Finding the Flow in Thailand

Tapping into the flow of bike and trail is what keeps us riding; it’s the Zen state where the mind is quiet and body reflexive.

But as I found myself in Thailand surrounded by smiling people, ubiquitous Buddha shrines and the prospect of hours and hours of singletrack meditation, my flow was all fucked up.

Leaving the bike at home on a swing through Southeast Asia in January was an effort at reducing extra luggage headaches. Yet there I was chamoised-up and on the trails above Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand grappling nonetheless with another sort of baggage — full-on mental American Tourister.

Hardtail Heavyweight

How I arrived physically in Chiang Mai doesn’t matter really. What mattered after being picked up by Aidan Schmer, owner of Mountain Biking Chiang Mai, was where my head was at once I chose the hinky rig I’d be riding out of a lineup of even hinkier rigs that had obviously seen better days — years ago.

This is when the North American gear-geek dissonance started to rise in my noggin. Helmet, shoes, pedals, gloves and hydration pack are about all that fit into my minimalist mode of packing. When traveling I usually get hooked up with a sweet bike, throw my pedals on and it’s good to go.

Uh, not so this time around.

My weapon of choice, or more like lesser of evils, was a Merida hardtail equipped with a suspension fork that functioned great — as a rigid, but weighed a lot more. Somehow I was able to get the flat pedals off thereby making the bike weigh about as much as my 5-inch dually back home. Rounding things off, the Tektro v-brakes had enough stopping power to make the loose headset alarmingly noticeable.

After some quick adjustments my guide for the day, Lek, and I were shuttled to the top of 5,300-foot Doi Pui mountain right above Chiang Mai. As I wrestled my unfortunately hefty rig from the back of Lek’s pickup and did a gear check, my wussy reservations returned. Terrain, technicality, true distance: What lay ahead was unclear. What was clear was the piece of crap I was aboard.

As Lek and I started to roll, I did what any enlightened male is want to do: I stuffed all misgivings down the psychic rat hole and reminded myself to stay off the brakes.

Lek

Due props must be given to a guy who hammers a multi-hour, tropical ride in Levi’s. And as a cycling guide, Lek rides everyday. And as a Thai cycling guide, that means Lek just might tip the scale at 140 pounds — five of which being a full CamelBak.

Not to reinforce any social anthropological stereotypes here, but picture a Muay Thai fighter. Except Lek was decked out in an old Acqua Sapone road jersey, arm warmers, beat Giro lid topped off with a pair of neon-green-rimmed goggles. His ride was only marginally more modern than mine: A Jamis Durango hardtail circa, I dunno, maybe 2002? Plus a 5-inch fork without any rebound damping.

Did I mention he was wearing jeans?

My uptight sphincter relaxed a bit after the first fast descent didn’t end up with my headset coming apart and me left holding the bars like Wile E. Coyote. Lek and I spun through a Hmong hill tribe village, its narrow lanes lined with vendors, rainbow-hued cloth rippling in the morning breeze and a few monks strolling in their saffron-colored robes. Ah, Thailand. Nice.

Out of the village we hit the old Hmong footpaths that we would follow for much of the day. The sweat was finally coming and I was settling in on my new-to-me bike when any questions I held regarding Lek’s guiding skills were answered. Unable to shift, Lek hopped off his rig, studied his drivetrain and spotted a tweaked chainlink. Out came the multi-tool, offending link removed, chain shortened, reconnected, back on and off we went.

Or at least Lek did. Though relatively quick, the pit stop cooled my heels and dropped my heart rate leaving me sucking wind on the tropical forest rollers as I tried to keep Lek in check. It was in this anaerobic state that I began to contemplate blowing up about 30 minutes into a two- to three-hour ride. Ugh, Thailand. Not nice.

‘That Guy’

No matter how glamorous (it appears), being “that guy” from Singletrack.com/VeloNews is a double-edged sword. On one side, sure, you get to ride in some sweet places — Thailand, for example. On the other side every fat-tire sadist wants to flog you because, well, you’re “that guy.”

Not that Lek was trying to inflict pain on me (something about Theravada Buddhism, compassion and all). Nonetheless I was hurting but sucked it up, rode conservatively and prayed to Buddha that the trail topped out soon.

And it did, but not before both Lek and I did some pushing on a couple of steep, slickery  pitches.

It was on the ensuing fast, loose descents following Lek’s lead that my flow started to, well, finally flow. What helped, too, was the after-effect of an earlier remark I made to Lek, which went something like “how much better I’d be riding if only I was on my own bike…”

Now, Lek’s a cool Buddhist cat, but I could swear I saw his eyes roll behind those goggles when I dropped one of the lamest excuses in the book at his feet. It was then that the realization hit: I was being “that guy” and deserved to be flogged unmercifully. Or I could just shut up, ride and let it flow.

Transcendence

To say that I operate on any high level of Buddhism would be stretching it, so to assign my on-bike awakening to Thailand’s spiritual vibe would be pretty smarmy. Still, my new found “when in Rome” mindset and trust in those old-but-adequate Tektro v-brakes was most definitely a sort of enlightenment. And I was in Thailand, so…

What became clear on that singletrack above Chiang Mai was how my attachment to bike stuff — best, newest, lightest — had screwed up one of my most favorite things in life — riding a mountain bike. It’s a long way to Nirvana and ultimate bliss, meanwhile, quiet yourself, run whatcha brung and find that flow.

FILED UNDER: Destinations / News TAGS: Chiang Mai / Thailand