When our boss initially suggested Sofie that she should join the Norwegian Seamen’s Church on their week-long cycling excursion called Tour de Gulf, I couldn’t help but laugh and think to myself, “Thank God he didn’t try to make me do it.” However, as Sofie and I discussed it, I became a bit intrigued by the idea of cycling around the Thai countryside, as I romanticized driving through a picturesque tropical landscape. So, I suggested that we’d both join for a single day of cycling to get a feel for Tour de Gulf of Thailand.
Straight from Cambodia
Without much thought, I agreed to join on the second-to-last day, cycling about 75 km from Samut Prakan to Chon Buri. I had just returned from a work trip to Cambodia the night before and I wasn’t really in the mood for going on a cycling trip, as we were dropped off at the hotel the “peloton” had booked. Since the hotel was fully booked, the staff allowed us to leave our borrowed bikes and gear, before we headed off to find another place to stay in the small, remote town.
We briefly greeted the nice group of Norwegians and I quickly struck up a conversation with Daniel, the youngest participant, since we are about the same age, before we left to get some sleep.
The next day, we retrieved our bikes and prepared to set off. Knowing that our fitness levels were probably not among the best, we intentionally positioned ourselves at the back of the group. As we tried to leave the parking lot, Sofie stopped up. Her chain had come off.
Too slow!
After the experienced team around us fixed Sofie’s chain, we finally set off.
“The first rule in the group is to always wear a helmet,” one of the kind Norwegians in our group said to me, looking at my helmet hanging on my bike’s handlebars. Reluctantly, I put on the helmet and started cycling. Despite my attempts to fasten it, the helmet was too big for my head and kept moving back and forth, while it felt like wearing a sauna on the top of my head due to the scorching sun.
A few minutes later, the helmet was off again, while I was silently hoping that nobody would notice me managing to break the rules within the first 15 minutes.
Going fishing
Shortly after we reached a lake. The stone/cement bridge we were riding on zigzagged through the peaceful creek. It was scenically beautiful but smelled more like a sewer than tropical idyll.
Clearly annoyed with the slow pace and impatiently eager to reach the front of the group, I was asked to ride in front. But just as I reached the front of the peloton and the speed increased, the buckle on my helmet, which was back hanging on the handlebars, suddenly broke and fell into the not-so-pleasantly smelling lake. Knowing that I had borrowed my boss’s wife’s helmet, I had to dismount and try to retrieve it.
With Daniel standing next to me, laughing at my misfortune, I desperately tried to fish up the helmet, while crawling around on the dusty bridge like a bewildered fool. As I finally manage to fish up the helmet, my original group reached me. Once again, I found myself at the back of the peloton.
That time of the month
Back in the saddle and with an unrealistic faith in my own abilities, I once again tried to catch up with the front group when I suddenly felt a pinch in my lower abdomen. Aware that it was that time of the month, I immediately knew that I was experiencing the onset of menstrual cramps.
As the cramps intensified, the energy I once felt disappeared, and I watched the front group fade while fighting just to keep myself going. At this point, we had only covered about 10 kilometers of the approximately 75, and I didn’t know what was more painful—my period cramps or the pain in my buttocks. The small bike saddle dug in between my butt-cheeks, destroying my sit bones. In desperation, I tried to sit differently on the saddle, minimizing the pain by attempting to spare my sit bones, but it seemed impossible to sit on a bike saddle without it touching the bones.
Desperate for some pain relief, I breathed a sighed of relief when the kind Norwegian men suggested taking a break and getting something to drink.
Back in the painful saddle
Back in the saddle, and the pills had thankfully worked on my menstrual cramps but unfortunately not on my butt. Still, the dusty and unattractive country roads no longer bothered me as much as before, and I would slowly figure out a way to sit on one butt-cheek at a time. It looked foolish, but it gave my sit bones a much-needed break.
Of all the routes, this one was supposedly the least interesting, which turned out to be an understatement. After hours of either dusty country roads or smog-filled highways, the unattractive scenery and the constant pedaling had become somewhat tedious, with still about 50 kilometers to go.
20 kilometers to go
When there were about 20 kilometers left, we stopped and had lunch. Despite not being hungry, I decided to order a soup, fearing a sugar crash. However, it didn’t take long after getting back on the bike for me to realize it was a bad idea. The next 40 minutes were a constant struggle not to throw up. Riding on the side of an endless highway, with trucks speeding past us, I couldn’t help but think, how easy it would be to make a quick turn out in front of one of the many trucks, and end my, at that point, 55-kilometer-long suffering. The urge to put an end to it all was not diminished when I, engrossed in my twisted thoughts, rode into a branch sticking out from a bush on the roadside. An endeavor the nice Norwegians riding behind me, were kind enough not to comment on.
Just as I finally started to feel better after my 40-minute, nauseating nightmare, I could sense that something was now wrong with Sofie. Just as the end to my suffering seemed to be in sight, with only 10 kilometers left, we had to stop at a gas station until Sofie was ready to continue.
The finish line in sight
“When we start to get closer, you might want to put on the helmet so no one can see that you’ve been riding without a helmet,” one of the kind Norwegians nervously suggested to me as we approached the finish line. Knowing where the helmet had been floating a few hours earlier, I nodded agreeably while silently hoping it wouldn’t be necessary.
A little over an hour later, we finally reached the finish line. It had taken us just over seven hours to do the 73 kilometers. Despite the poor fitness level, my legs were surprisingly fresh. The only thing that still hurt like hell was my buttocks.
Incredibly relieved to get off the bike, I sighed deeply, and wobbled in to the hotel like a goose. Dragging the bike with me. Thinking to myself, that despite the pain in my buttocks and the uninteresting route, it was a great experience. I would definitely do it again. But maybe not the whole week. At least not without a more butt-friendly saddle.
