Margene the Dirt Bike Queen
On a cold, cloudy evening in Xam Neua, Kristin and I worked up our “redneck personas.” Everyone needs to know theirs. Mine is Margene the Dirt Bite Queen, pilot of potholes, Athena of the throttle. Well, today Margene was squealing with delight.
I arrived in a new town, Kampot—hot, dusty, and devoid of obvious recreation. Across the street from my guest house (back to two buck and barely tolerable) is a place that rents motor bikes. After a rundown on the workings of my semi-automatic, kick-start, kiddie-sized moto, I’m off on my hardly-new Honda.
Skipping the recommendation from the motorbike pimp to follow some obscure dirt roads to a hidden cave, I followed the advice of a nice couple who suggested one “much closer, nice road.” Well, it may have been, but after an hour and a half, I didn’t find it. Eventually I decided I should have an obtainable destination. Margene whispers in my ear and off we head down the sketchy dirt road toward unknown caves.
Well, the road truly was terrible–huge valleys turned it into somewhat of a divided dirt highway that required crossing back and forth between the “good” sides. At my first fork, map in hand, brow furrowed, a kid offers to guide me to the cave: “I hop on back.” When I assured him that his life was too precious (sorry Kristin, you were a consenting adult), his older friend said “many foreigners get lost, too hard to find.” Bah! I putz on off down the road. Twenty minutes later the older boy comes buzzing with his friend on a moto: “You must be going to Phnom Phen? You missed the turn!” And so I found my guides. Or they found me.
Actually, it was more like 2 big guides, 3 child guides, and 7 other kids to “watch over my moto.” Means I lost a few more dollars and a couple granola bars, but it also means that I was shown every obscure animal face hidden in the cave formations and the “secret way” out which involved scrambling through the dark, crossing a 4-inch bridge, and swinging from some roots (OK that part was just for fun).
The ride out that road at sunset was unreal. I got plenty of strange looks (why wasn’t there a single other tourist going to this “special cave?”) and ALWAYS smiles and hellos. I almost went off the road several times trying to keep up with waving. It was a crazy colored collage of bleached cows, nets pulled through silver water, bikes laden with pigs or half a rice field, coke bottles with shades of petrol for sale in little thatched stands, and one silly white woman.
Now I’m filthy. But Margene is whooping up an embarrasing yowl and insisting on dancing on tables tonight. Maybe I can talk her into shower and dinner instead. ; )
P.S. I know you’re curious: Kristin’s redneck persona is “Margie Joe the Machinery Ho.”
Tags: Cambodia, Kampot, motos
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