“Alright. I’m over it.” It was about 3 hours into my 6 hour bike ride that I decided that that “bahn jackrayan len” (cycling “for fun”) wasn’t fun anymore. I’d gone about 60 kilometers, and had about 40 to go. My mountain bike, Jackie (the Jackrayan) is a beautiful little machine, but it’s just that--a mountain bike. It’s built for tough terrain, not for tackling over 100 km of long climbs on hilly paved roads. And yet for some reason, that’s what I’d decided to do that morning. A few weeks prior, I’d done 65km. I figured that, with better preparation, extra sunscreen, and some electrolytes, I could tackle 100.
“You’re out this far. It’s not like you can go back now. Just pedal.” The climbs became longer, and my pace became slower and slower, despite chugging Gatorade and stuffing bananas down my gullet whenever I spied a shady spot that wasn’t in a ditch. I shook my head and wiped the sweat out of my eyes, joking with myself: “Why am I doing this again?” I reflected on that question. It’s a pretty common refrain among volunteers--even the ones who don’t choose to destroy their legs in this way. In both AmeriCorps and Peace Corps training, they show us the "morale curve," a chart depicting the average ups and downs to be expected over our period of service. Aside from the mid-service slump, the first few months at site are supposed to be some of the most challenging.
My second wind came after the respite that was afforded to me when, with about 25 km to go, my front tire made the soft, unmistakable FWAAAAAAAAA sound of a puncture. I cursed myself for not bringing a spare. I confidently told myself that I had my patch kit, conveniently forgetting the fact that I’d never patched a tire before and didn’t really remember the training I’d received. But I figured it out. And as nervous as it made me, I was able to patch the tire and make it home.
What else happened on this day, and on those long, repetitive roads? Lots of good things. I’d gotten up at 4:30--Meh A., who knew of my plans, got up before me and made me hot dogs, eggs, and toast -- ja dai mii raeng (so you’ll have strength). One the long climb up from Nong Rong to Nong Ki, I heard shouts of “ Oi! YEM! YEM!” (Way to go!) from strangers at the roadside markets. As I fiddled with my patch kit, two strangers stopped and asked me if I needed a ride (at least...I think so. I believe they were speaking Isaan dialect, so I honesty have no idea!) and gave me big thumbs up when I grinned and said it was okay--I can fix it myself.
When you take something like this on, it’s not like the struggle is a surprise. You knew it was going to be hard. But you went anyway. These things have fun moments, but we don’t do this for fun. We do it because we know how the challenge makes us grow (sometimes literally. Look at those quads!) We do it because we know how good it’s going to feel when we come out on the other side of it, skidding to a halt in our driveway in whatever place we call home. We often ask ourselves “why am I doing this?” But I’ve yet to encounter anybody who has said “I wish I hadn’t.”