06-04-04

BENZIN MAI KRAP?

On the road again, part 2

Sometimes truth comes knocking at your door and you say: "Go away, I am busy looking for truth." And so it goes away. Puzzling.

 

Now, when riding, I don't recommend looking at the concrete under your foot to much, nor for that matter looking at the gorgeous scenery, for right here along these narrow mountain roads, trouble is just waiting for you to make that slightest mistake ( do however keep an eye on the fuel gauge ). 

Pirsig revisited  ... 'I hope later she will see and feel a thing about these 'mountains' I have giving up talking to others about. A thing that exists here because everything else does not and can be noticed because other things are absent. She seems so depressed sometimes by the monotony and boredom of her city life, I thought maybe throughout these endless mountains and valleys she would see a thing that sometimes comes when monotony and boredom are accepted. IT's here, but I have no names for IT.'

So I am rocking and rolling through the hairpin turns going up the mountains and breezing at topspeed of 65mph along the nice long stretches going down the valleys. How does it feeeeeel .... when suddenly I notice the fuel gauge has dropped uncomfortably close to the red section. With quickened pulse, I realize that I have been riding for some time now on this narrow pockmarked road between walls of trees through strange unknown country and a heavy feeling of isolation and solitude sets in.  Haven't seen any villages and traffic has been scarce and fuel is getting very low.

At last I come to a little village and pull over to ask a parked songtaew driver. I realize I forgot to cover in Thai class how to ask for fuel along the road. Pointing to the fuel gauge and the fueltank under the seat I manage to make my needs understood. "Benzin ... something " is the reply. I nod emphatically. He points just around the bend. "Right here?" I reply in a mixture of relief and disbelief. Yeah. I drive on and find the local mom and pop store selling Coke, potato chips and cigarettes and the likes...but they are out of gasoline. Mai mii ( there is none ). 'Where is the nearest benzin?' with more pointing and waving. The man comes to check the fuel gauge, shakes his head, and points to where I come from. 10 'kilo', I understand.

With an eye on the odometer I turn back ... at 10 kilometer, nothing. With stoic determination I think every 'kilo' I am riding is one less to walk to the station. At kilo 11.1, a snackshack and a teenager with a motorcycle in the process of filling up. I have made it. In my Western frame of mind I was looking for a gasstation, but the 'fueldrums' are hiding out of sight in a shed to the side. Fuel is here all along the way, you just gotto ask. 


06:43 Gepost door pieter | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

De commentaren zijn gesloten.