Author: montescott

Day 3: Over the Top: The Cascades

September 5, 2002
Skykomish to Lake Wenatchee State Park
44 Miles Google Map

It took me around three hours, including rest stops, to reach Steven’s Pass from my starting point outside Skykomish. The first half of the sixteen mile climb wasn’t too tough; it’s the second part that tries to do you in. So many long stretches of inclines that level ground begins to seem like a novelty.

I managed to survive the ordeal by basically plodding along, counting my pedal revolutions and when I neared a certain threshold, began looking for a place to pull over and take a short break. The spectacular panoramic views of steep, forested slopes made these rather enjoyable.

Reaching the top gave me a sense of accomplishment I had not felt in years. Certainly the weekly meetings of the IT group I’d worked in had never left me in such elated spirits. I took my lunch by the closed-for-the-season ski lodge and listened to music someone working nearby was playing: The Who, John Cougar, and my all-time favorites, The Beatles. Like that tune off of the Sgt. Peppers album, I truly felt on this fine, sunny day that I was “in the sky with diamonds”.

After finishing my scenic summit meal, the next couple of hours were a biking free-fall with minimal peddling required. I only had to be careful that I didn’t build up too much momentum and end up flying off the road and into some tree. The near-constant attention this required prevented me from taking in much of the scenery that rushed by.

Restaurant Note to Myself: Anytime the menu says “big” or “hearty”, order a la carte, regardless of how ravenous you may feel. I believe my breakfast of this morning must have cost the lives of two large potatoes. I had trouble even finding the scrambled eggs, buried as they were beneath the spud avalanche. This made for sluggish going for the first part of the climb as my body tried to balance digestion with exercise.

Tonight I have decided to skip the hotel scene and camp out. According to my map, the nearest accommodation is close to fifty miles away, albeit downhill. A bit too much after the day I’ve put in. Also, I’m feeling a tad guilty about lugging my tent and sleeping bag along and not putting them to use yet.

[Editors Note: This would be the only time our intrepid traveller camped out during the trip.]

I received a bit of rain while making camp, which motivated me to a new, set-up-the-tent record of fifteen minutes.

Tonight there’s a stiff breeze coming off the lake onto the beach where I’m relaxing and doing my writing. I take it as a good omen.

Same Day — Late Evening
I’m nice and cozy — the tent is zipped down and the sleeping bag zipped up. It’s now me versus the great outdoors. A one night engagement. The breaking waves from the lake will serve as a soothing soundtrack.

A good time to talk about my music!

Somehow, the idea of recording a number of my songs, many of which I wrote way back in college, snuck onto the task list back in mid-June after I had wrapped up my short-term contract at work a month early. With the unexpected free time — and an apartment I could freely play and sing in without anyone complaining — I realized this would be a rare opportunity to finally get my musical efforts onto tape.

The month of July was used to work on the five unfinished piano tunes. I had purchased a small four track recorder which I used to layer multiple vocals on top of the instrument. (Just like the Beatles, except without the talent.) It required a lot of tedious repetition to get acceptable results, but I found it rewarding overall.

Likewise, August saw me scrambling to wrap up the guitar compositions. A tough challenge; I’m not sure for example that I always had the damn thing properly in tune with the piano for the couple of songs that required both instruments.

Once everything was recorded, it was time to mix the tracks onto a single cassette. This turned out to be a real headache at times, tweaking first the level of the instruments, then the vocals. Back and forth. During the final week leading up to my glorious departure for this trip, I was putting in eight and nine hour days on this while at the same time packing up my apartment.

At least the story had a happy ending: the songs all ended up sounding pretty good. At least to my untrained ear. Almost all of them had been circulating in my brain’s creative department for over two decades and I’m happy I finally found the time and motivation to clear them out. It made the summer extra special.

Distances
Today: 44 Miles
To Date: 114 Miles / 184 Kilometers

WACascades — Lovely scenery as I labored my way up…

Day 2: A Ghost Town

September 4, 2002
Monroe to Skykomish
34 Miles Google Map

It was a fairly short ride to Skykomish, which is strategically located just sixteen miles west of Steven’s Pass up in the Cascades. Good thing as my stomach as been acting up, most likely from a combination of shifting eating schedules and spicy foods. Not really painful, but the damn thing bloats, making me look like a Budweiser U. Alumni. I could probably make some good advertising money by painting “Goodyear” on it and showing up at a football game.

The tummy troubles make today’s meager mileage quite satisfactory. The last eight miles, in fact, saw me actually step up the pace, arriving some twenty minutes earlier than planned.

Which brings us to the hamlet of Skykomish. Or at least the buildings. I rode down Main Street and didn’t see a soul. Like something out of a Stephen King novel. The steakhouse, for example, has a “For Rent” sign hanging from a window. Inside the tables are still covered with tablecloths and silverware. It’s like the owners suddenly closed up just before the evening crowd began arriving. Or perhaps that was when the vampires started attacking? Probably best not to openly speculate until I’m safely away tomorrow.

The Sky River Inn where I am spending the night is on the main road, which sees plenty of urban hikers and skiers passing through, so the prices have gotten “Seattleized”. Not that I had any options. Trying to extend and go over a mountain pass on only the second day, before I’ve built up any endurance, is just begging for an injury.

This place, by the way, is one of the hotels which my Korean girlfriend and I stopped at back in 1996, a half-dozen years ago. That was truly an educational summer. We’d met in Taejon, South Korea where she was a student in one of the English classes I taught. Once I was finished with that experience and returned to Seattle, we decided she would come join me in the U.S. for a kind of goodbye fling. It was intended to be a month of romantic and exciting adventures as I showed her around my native land. And by the time I saw her off at SeaTac Airport in late August, I was crying — tears of joy at finally getting rid of her.

If you ever want to really get to know someone, take them to a country in which they have a minimal interest, speak hardly any of the language, and, to top things off, dislike the food. My Korean lover was transformed from an exotic, exciting woman with a sense of humor and a bit of an edge to an impatient, easy-to-anger vixen who nevertheless wanted to spend every last minute with me. Not that I was without blame, suffering through reverse culture shock and experiencing considerable angst attempting to decide on what I wanted to do next with my life. It’s fair to say neither of us were in very agreeable moods most of the time.

Therefore, re-visiting a hotel from that acrimonious summer is a bit like touring a Civil War Battlefield. I seem to recall that the “Skirmish at the Sky River Inn”, as I now like to refer to it, stemmed from my desire to just grab some sandwiches and snacks for dinner rather than going out to a restaurant, which was what she wanted to do. We probably should have given that spooky steakhouse some business, but I doubt she would have enjoyed the meal.

Funny thing, though. As I now reminisce about all those squabbles, I find myself missing my old girlfriend’s quick smile. The six years since that bruising month together have been agreeable enough, with my restarted IT career, but also strangely empty. I suspect there is a part of me which craves a major challenge, whether it’s getting along with an impatient Asian lover, or cycling up a mountain pass.

Distances
Today: 34 Miles
To Date: 70 Miles / 113 Kilometers

Day 1: Out of the Emerald City

September 3, 2002
Seattle to Monroe
36 Miles Google Map

Slept very well last night… The first of my priorities this past summer of freedom was working on my music, which I may try and cover later. The second was to ride my vintage 1991 Sequoia Touring Bike all the way from Seattle to Iowa to see my grandmother. I’d been contemplating an adventure like this off and on for some ten years, but never managed to get it on the schedule. Now that I’m in my mid-forties, however, I decided I have to tackle this while I am still sane and able-bodied. And grandma is not getting any younger, either! Her ninety-fifth birthday is the eleventh of next month, and I’m going to try and be there for the party.

The bike, loaded down with clothes, a tent, a sleeping bag and all kinds of special tools, is worryingly heavy. Though built for extended touring, I’m concerned that the weight will lead to numerous flat tires. (In fact I got one just a couple blocks from my apartment when doing my first full load test ride a few weeks ago.) I probably could have scrimped and left some items behind, but cycling halfway across America is an endeavor that demands to be taken seriously.

Freedom is the ability to depart without having to return. I am not on a trip, I am on a journey. A transition, if you like. Yet I almost didn’t make it out of the Seattle area. The Burke-Gilman Trail, which snakes through and around the university, was a pleasant enough ride, but the maze of special east side bike trails afterwards had me on my way to Redmond at one point rather than Monroe. Kind of like a misguided rocket falling back to earth. The freeway rules regarding bikes and a hard-to-decipher map further confused things. But fortunately there was plenty of time to get re-oriented and back on track.

The Monroe Hotel I’m staying at is next to a pleasing little brook and is delightfully quiet and out of the way. As I write this entry, a train is coming through the early evening. Its wail is long and lonely with an undercurrent of clicks and clacks, all of which would get bleached out in the never-ending rumble of the megalopolis I left today. My old Seattle life is already beginning to recede.

The rain that had been threatening off and on never came to pass. While the Seattle TV weathermen cannot mention precipitation without adding the adjective “much needed”, I’ve always felt that there’s a proper time and place for it, say October through April, or anytime I’m not out riding. I hope the amiable conditions will continue. Then again, I’d rather cycle through a chilly drizzle than have the late summer sun bake me onto the asphalt. Especially with the Cascade Mountains looming on the horizon. Their size and beauty makes a crossing attempt seem puny, almost insulting. How dare I?

Distances
Today: 36 Miles
To Date: 36 Miles / 58 Kilometers

Mr. Butch with his dorky glasses, all ready to shove off!

The Violinist

Even if she wasn’t playing Western pop tunes or sad Thai love sonnets, the woman would stand out amongst the prowling ladyboys and friendly streetwalkers of the late Bangkok evenings. Her dresses are always full length and the blouses long-sleeved, revealing little of her figure. On occasion she dons a brown beret. As you approach, she offers up a pleasant smile as she plays and if you linger, will launch into a special selection from her repertoire. Her case sits open at her feet and contains a splattering of coins and crumpled notes tossed in by wandering tourists, few of whom stop to listen for more than a couple minutes.

The woman’s name is Cat and she can sometimes be found after 10 p.m. on the corner of Soi 6 & Sukhumvit, below the Nana Skytrain Station. Occasionally I go home that way after a night of playing pool in order to be regaled with Yesterday Once More and Jambalaya (I grew up on the Carpenters) followed by a local song of yearning and loss, which is explained to me afterwards. Sometimes Cat also brings a bamboo flute and I end up singing to strains of Puff the Magic Dragon while the Bangkok traffic rumbles by but a few yards away. It’s a slightly surreal experience, but I appreciate the contrast.

If you ever find yourself strolling near Nana Station late some night, keep an eye out for a lonely figure playing a white, garland-tipped violin, serenading the darkness. Stop and listen for a song or two and don’t forget to leave a generous tip — it will be much appreciated and deserved.

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Special Notice: Finito
After twelve months of diligently recording my experiences and impressions in Thailand’s capital city, I’ve decided the time has come to wrap up this blog. In 2015, I plan to launch a new one, possibly focusing on my travels outside of Bangkok. Those of you that are following my efforts (fifty-one and counting!) should get the usual email notifications once I’ve begun. In the meantime, I thank you all for your interest so far. It has involved some hard work, publishing every Sunday, but there was a gratifying sense of accomplishment, which in turn has motivated me to continue my blogging efforts.

Stay Tuned!

How to Win at Pool

The women working at the pool halls in the entertainment district are often very tough players, as I have learned through innumerable defeats. Since I am quite competitive myself, I’ve had to come up with a few special tricks to give me an advantage. To help other unfortunates who may one day find themselves going up against these felt felines, I will share them here.

1. Although the routine may get a bit old, try to stay on the girls’ good side by always bringing treats. Cookies are a can’t miss.

2. Once play begins, ply the damsels with plenty of alcohol while you stick to water. Though experience has shown that booze can inspire wild and unexpected four or five ball runs, it also induces happier, more carefree behavior as you remain sharp and focused.

3. As the night wears on and the drinks keep coming, the level of play begins to…drop off, providing you with an invaluable edge.

4. When the inevitable bathroom breaks occur, use the quality time alone to ensure the balls are in favorable positions.

5. But don’t get caught in the act! You will be politely requested to undo your work.

6. Do not be distracted by the scoreboard. Stay with your game. Things will eventually turn around.

7. Finally and most important, always demonstrate good sportsmanship regardless of the outcome.

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Downloading Culture

Although I have decided against purchasing an iPhone, fearing it would demand too much of my time and attention, I’ve nevertheless found a use for Apple’s technology: to enhance my leisure hours at home.

In many respects, my apartment is a bulwark against the occasions when this country becomes a bit much. The taxi driver who won’t pick up me and my date because the drive requires a ticklish right-hand turn at a busy intersection (the Thais drive on the left side of the road); the ladyboy who won’t let go of me even after I tell him (her?) no thanks; the crowds and the sapping humidity. There are days when all I want is to stay huddled inside and indulge in my favorite means of relaxation: books and movies.

Unfortunately, the films offered on cable here have been a major disappointment. HBO Asia, like it’s counterpart in the U.S., feeds the natives a largely insipid collection of simple-minded formula flicks, blow-em-up action movies, or goofy animation. The ultimate purpose seems to be to dumb down the Thais and other peoples of this region to the level of the Americans — no mean feat. (In fairness, there are a few quality movies shown, but like a solar eclipse they require a real effort to track down as they occur on rare occasions and at weird hours.)

To escape the frustration of this entertainment cesspool, I decided to purchase a DVD player. For over a year this alternative worked fine. But then I started running out of places to store all the DVDs I’d bought. They began spilling out of the drawers and cupboards, making a middle-of-the-night grope to the bathroom hazardous. In desperation, I turned to my MacBook Air laptop. I had been downloading music from the iTunes Store practically from the day I bought it. However, I’d always ignored the accompanying movie selections since the ones being advertised had no appeal. But then I got the idea of trying a search of iTunes to see what else might be out there. Brushing DVDs off the sofa, I cleared a narrow space to sit down in and went to work, using a list of my all-time best-loved films.

The results were mixed. At times iTunes would whine that it was offline and unable to process my search request. (Imagine Google having this problem.) Nor did there seem to be any foreign movies. However, plenty of my English language favorites were available, which I quickly purchased and downloaded into my machine: Brazil, Lone Star and Rocky Horror Picture Show for starters. To these I added two TV shows from my long-ago youth: Twilight Zone and Outer Limits. And for any items I did not actually care to own, there’s a rental option. Wow! Welcome to the twenty-first century.

Since those wondrous discoveries, I’ve become a more contented person (especially since I now have the sofa all to myself). In addition to the iTunes products, I’ve downloaded some thirty tomes from iBooks. After a stressful day of edging around street vendors and dodging motorbikes, I now have some pleasing means of unwinding. For those planning to be away for an extended period of time, the lesson should be clear: Don’t leave the laptop at home!

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Disturbing Disconnects

One of the rewards of foreign travel are the good people you sometimes chance upon. The last time I was in South Korea, a woman showed me how to shop at a local bakery (“First, you take this tray…”). In Taiwan, a girl noticing my struggles with my backpack offered me her seat on the Taipei subway. Yet in my three-plus years in Thailand, I’ve experienced this kind of no-strings-attached generosity perhaps a handful of times. There seems to be something in the Thai DNA that prevents them from having empathy for anyone outside their immediate circle of family and friends.

It’s little wonder then that the “haves” of this nation (the so-called Yellow Shirts, a political minority centered in Bangkok) have so little sympathy for the rural folk (the Red Shirts), seeing them not as fellow countrymen, equally deserving of a say in how the nation is to be governed, but as undeserving rubes living off rice subsidies and other handouts. Dirty tricks such as judicial fiats and army takeovers are therefore perfectly acceptable means of nullifying the power the Reds wield at the voting booth.

Which brings us to the latest struggle. After a second coup in less than a decade, the latest Generalissimo In Charge has announced it will be at least fifteen months before another election can be held. In the meantime, there will be a focus on “security and reconciliation” (rather strange bedfellows) followed by a temporary constitution drawn up by legal experts. To expect that the current bitter animosities between the Yellows and the Reds can be somehow tamed, then papered over (pun intended) with a fancy new legal document is an exercise in wishful thinking. One wonders if the ruling junta is truly serious, or simply using this as a ruse to blunt criticism and stay in power.

Ironically, it has been the Royal Thai Army that has allowed the tensions to escalate to the current boiling point. Back in January, when the Yellow Shirts blockaded major intersections in Bangkok, demanding an overthrow of the elected, legitimate government, the army did not lift a finger against them as the anger on both sides rose. It was only after the prime minister’s forced removal almost four months later, when the Red Shirts began threatening counter-demonstrations, that the soldiers actually took to the streets and martial law was declared. For the generals to now be portraying themselves to the outside world as fair and impartial rulers is laughable.

It was the French Prime Minister of almost a century ago, Georges Clemenceau, who is credited with saying that war is too serious a matter to entrust to military men. If that is the case — and there is ample evidence to support the thesis — then it is even more true that the military should restrain itself from the management of civilian affairs. Thailand today is a country in name only; whose people fail to see themselves as part of a greater whole. No army is going to be able change that.

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Round #2 With My Bank

The new bankbook I got back in March has proven to be a real pain. Specifically, the bar code — a wide, black band located at the bottom of the front cover — cannot always be read by the machine that prints the transactions. In the past couple of weeks this trouble had gotten noticeably worse. With a heavy heart, I realized I’d have to make another visit to my beloved Siam Commercial Bank (SCB) to ask for a new bankbook. It was not going to be an easy task, explaining what was going wrong and persuading them that I had a genuine grievance.

It was time to bring in Nicky:

Though there had a misunderstanding involving her birthday party last December, I’d let that slide and had continued to stop by Nicky’s place of business every once in awhile. She’d proven herself to be a very useful translator whenever I’d had important bank business to attend to, and I didn’t want to lose her services. You see, the Thais working at the local SCB branch seem to think the foreigners in this area are sloppy and rather obtuse. (Walk past the Soi 4 sports bars some night with the mobs of obese, beer-guzzling, bawling soccer fans and you’d come to the same conclusion.) If I have to deal with them — the Thais, not the fans — it would be far better to have one of their own with me in order to be taken more seriously. A kind of defense lawyer to present my case.

Nicky was initially concerned she might not fully understand was in essence a technical malfunction. Once we got to the bank, however, I easily brought her up to speed by twice putting my bankbook into the print machine and having her read the resulting error messages. To her edification — and my relief, since I wanted a realistic demonstration — the device first whined that it could not read the bar code, then complained about the book’s transactions being misaligned. A real mess.

Entering the bank, Nicky explained our problem to the “greeter girl” who had us take a seat out front. After a bit of waiting, we were then ushered not to one of the tellers, who had been of marginal competence the last time I had this trouble, but to one of the wide, important-looking desks next to the teller stalls. The woman seated behind it was young, but knew exactly what to do. Although I had to sign my name in four places (the Thais are fanatics about foreigner signatures), in less than ten minutes’ time I was issued a new bankbook that worked perfectly.

As we got up to leave, the desk lady mentioned the importance of always keeping the bankbook in the shiny plastic envelope that it came in — much the same way the bar girls demand their customers use condoms. Though I unfailingly employ both means of protection, I bowed my head in humble subservience. Who knows, I may need that banker’s assistance again someday!

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Coup News

In the past few days, the military takeover here in Thailand has grabbed worldwide headlines. The official rational for the move is to put an end to the political turbulence of the past six months, which has seen endless street protests, the forced resignation of the prime minister and some of her cabinet, and increasing fatalities as the violence threatens to boil over.

Although the images coming out of Bangkok are replete with grim-faced soldiers and policemen, they are not actually guarding every street corner. When I had dinner Friday evening at the Terminal 21 Mall next to the very busy Asoke Skytrain Station, there were no uniforms or rifles to be seen. Just the typical crowd of commuters and shoppers along with wandering tourists deciding on where to eat. The only unusual scenes were the throngs of Thais waiting to ride the city buses, there being far fewer taxis available.

As part of the crackdown, a nighttime curfew has been imposed, requiring everyone to be off the streets by 10:00 PM. I have not found this to be a personal imposition — being fifty-seven years old, I tend to be home by that hour regardless of what the authorities are ordering. For others, however, this is both frustrating and inconvenient. Strolling back to my apartment Friday night at 9:30 along Sukhumvit Road, there was a definite tension in the air as people scrambled to find a way to get home in a hurry. I made it to my comfy studio with fifteen minutes to spare as an eerie quiet descended upon my street, broken only by the occasional car. Rather than being under martial law, it felt like the capital city had been abandoned. In a strange way, I kind of enjoyed it.

Another move the army has made is to close down various media outlets. For the first couple of days, about one third of the cable channels I used to get showed only a colorful display from the “National Peace and Order Maintaining Council”. This included CNN, though I could still get news from the BBC channel and my apartment’s internet connection was not affected.

For the time being, I am not going to make any drastic moves such as a harried midnight flight out of the country. Instead, I’ll continue to keep a low profile and follow the rules, quietly going about my daily routines like everyone else. I do not feel threatened or even inconvenienced — at least not yet — and my feeling here is that it’s best to wait and see what unfolds in the next couple of weeks.

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Let It Rain!

Last week a mild thunderstorm hit just as I was getting ready for bed. I have always enjoyed the soothing patter (or in this case, the pounding) of rain, so I opened the patio door to take it in. Of course this also let in the sharp sounds of the street traffic, but most of those annoying motorbike drivers were opting to stay home and dry.

These storms are much appreciated at this time of the year as they pass through every few days, fracturing the glassy heat which has encased the city since early April. For a few hours at least, one no longer feels like they are living on the surface of Venus. It’s easier to breathe, and a person can cut back on the five-showers-a-day routine.

I’ve heard the locals refer to this the Rainy Season, but for me it’s far too patchy and benign to be worthy of the title. For one thing, the monsoon deluges — when the water comes down in buckets — are still a good four months off. The rains occurring now are more like half-hour outdoor fresheners, leaving behind blue, scrubbed skies and more bearable temperatures. Certainly not causing any real discomfort, especially when compared to what the climate of my old home of Seattle offers up each winter.

If the heavy portion of the Rainy Season here in Thailand is a physical assault, the one that invades the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. around mid-to-late October strikes at a person’s psyche. For some five months, thick layers of unending grey clouds roll in from the coast, reducing the sun to a rumor and blurring the landscape in a monotonous drizzle. As an added punishment, the days become brutally shorter: by early December one will be commuting to and from work in partial to total darkness. The holiday cheer is tinged with melancholy. Prozac consumption skyrockets. When, at the far end of the tunnel, the bright days of late spring appear, they greeted with near rapture.

Though there are things about Thailand I most certainly dislike, you will never hear me complaining about the rain. For I have had my very soul tortured by the damp, dark side of Mother Nature.