Today was my first excursion from Chiang Mai, and what an incredibly memorable one it made for. Up early and strapping on my HRM and Watch; I’d be cycling, Elephant trekking and White Water Rafting for the day.
If Top Gear did bikes, mine would have been in a special episode. This thing makes Halford bikes look good – and that’s no simple task. Joking “Ah, it’s made in Thailand”, my guide managed to skilfully repair it with his multi-tool about as fast as a Formula 1 pit stop. The brakes here are reversed (left is front and right rear), and I’m restricted to front-brake; as the rear was jammed against the rim. This is not ideal for hilly cycling; where’s my Gary Fisher when I need it? Limited to 3 gears at the back and one at the front, this was going to be hard work – like riding a “fixie”. This is what I live for, however; the harder the workout the better.
Part one was a short 4K jaunt. With potholes dotted in the road like craters on the moon, and rocks placed perfectly to cause removal of leg skin by skidding, caution was in order.
Arriving at the Elephant camp, I’m treated to the GT model. I think it must have a turbo-charger too, as in no time I’ve caught up a larger female ahead. These creatures truly are staggering to behold. Their wide feet bulge, as they delicately place them on the ground; the weight distribution is perfect and barely leaves a mark. Taking a drink from the river, they will consume up to 100 litres at a time. Bananas are devoured in copious quantities, and my Elephant will refuse to move until fed. He’s a chronic hunger for these fruit, and with each toss of his trunk back, I’m blown squarely in the face by the most horrid smelling breath known to man. It could possibly be compressed and used in chemical warfare. This is all, however, astonishing stuff.
Noticing one of the herd ahead, I feel a lump in my throat, as I notice she has a large growth around her left hind leg. As a result, she cannot bend her knee; each step she takes is an extended limp from right to left, as she struggles to put as little weight on it as possible.
When given comment cards I ask them to “please, please stop working her”. Speaking to one of the guides, he explains that she was born with it. And like a lot of things in Thailand; it’s a double-edged sword. Elephants no longer serve a purpose – machinery has made them redundant. Though without these treks, they would surely be poached from existence.
Jumping on to my bike, it’s a further 5K cycle over far more gruelling terrain than previously, to convene for lunch. The thesaurus doesn’t have words to describe the scenery – it’s like something from the film “Predator”. The ingenuity of the locals is akin to the final showdown, where Dutch builds a selection of traps. “Do it, come get me! I’m here, what are you waiting for?!”
The guides cook food purchased earlier at a market, en route to the trek. And after consuming everything in sight and passing scraps to the local hounds, we have a short briefing on Rafting commands.
It’s identical to dragon boating, except using a longer paddle. There’s the same lean, kick and twist to combine whilst sat diagonally on the edge of the inflatable raft. Seeing my camera in a plastic bag, the guide takes it from me “you will lose”, he says. And that was some excellent advice. Capsizing twice, my camera would have vanished, sleeping with the fishes.
I’m glad I learned how to swim recently. It’s not deep here and as we pass down the river, we’re followed by guides at the tricky parts. They’re on hand to throw lines, and as I’m panicking and headed for the bank – instead of the raft – I’ll have one to grab thank you. It’s easy to find where we capsized, just look for the highest heart rates in the following link.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/22847457
Climbing back in to the raft and assuming paddle position (called “on the job”), I notice my left shin has a bald spot from the friction of the rubber. Girls take note – shave before rafting.
The locals here all seem to take a shine to my sister; she’s hot property on these shores. Yet as hard as I try, I cannot seem to agree a price for her. Our skipper “Tour Crazy” says he’s also known as “Fah”, and as we all questioningly repeat, “Yes. Fah Cuman” he says. His laugh is as mad as a Hyena, but infectious too. Asking to see my sister’s glasses, he passes them to me “you hold”, he says as his right arm reaches around and drags her screaming backwards in to the water. It’s only a few feet deep here and calm, but by this point, my jaw is in pain from all the laughing.
Looking back, the other boat is floating down the rapids gently, but not us – we’re spinning, capsizing, jumping the boat over the rocks and it’s thrilling. Tour Crazy exudes the kind of energy that a young child might, after being given a strong double espresso, followed by a 1 kilo bag of pic’n’mix – it’s incessant.
Thirty pounds for all this excitement - I'd have happily paid more.
