“What the hell am I doing here?” This thought screams in my mind as I frantically pedal to catch up with the rest. My helmet keeps sliding over my forehead, which is covered in a sheen of sweat. The sun block I meticulously applied earlier this morning found its way into my right eye which is now burning and tearing up badly. I have no idea how to work the gears on my mountain bike and am pedaling (as I later find out) way too fast on a gravel and uneven dirt path which constitutes our trail. There is a steady stream of curses that threaten to burst out of my head and shortly thereafter vocally carry out their threat. Since I am eating everyone else’s dust though, no one gets to enjoy my rather eloquent litany of profanities. So here am I, cycling through the Mekong Delta, with just one good eye, the other shut tight, dirty and sweaty in the blazing heat, cursing out loud, pedaling at a ridiculous rate without seemingly getting anywhere fast! My only consolation is the letter of complaint I am, as we speak, drafting in my head amid expletives. “Dear Mr f&*%ing LeVietnam Sh*&ty Tour Group. What the F&#K?? This is not what I signed up for.” Sure, when I spoke to “Tung” over the phone just the day before and enthusiastically cried out “Sign me up!”, I had a different picture in mind. I envisioned myself cycling on one of those pretty lady bikes (you know, the kind with the cute basket in the front), at a leisurely pace through newly paved, even roads shaded by coconut trees and fragrant, colorful flowers bordering the paths (ok, ok, perhaps I exaggerate a tad but you get the point). Reality slaps me hard in the face. Anyway, I finally make out the back of someone’s helmet in the distance and relief sweeps through me. As I race towards it, I learn a very valuable lesson (one of many) in mountain biking: when speeding down a steep and sharp sandy slope, it is not wise to suddenly use both brakes. The imminent fall propels me out of my (uncomfortable) saddle. I manage to veer off to the side and land into a patch of grass. Now I am pissed! When our tour guide finally stops for our first break of the day, I am fuming (and not just from the heat). Controlling my rage, I try to find a diplomatic approach to the matter.
Me: “How am I expected to enjoy the scenery at this speed?”.
Guide: “Yes”
Me: “How?”
Guide: “Yes?”
Oh, right, my guide’s name is Hao.
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