1987 Biking Korea

During the tough times it was the memories of better days that saw me through. Memories of tranquil temples where gray-clad priests go quietly about their priestly day in shoes with upturned toes. Of rooms with paper doors where a thousand porcelain buddhas sit patiently gathering dust. Memories of market places where dried centipedes are neatly tied with red ribbon and sold to cure all ills. And plump and wrinkled old ladies gently doze against mounds of melons while shoppers choose from a bucket of freshly-skinned eels still alive and redly squirming. Memories of a honeymoon bride in the brightest of silks asking to have her photograph taken with me and a child who stared through slanted eyes and when I smiled blew me a kiss on a tiny hand. Memories of a long, long decline, a 5km gift. The sun on my back and the wind cooling my sweaty brow and the countryside rushing by and the joy of another obstacle overcome.

On the day I first strapped my backpack to my maroon bike with its green and gold saddle , I did not know whether I was either physically or emotionally capable of completing the task I had set for myself. But I was and I did and it was worthwhile indeed.

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