Trusty Rusty

The Road

Gilligan (everyond wears Giligan hats here)

Trusty Rusty

Today was all about solo exploration. I was heading for Fish Island, where the locals grow rice and produce salt, vast salt fields for which Kampot is also famous. The island lies between the the two mouths of the Kampot river (which is actually a tidal estuary) and the Gulf of Thailand. It is accessible via a small bridge from the West Bank of the river, across the old bridge, the Death Trap.

I secured a Mao bike from the guest house and set out. This bike, Trusty Rusty II, is the second worst bike in the world. The first worst bike lives in Lao and my ass still resents the harm it inflicted. But I digress. TR II and set off into a lovely hot morning. Crossing the Old Bridge is, indeed, a test of nerves, with scooters slipping by inches away. Free of the Death Trap and still breathing, I turned south, gliding along almost effortlessly on a strong tailwind. I easily found the little bridge and there, where the pavement ended and the baked red fiesta ware road began, i found myself on the island.

The rice harvest is going on, hard work in the hot sun. The salt workers pulled giant squeegee looking things across the salt ponds doing some sort of salt making work. The whole scene unfolded around me as I pedaled and swerved around the giant potholes and rocks. My destination was a small hill at the end of the otherwise table top flat island.