead, but we had to hope this would be the case. It was close to evening and we didn’t have much left in us. We were absolutely shattered and utterly exhausted. Funnily enough, we didn’t even think about taking photos as we negotiated this section. We are regretting it as we write this section of the blog though.
After stopping for a rest on dusk, we thought about putting up the tent for the night. We’d have to stay on the track if we did due to landmines, but it had opened up a little and we could’ve done this leaving just enough room for moto’s to pass. As always though, Foxy was right onto it. Her keen years had heard some bells (they are nearly always on the cattle) and then the sound of machinery a bit further to the north. Not keen to stop there and figuring that there had to be a farm of some sort not too far away, we continued. The path turned into a sandy track and a little bit further on we saw a small orchard with a very basic little house in the middle of it. The property was fenced and we went up through the bamboo gate to be met by the owner. He greeted us with a big smile and, when we indicated could we sleep in front of his house, he happily agreed. It was if having a couple of white people on huge motorbikes turning up in his front yard happened every day.
Our new friend didn’t speak a word of English and our Cambodian wasn’t much better of course, but we had a bit of a chat before unpacking the bikes and setting up the tent. It was still insanely humid and insects were starting to appear. Initially we thought about just putting up the fly, but some protection from the mossies, march flies and ticks was going to be necessary. The state of some of the wild dogs we’d seen earlier was quite shocking. We pulled out our dinner for the evening, tinned fish, crackers, cucumbers, baguettes, bananas, nuts and some Allens snakes we still had from home. This was washed down with close to the last of our water as we’d been drinking from our hydro packs all day. We were pretty confident we’d be able to replenish this the next morning though.
After draping our saturated riding gear over the bikes, we sat in our Helinox camp chairs, watching the massive fireflies and listening to the music that our host was quietly playing as he swung in a hammock under his house watching us. It was very peaceful and quite surreal. Despite this, we went to bed very early, probably at about 7.30. We were so tired. While rated for summer, the tent was like an oven and after couple of hours still sweating and with our heads about to explode, we finally succumbed and opened the gauze sides completely to let little bit more air in. To hell with the insects. We slept OK after that although my chest infection was now full on and I was feeling really lousy. It had gone to my head and sinus’ so, as well as the coughing, I was quite congested. Just what you want in a hot tent. We got up with the roosters and had a breakfast that was similar to our dinner the night before. The farmer had plenty of water that came from a creek and which he boiled in a huge kettle. We offered him a few baht in gratitude which he politely declined. He indicated the road improved so we headed off feeling fresher but still wondering what we had left in front of us.
The trail did get a bit easier with the country opening up and our being able to see further than 2 feet in front of us. That said, there was still plenty of very challenging riding, including creek crossings and rickety bridges that were rotted and broken. Foxy had a number of off’s including one at little bit of speed where we thought she’d done some damage to the front brakes on her bike. They were locked on, but after loosening the Barkbusters and everything on the right hand side of the handlebar, they freed up and she was able to ride as normal. That was a relief. We also decided it was time to let just a little more air out of her tyres as it was continuously sandy and loose. She had another mishap in a creek and, with the engine flooded, ended up completely flattening the battery trying to restart the bike. She only attempted to turn it over 3 times which is more than reasonable, but the crappy Chinese battery that we bought in Kuala Lumpur all those weeks ago finally proved it’s negligible worth. We always carry jumper leads and, after taking all the luggage and the seats of both bikes, got the trusty DR running and ready to roll again. As is always the case, even when in the middle of nowhere, we had an interested observer who provided lots of advice in Cambodian while he smoked a cigarette. His scooter was fully loaded and he rode off without a qualm or any hassle at all. Theres something to be said for small bikes, hey Felix. We were careful with the bike for the rest of the day and didn’t turn it off for quite a while. It got charge back into it and luckily it held. We were lucky it wasn’t something worse.
With the road becoming much more navigable, we had one last obstacle in front of us. We discovered the bridge at Ban Chuntong that we had to go over was three quarters submerged and probably had been forever. We rode the bikes part way across to where an attendant was sitting under a shelter collecting 100 baht from everyone that used it. The underwater section was about 100 meters across and there were a lot of people helping and giving guidance to virtually everyone that used it. Quite a community gathering. The depth was about 40 or 40 cm (well over our boots) and, not suspecting it to be much of an issue, I rode out on the 890. I put my feet into the moving water and both wheels started to slowly slide out from under me. The whole bike was shifting to the right and it started to get a bit out of control. I haven’t ever been across anything more slippery and treacherous in my life and was rapidly heading off the bridge and into very deep water. With every few centimetres I moved forwards I was slipping the same distance to the right. I couldn’t get any traction with my boots and was struggling to hold the bike upright. A number of the locals and Foxy had come out by this time and were doing their best to help. There was lots of noise and advice being given which, to a degree, only made it harder. A couple of boards on the right hand side were also missing and I was heading into the gap. We managed to keep the bike moving forward until it got to a point where the water was shallower and the risk of losing the bike over the side was a lot less. I rode up the bank on the other side thinking I never want to do that again before realising it was all going to be a bit much for Foxy and I would have to go back and jump onto the DR. With less weight and the earlier experience fresh in my mind, it was a lot easier. That said there was still some moments. Everyone, both ourselves and the locals, were pleased when we got both bikes over to the other bank. After this, we were on a pretty well-formed track and could ride with pace. It was a relief to be able to scoot along, finally arriving at the ferry crossing leading to the quite grotty Siem Pang where we were hoping to find food.
We ended up needing about 6 hours to complete the difficult 29 km middle section. The whole 94 km took 8 hours. In thinking it over and trying to tie what we had experienced into what we had previously read, we were of the view that the start and finish were easier while the middle section, although a bit shorter, was possibly harder. We were pretty wrecked and relieved to be out. Regardless, we were really pleased we’d had a go and with what we’d achieved. Foxy did so well. What an adventure.
We were still tending to only eat twice a day. The meals are local and generally good but are always quite light. Soup with vegetables a tiny bit of pork or chicken and noodles was common. With all the exertion, the sweating and the reduced calories, we’d both had a massive detox and lost somewhere between 8 and 10 kg over the last month. We were feeling healthy though (despite my flu), so this was something we were both pretty pleased about. Unfortunately, the meal at Siem Pang was a shocker – the worst yet. The woman in the little stand on the side of the road was cooking what looked like chicken wings on a brazier and had the makings of a salad plus what look like large, boiled eggs on the flames as well. ‘That’ll do’ we thought, there were good options available. We ordered ‘one’ of the eggs to give them a try and she was very surprised when we rejected the 6 that she put in front of us. On cracking it, a black liquid ran out, and when we peeled the shell back, we realised that the egg was jammed solidly with a well-developed chicken foetus. This is common in Chinese cooking (and we weren’t surprised) but there was no way we were going to eat it. She was quite offended. The chicken turned out to be just the tips of the wings without any meat and were only half cooked in a sticky, spicy marinade. We were more hopeful of the papaya salad. She put a lot of extras into it, including copious quantities of garlic and red chillies, grinding it up into a watery grey paste with a mortar and pestle. It didn’t look at all appealing and the few mouthfuls we tried were so chilli hot, our eyes started watering before the spoon got to our mouth. As a result, we left the meal largely untouched. This was a first – we can generally get through most of it. The woman was pretty cheesed off and had plenty to say about us to her neighbour in the stall across the street. We left in a bit of a rush but, to avoid complete embarrassment, Foxy had pocketed the chicken tips. Half an hour later she suggested stopping and giving them to kids on the side of the road. I said, ‘Are you mad you can’t just give chicken to children’. But once again, with Foxy being Foxy, she decided to do exactly that. The kids were terribly shy when she stopped and ran back to their mother who was sitting in a little hut on the side of the road. She shooed them back and finally one very brave tittle boy took them out of Foxy‘s hand. They were so excited to get such an amazing treat. It just goes to show that when you have next to nothing a little can mean a lot. They gobbled them down, laughing and giggling, with Foxy wishing we had bought more (and the 6 eggs).
We spent the rest of the afternoon on very dusty dirt roads, heading west back to the bitumen, the Mekong and closer to the border with Laos. This was only about 30 km further north. We weren’t anticipating any issues at this crossing but, as we’ve found out in the past, we never know what they’ll bring. It was around 3.30 pm and, feeling pretty comfortable about it all, we rolled up to the Cambo customs and immigration. The officer there informed us that Laos had stopped letting big bikes into the country a month ago. They had not been making many exceptions, he said, but suggested we ride up to their checkpoint before going through his process to see if they would let us through. ‘If you pay them enough, you might be lucky’ he said. ‘If you can work out a deal, come back and we’ll stamp you out of Cambodia then. If they won’t allow you entry, you can cross back without having to reapply for a new visa and going through all the entry formalities’. This was very kind of him and it was really helpful having a heads up. With a bit going through our heads, we wondered how this was all going to end. We jumped back on our bikes and rode slowly up to the boom gate leading to the no-man’s land between the Cambodian and the Laos borders The person manning the gate, while not an official, called out what did we want? We thought it was obvious, but we told him. He looked at us without a hint of a smile, shook his head and said ‘No motorbikes allowed in Laos'.
Here we go again.
