Day 229
I’ve stayed next to the Lao border for an early crossing, and it’s another chilly morning with mist over the Mekong and the hills of Laos in the distance. It’s forbidden to cycle on the Friendship Bridge, I wait around to see if someone in a Hilux can take me over but it’s very quiet and I get directed through the pedestrian gates where I have to pay 125 baht to put my bike on the bus. On the other side there’s still a long queue at the visa-on-arrival window from the previous bus so I’m glad I’ve got an eVisa. Passport control asks me to pay 75 baht which I query. Apparently it’s the “stamping fee”. No I can’t have a receipt, and no I can’t have my passport back. I’m not going to waste time arguing over less than two quid, I smile and tell her she’s made up the fee, enjoy your bribe, she smiles back and agrees. Then there’s another window where people pay their visa fee. I’ve already paid mine but I’m not let through the turnstile until I’ve paid the “tourist facilitation fee”, at least there’s a receipt for this one.
The routing apps have not been very helpful to plan from here, and I’ve had a few WhatsApp messages to say not to bother trying to cycle out, so once I’ve picked up a couple of million Kip from an ATM in town I head out to the pier and jump on a slowboat down the (Mighty) Mekong to Pakbeng. The term slowboat means a kind of long flat-bottomed wooden boat, they are actually quite fast, though I’m in the budget version kitted out with seats from dead buses and an open engine room. Nearly everyone else on board is a westerner. I think maybe I should have planned ahead and taken one of the luxury versions, though there are plenty of interesting people on this one to chat to.
Lots of people say that this river trip is one of the main highlights of their travels, one guy has circled back to do it as he first arrived in rainy season. Personally I think it’s nowhere near the awesomeness of the Albanian ferry on the Komani.
Day 230
There were three other bikes on the slowboat. There’s Dennis + partner who I’ve been chatting to on WhatsApp, he knows I’m here but doesn’t make himself known, no-one is obviously in cycling gear. The other one, Spencer from Leicester, spots my lycra and we exchange numbers, though he doesn’t have a SIM card. He’s heading the same way as me and we talk about the fact there’s no obvious accommodation for 150 km. I’m not sure if Dennis is taking the boat for the second day to get to the capital.
I set off reasonably early given the distance, it looks fine if the roads are good, but plenty of climbing. Spencer is still in bed.
After a good start the roads deteriorate, then get wet, then muddy. Cyclists are much more of a novelty here than in Thailand, and the kids in every village shout and wave and love it when they get a wave back. With the sticky mud I get a puncture, the first since Turkey which is pretty good going. I get a big audience, and lots of helpers. The tube has melted in the African heat and stuck to the inside of the tyre, after pulling it all apart I find the hole and mend it, but then it won’t inflate. The heat has also knackered the seal to the valve, and the whole thing falls apart. So wheel out, new tube, all my audience agog.
Once it’s all fixed, Spencer rolls up and we ride on together for a bit. The mud is very wet and my wheels are very unsteady, to the point I think I have another puncture, but no, all is good. I see a motorbike go down heavily, and before I can think about it I go down myself. Picking up my bike and walking this is like ice underfoot, even though I’m wearing hiking boots. I have a graze on my elbow, lots of mud everywhere, but no other damage.
Spencer says he’s spotted a homestay at 80 km from Pak Beng, and given the state of the roads there’s no way we’ll do the full 150 km today. After a while there’s no more mud but the roads are atrocious. Maybe 100 m of flat tarmac then either baked mud or subsoil, it’s worse than continuous rough track as every time you speed up there’s broken road ahead. Motorised traffic is mostly going 20 or 30 km/h and weaving all over.
In Beng it turns out there are quite a few guest houses, but I carry on to the one Spencer mentioned and he’s here. I wash the mud off everything, then Dennis arrives, also covered in mud, he’s done exactly the same as me!
Day 231
It’s a cold misty morning, and there’s no breakfast to be found here. I spot a guy with a bike and sidecar who makes up some bread rolls filled with condensed milk, no chance of any coffee though.
The landscape is quite impressive, but having to keep a close eye on the road surface makes it difficult to enjoy. Spencer is much faster than me, blasting through the rough areas, Dennis and Leeia are slower but I see them several times when the roadworks hold me up. We’ve agreed to go on past the main city and meet up at Muang La where there’s a recommended b&b, but when I get there there’s no-one about and retrace to the main road where there’s a more expensive place (£10 as opposed to £7).
Spencer has snapped a spoke. He’s running 24 spoke carbon wheels. Worse still, they are no-bend spokes so completely unobtainable anywhere this side of Hanoi. Leeya pulls out a set of spokes her father gave her when she left, but she doesn’t even have a spoke key. None of the people at the table know what spoke count they have. I’m a little surprised at how little bike prep and knowledge some people have when setting out on such a long tour.
Day 232
The route from here is 70 km along the river, followed by 2,000 m of climbing over the mountain and down again. We’ve agreed to stop before the climb and I catch up with Spencer here at lunchtime. I’d have carried on over the mountain, Spencer agrees, but then we both concur that it’s really nice here and once you’ve got it into your head that a day’s ride ends it’s hard to convince yourself to carry on. Tomorrow might be hard, either stop after the first mountain, which will be a very short day (apart from the climbing) or carry on over the next one to the border.
