Lost

Leaving Kanchanaburi I decided to take a scenic route. I could have taken what is known in Thailand as The Super Highway, but I imagine that you can well imagine simply from the name that this is not the most convivial route for a a cyclist. So I paid for my stay at the guest house, exchanged pleasantries with the staff, Auntie and Mickey the lady-boy and I took my leave. Although I had been longing to get away when the time came I felt it would have been easy to stay for one more day. There was no reason for this what so ever and when I considered the feeling more deeply I concluded, much to my dismay, that I was becoming institutionalised.

I left and ​I got lost, several times. Oh I did mumble and grumble. I crossed the bridge and started riding. I rode for 30 kilometres and found myself back at the bridge. I called myself a silly ass and a variety of other oaths. I also had a lot of bother with highway 3209. Oh it drove me to distraction, it really did. At one point it went in three directions. I mean how can that be? I became so irate and fed up with highway 3209 that I decided to have no more to do with it. So I made enquiries with some locals and they all had a long natter and they took hold of my map and they ran oily fingers (they seemed to be mechanics) from the Malay border up to the Chinese border then over to the Burmese border, the Lao border and the Cambodian border. I decided to take action before they completely covered my map in black oil so I politely pointed out where I thought we were (about the only spot they had not run their fingers over). They seemed both excited and satisfied with this and confirmed that it was where we were and that if it was my desire to get to Rathchaburi without going anymore on highway 3209 then I should indeed follow the road I was about to take. To be honest I was far from convinced but so upset was I with highway 3209 I took off along this new road anyway. It was a fine road and I followed it for some time as happy as Larry, and then I’ll be damned if I didn’t come back onto highway 3209. I had done 90 KMS by this point and had a horrid feeling that I was no more that 20 KMS from that retched bridge.
At one stage I ended up in some sort of a military camp. It was a lovely quiet rural area and there were far more horses that soldiers. It was quite odd, the scene through which I cycled could have been England. A very hot and dry England, but still, the countryside must have been laid out by an Englishman. The fields were bordered by hedges and in the fields grew huge hardwood trees. The horses looked, to my untrained eye, to be fine horses. There were many of them and they were all chestnut in colour. I wondered how each soldier knew which was his horse and eventually drew the conclusion that perhaps the horse identified the soldier. I rode on and decided that this is what England could well look like if there really is global warming, which considering all the reports about this winter seems rather unlikely.
I rode for longer than I intended. Still on antibiotic and therefor still recovering my vet told me to take it easy to begin with. I like to take the advice of my personal physician and so I told myself ‘eighty kilometres will do you nicely today Walks’.Of course it was not to be. There was no inn at eighty kilometres, or at one hundred. In fact there was no inn until 140KMS, which took me very nicely to sunset​

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