A Morning Without Dogs
September 27. From a wild camp deep inside a Thai village, I greet the morning. What surprised me most was the silence of the night—no stray dogs. Normally, camping in rural areas means at least one dog shows up. But last night, not a single bark. The peace felt strange, but welcome.
The sky opened to a beautiful view, and I felt grateful for the rare comfort of uninterrupted rest. With my tent packed, I aimed for a long ride: Bangkok was still 180 kilometers away. My goal today was to cover at least 100.
The Search for Food
The road was smooth, the weather kind. Yet the hardest part after wild camping is always food. I could carry some, of course, but strong smells attract stray dogs at night, so I prefer not to keep much with me. That meant the morning began with a search for a food stall.
Unlike Cambodia, Thailand doesn’t have food stalls on every corner. Sometimes, you can ride ten kilometers without seeing a shop. Just as I was growing uneasy, I spotted a 7-Eleven in the distance. Relief washed over me.
Breakfast was simple: slightly spicy rice and a bottle of water. Water, in fact, has become the biggest expense on this journey. For a cyclist, it is fuel more essential than anything else. With my “engine” replenished, I pushed forward.
Narrow Roads and Unexpected Gifts
The road turned harsh. Just like the Cambodian-Thai border crossing near Poipet, construction zones narrowed the path dangerously. At times, the road felt barely wide enough for one and a half cars. For a cyclist, every passing truck felt like a threat.
Later, thirsty again, I stopped at a small shop. Two men sat outside. Before I knew it, they handed me water, juice, and a few snacks. At first, I doubted their intentions, thinking they wanted me to buy unnecessary items. But no—they were simply generous. I felt ashamed for my suspicion, and deeply thankful for their kindness.
Markets, Meals, and More Kindness
By midday, I reached the city of Prachinburi. Its name stretched across large signs, proof that it was no small place. Hungry, I stopped at a market-side stall.
The woman running the place surprised me by giving me a cup of instant noodles, then a yogurt drink, and even pizza bread—without asking for anything in return. Her kindness touched me deeply. Before I left, she smiled and told me, “Use the toilet before you go.” She cared about every detail of my comfort.
That morning, Thailand had already given me more kindness than I could put into words.
A Flat Tire and a Helpful Stranger
The road stretched straight, reminding me of Cambodia. The advantage of such roads is that I don’t need to check Google Maps constantly, saving my phone’s battery.
Suddenly, a large statue appeared by the roadside—a Buddha, and perhaps Gandhi next to him. The road surface grew rough, and then it happened: a flat tire. Not just any flat, but on the trailer wheel—the last place I wanted trouble, with 20 kilometers still to go.
Then, luck appeared in the form of an older man. He came out, smelled faintly of alcohol, and said nothing at first. I feared he might not be reliable. But then, with confident hands, he began repairing my tire. His back was strong, his movements sure. “Leave it to me,” his posture seemed to say.
And he fixed it. Perfectly. My doubts melted into gratitude. He wasn’t just helpful—he was dependable, even admirable. I thanked him again and again. The Fanta I drank afterward tasted like victory itself.
Rain and Shelter
Not long after, heavy rain struck. Within minutes, the road was flooded, and movement became impossible. But I didn’t see it as a setback. My journey has no strict deadlines. Rain meant shelter, and shelter meant new chances to meet people.
So I waited, writing this blog while the storm passed. Within an hour, the rain calmed, and I set off again, cautiously. Wet roads mean danger—slipping, skidding, or another puncture. I slowed down, focused on safety.
An Unbelievable Coincidence
And then, a miracle of coincidence. A car slowed beside me. The driver was from the very hotel where I had planned to stay tonight. He offered to take my luggage. Then he laughed and said, “Your clothes smell—let’s wash them first.”
Soon, I found myself at a laundromat, waiting as my clothes turned fresh again. While waiting, I bought skewers and sausage bread from a nearby stall. Another small kindness from another stranger.
At last, I reached the hotel. It was beautiful—spacious, clean, with a large bed that promised real rest. After the long day of riding, repairs, storms, and generosity, it felt like heaven.
My face in the mirror told the truth: tired, worn out. But my heart was full.
Goodnight.
