Life on the Road: 8 Photos

Posted on June 19, 2013 by

These photos were taken over three days, while we rode a loop around Hanoi through Vietnam’s breathtaking northern highlands. I tried to take photos that show something about our daily life while we’re cycling.

 

Chris ices a strained knee midway though a difficult 800 meter climb to Mai Chao.

 

The view of the Mai Chao valley before descencding. It made the hard climb worth it.

 

Morgan attempts to jury rig his front brake with a fresh cable after some of the components failed.

 

Chris navigates his way out of the hotel, carrying his panniers down a narrow set of stairs.

 

Another small, white washed hotel room. This was awesome because it had wifi.

 

Leaving Mai Chao, on an unfinished bit or road.

 

Axiom: the higher the ledge, the greater the fun.

 

Chris, who was wearing the go-pro camera to record our descents, grimaces as he pushes up a hill with his strained knee.

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Why We’re Going Back to Central Asia

Posted on June 15, 2013 by

We admit it. It’s confusing. Today, we boarded a plane in Hanoi to fly back to Central Asia. We’ll suddenly go from being 2,000 kilometers and a straight shot up the pacific coast from Shanghai, to being over 6,000 kilometers of frozen tundras and 12,000 foot mountains away from Shanghai.

Seems like a reasonable decision right? This post is to explain why.

I’ll start with a brief history. The Central Asia question originally dates back to August of last year, when we arrived in Tbilisi, Georgia after cycling 4,000 kilometers from Paris. At that time we realized we were stuck. We couldn’t go through Iran because we heard they’re not too keen to give Americans tourist visas right now. And we couldn’t go through Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan because it was getting into winter — the mountains would be frozen over.  Logistically, it wasn’t possible for us to continue cycling East without taking a plane somewhere.

So we decided to hop on a plane to India, and made a pact we would return to central Asia the next spring when we could make it through the ‘Stans without becoming human popsicles. The trip would be split into three parts:

  1. March 2012 to August 2012 Paris to Tbilisi
  2. August 2012 to June 2013 Mumbai to Hanoi
  3. June 2013 to December 2013 Tbilisi to Shanghai


View Postulate One Itinerary in a larger map

Now I know what some of you are thinking. What’s the point – haven’t we cycled enough? And to be honest, we held our own doubts about the plan as recently as two months ago, even after we bought our plane tickets. After so much time on the road, we worried about spending more time together in isolation, as well being able to fulfill both goals of this project– cycling and reporting. Would there even be anything to write about in Uzbekistan, or would it just be days and days of cycling, black bread and vodka, and sleeping in yurts? The idea wasn’t particularly appealing.  It almost fell apart.

Then something changed. We got close to Shanghai.

Three months away from potentially finishing, it struck us that we’re not ready for Postulate One to be over yet. As tired as we are, as lean as we are, as much as we miss home, we realize this project is just too damned special to cut short. Not only do we have the means to do Central Asia (thanks to all our lovely supporters), but we’ve got one last adventure in us. Getting close to the end has revitalized us. Over the next seven months we’re going to need it; the final chapter of our trip includes boarding a cargo ship to cross the Capian sea; traversing the wind-swept plains of Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan; and braving the elements of Tajikistan’s fabled Pamir highway. We think it best to end things with a bang.

Besides, I will get the irrational satisfaction of claiming we actually rode from Paris to Shanghai. (Half jokingly, I’m tired of telling people that we took a plane to India and then hearing “oh that’s cheating.”) And Morgan is excited to seek out more feature stories in the most challenging of circumstances yet.

What excites both of us the most however, is the enigma of Central Asia itself. We have no idea what we will find there, and that is what fascinates us.

To Mom and Dad: we’ll be seeing you in Shanghai on December 23st. Just in time for Christmas.

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Pushing Through Our First Injury

Posted on June 13, 2013 by

It was 7am and I was still groggy. I hoped the caffeine in the coffee I’d downed would kick in soon. We’d just set off on our bikes from breakfast, a roadside pho noodle stand, and it was going to be a long day on the saddle. 110 kilometers to Mai Chau.

Well, this hill should help me wake up, I thought.

It was a rather short one, no more than 200 feet, but it was steep. I snapped into a lower gear and buckled down, flexing my legs. That’s when I felt the pop. I knew immediately what it was. I had pulled a muscle in my left knee.

It wouldn’t be the first time on this trip. Both Morgan and I have strained our knees before, at similar times when we were riding in the morning and hadn’t given our bodies enough time to warm up yet. Normally it’s not such a big deal though. I was able to push through it, and by lunchtime my knee had become uncomfortable but tolerable. On the flats, it didn’t affect my performance – just a slight, nagging pain. Nothing more. I took Morgan’s suggestion and popped a few ibuprofen at lunch to bring down the inflammation. We only had 40 kilometers more to Mai Chau. It shouldn’t be a problem, I thought.

Then we entered the highlands.

They were ominous. Towering rocks with granite faces and jungle vines rose before us, jutting up and disappearing into misty clouds. The road made no diversions. It headed straight into them.

“Get ready for a climb” I grinned to Morgan.

We followed the road around a corner, where a yellow triangle sign announced the highway would slope up to 10%. That’s a steep grade to ascend with over 50 kilos of baggage, so instinctively I stood up from my saddle to get more leverage.

A sharp pain shot through my left leg.

Ahhhh!

I slumped back on my saddle.

Standing aggravated the pulled muscle, putting too much pressure on my left knee. This was an issue. It meant I was going to have to pedal the 2,100 foot pass sitting down, riding diagonally back and forth across the highway to reduce the steepness. Without the leverage of standing, I couldn’t maintain a strong enough cadence to go straight up a 10% grade.

The tactic worked for a while, but after a few kilometers my hamstrings grew tired. Without thinking, I shifted back in my seat to give them a rest, and pushed down hard on my left knee.

AHHHH!

I swerved into the shoulder and clipped out of my bike pedals, clutching my leg.

Morgan stopped, looking at me, concerned. “How’s it feeling?”

“Well. It kind of feels like pulling 150 pounds up a mountain on a strained muscle.” I spat.

I kicked a dirt clog.

I was furious. I was frustrated that something so small could render me completely inept on the bike. I have always considered hill climbing my strength, and here I was being defeated. But I didn’t want to look too weak in front of Morgan. I insisted we keep going. We set off, and Morgan breezed right past me.

I watched him jealously as he stood up from his saddle to tackle a steep hairpin turn. The pain in my knee was becoming unbearable now. It didn’t matter what position I was in, I could feel it with every pedal stroke.

I put my head down and tried to put it out of mind, but without the use of my left knee I was crawling up the mountain. Finally I came across Morgan waiting for me at a roadside store. I had fallen behind him by at least a kilometer.

“Chris, this is ridiculous. You need to stop and let it rest.”

“Fine!” I sputtered indignantly.

I collapsed into a plastic chair and Morgan went to go find ice for my knee. I was fuming. All I could think about were the thousands of feet of mountains we’d face in the days ahead, and how this hill was just the beginning of them. I considered turning around. Maybe I’d end the tour early and go straight to Hanoi.

Morgan was more levelheaded. “It’s okay dude. There’s no rush. Just take your time.”

He pointed out that it was the first time in 16 months we’d ever run into a physical injury like this. Perhaps we were due. We’d been lucky.

Being the first victim, the thought didn’t exactly console me. All I could think about was how I felt at the moment, and it sucked. It took me a while to get back on the bike to confront the last of the pass. It turned out we’d been sitting only a 100 feet from the top.

We stopped at the lookout, and I laughed. A beautiful valley lay stretched before us, unlike few I’d ever seen. Bright green terraced rice fields rolled alongside a meandering river, all bounded by tall cliffs and steep hills that reminded me of Yosemite. Only it was more stunning.

View of the Mai Chau Valley

I knew right then and there that I wouldn’t allow my knee to stop us from exploring the rest of Vietnamese paradise. In the coming days, the hill climbing wouldn’t get any less steep, and the pain wouldn’t subside until we reached Hanoi. But at least I’d learned how to resist the pain with a little motivation. Suddenly it was a lot easier pushing up the passes knowing what kind of scenery awaited us on the other side.

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A Video From The Vietnamese Highlands

Posted on June 11, 2013 by

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White Lies: Our Struggle with the Ethics of Journalism

Posted on June 9, 2013 by

I moved the mouse cursor over the ‘send’ button, and hesitated before clicking. I bit my lip. I was anxious.

The email was directed to Carl, a 24 year old Australian we’d been volunteering with the week before at a child-care institution in Cambodia. The message contained the manuscript of the story we had written about it.

Well, more like written about him.

You see, Carl didn’t know he was the principle character in our story, and we had never told him we were journalists. I had no idea how he was going to react.

I took a gulp and hit send.

We had met Carl when we arrived at SCAO – the Save the Poor Children in Asia Organization. We were there to write an article about Cambodia’s orphanages, knowing that 71% of the kids aren’t actually orphans. They have living parents, and so we wanted to understand why parents send their kids away to live in centers like SCAO. In the United States, orphanages and child-care centers are typically seen as a last resort option. In Cambodia, the trend is the opposite. We smelled a good story.

So Morgan and I signed up as volunteers. We figured it was the best way to dig deep into the issue. But it quickly raised an ethical dilemma: we weren’t just there to volunteer. Should we disclose the fact we’re journalists?

“Man — it’s so great having you two here this week!” Carl said. “I know the kids will really like hearing about your bike trip.”

We decided against telling anyone. Our reasoning was that we wouldn’t get an accurate picture of what life was like at the center if we did. More importantly, we didn’t think that people would really open up to us if they knew we were journalists. The orphanage issue is very sensitive in Cambodia – especially given recent, high profile scandals of centers mistreating children. People are on guard, and even though SCAO has made it clear it is not an orphanage but a care center, we figured dropping the J word would stop us from getting candid opinions from volunteers, or having access to the children. We only had one week to get a story, and we didn’t want to be barred from our only lead.

“So what do you guys do besides bike?” someone asked us at dinner.

“Uhh – we write stories”

“Like on a blog?”

“Yeah…among other places.”

By day three, the situation was becoming complicated. We had vaguely mentioned we’d write a story about SCAO, but between our volunteer work teaching English classes and organizing science experiments, we were really searching for a few characters to drive our story. We honed in on Carl.

Carl was the perfect candidate because it was his last week volunteering at the center, and because he presented a compelling case of how foreign volunteers often substitute for the children’s Cambodian parents. When we noticed his close relationship with one child, Seyma, we decided to look at how the boy would react to Carl’s leaving, and whether Carl and SCAO were doing a better job raising him than Seyma’s mother could.

But not telling Carl was tough. Suddenly our story wasn’t so much about SCAO; it was about an individual. Even though we weren’t going to say anything damaging about him, we knew how disconcerting it can be the first time you see your name published in a magazine. Especially if that information was given in the confidence of a friendship.

“Chris, Morgan – we’re all going to see Iron Man 3 in Phnom Penh tonight. Wanna come?”

Carl became our friend. We went out drinking together, to play pool and sing karaoke, and went to his rooftop goodbye party. We exchanged stories about our pasts, and Carl talked about the mistakes he’d made running away from home. The more he disclosed, the more uncomfortable I became. Still, I didn’t say anything. I knew doing so would formalize our relationship, inhibiting our ability to ask him about his role volunteering, and his relationship with Seyma.

Then one night, as we were sitting in front of a convenience store drinking canned beer, he struck a nerve.

“I really appreciate you guys being here – I can tell you’re only in it for the kids.”

I squirmed in my seat. Then Carl followed up with the real clincher.

“You’ve totally changed my perception of Americans. You’ll be the first ones not to fuck me over.”

Continue reading →

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