I noted the smirks on his friends faces as we left. Latter he explained that his friends were teasing him. They said that usually he stopped for sugar cane juice with them, but today he had a beautiful girl to drive around so they guessed not today.
I had noticed similar looks from friends-of-drivers in the last few days. I'd gathered that very few foreign women hire motorcycles around here. Most go for tuk tuks. Which makes sense. Most girls either travel with significant others or the way that they go to the bathroom--in flocks (I've never understood the flocking thing. I like peeing by myself thank you very much). And tuk tuks offer more space.
"Yyyess..." I said hesitantly. It was true. I had sat on the back of a motorcycle for a brief stint down a crowded street in Honduras, and zipped through traffic a few times in Taiwan. But I wasn't sure where this question was going. I was NOT willing to drive one if that was what he was asking. Especially not in Cambodia, where traffic laws were merely polite suggestions and the cardinal rule was if you can get away with it, do it, and if you can't you pay in blood.
"I thought so", he said, "Most tourists, they are scared to ride moto-bikes. But I think you are not scared."
Extremely pleased, but also surprised, I quickly took stock of my current situation.
It was true. I was practically riding like a local. Sitting behind my driver, feet gently resting on the foot pegs, one hand on my knee, the other, closed in a loose fist, laying just in front of his right hip. Not holding on, but in a position to counter balance any quick stops or starts. It's hard to imagine that just 5 days ago riding a motorcycle seemed a torturous last resort. Eyes half shut, arms wrapped tightly around my (different) driver, both hands twisted in his shirt, legs squeezed so tightly that they hurt when I finally got off from the deadly few kms down the road from the Siem Reap airport. Now my concern seemed so silly. Funny what you can get used to.
In my new found exhilaration I leaned my head back toward the sky and stretched out both arms. It's a bird, it's a plane, its a Clerky.
I have to say, I have never understood the whole motorcycle thing. Not that I haven't taken a risk or two in my life. But motorcycles always seemed like a needlessly dangerous way to get from point A to point B.
I think I am beginning to understand.
Told you so.
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