Today was defined by a lot of pain, then joy, the result of two big climbs, the first between Suanbo and Haengchon, and the second – a longer, tougher climb which ended with a spectacular view from the Ihwaryeong Rest Area. It was all just about all worth it.
Already I feel i’m running out of words to describe the scenery i’m passing through, but since my photos will probably offer a better description than my words could this isn’t necessarily a tragedy. The speed at which you travel by bike means the change between areas happens slowly, to the point where you don’t necessarily notice it happen. Since my route was not defined by a series of destinations, other than Busan at the end, i’ve paid less attention to the beginnings and ends of towns, and what they might offer me, other than a place to fill my water bottles or get a coffee.
I’d woken up later and had been sluggish to pack all my stuff up and reluctant to leave the warmth of my sleeping bag. More jets had been passing overhead but judging the reactions (or lack of them) in the other people I passed on the way into the city it must be a daily occurrence. My first stop in the morning was at a park when I reached Chungju. A teacher posed her students in front of a surreal sculpture of some insects, a mother drove her son around in a small red remote control car. For some reason this didn’t feel strange in Korea. I drank a coffee and enjoyed the public wifi which seems to appear magically from time to time.
Out of Chungju the tracks I had become used to cycling on from Seoul became scarcer and I spent more time cycling on the road rather than bike specific paths. Despite this, the cycle lanes are well marked and there are signs and mirrors everywhere they’re needed. I kept thinking about the enormous effort and planning which must have gone into making an entire county bike friendly like this and wondered if the UK could ever do the same. Probably not anytime soon.
The region started to become mountainous but was still easy going at first. It was quiet and rural. People were at work on their land and I saw a deer drink from the river and a squashed rodent of some kind. Cars were rare, as were cyclists, or any trace of modernity for some time. Now the paths were less obvious it felt just a little more adventurous than it had before the previous days.
I reached Suanbo, a touristic hot spring town which would have by nice to spend the night in and I almost gave up there. But I stamped my passport and unwittingly began the first climb. The road was beautiful but tough. Rugged mountain on one side, and (presumably) pine trees on the other. The side of the road had strategic stop spots and I lied down on a bench close to the top. It felt like no matter how much chocolate, nuts, strange isotonic drinks or whatever else I consumed I was struggling to find the reserve of energy to enable me to complete a climb without stopping around every other bend. I removed my headphones and tried to distract myself by focusing on the silence.
The downhill led to the start of the second, much tougher climb of the day. The road was similar but felt twice as long and winding, though the views were incredible. I could see the end point, a clearing and a tunnel which passed through the top of the mountain, it was probably downhill from there on the other side. I’m sure there is some kind of strategy for climbing hills, but that strategy probably wouldn’t include the amount of weight I was dragging behind me so I didn’t really have any option but to try and keep my head down and keep pedalling, one revolution at a time.
After about half an hour I rounded the final corner and came into the clearing, a parking area at the top. I went straight to the booth to stamp my passport and slammed it down on the paper as hard as it could. It felt like I really earned that one. There was a cafe perched on the edge of the mountain and I bought a coffee and I strange ice cream cone which had probably been hibernating in the freezer since last summer. I sat on one of the benches are tried to enjoy the view which looked back over the motorways below, and mountains beyond, but was conscious that the light was beginning to fade so I didn’t hang around. I immediately regretted this as I passed through the tunnel and started cycling down the other side. It was too late to turn back.
The downhill was just as long and winding as the side i’d just climbed up. The road was quiet but I took it carefully all the way down to Ha-Ri, a small town i’d been aiming for at the start of the day, as the road had a dusting of sand and small rocks at the side. I had decided i’d spent the night in a hotel or motel, and looked around for somewhere before it got dark. I almost took the first one I saw, but learning from my mistake at lunch the other day I carried on into town and had a look around. It felt deserted but the first one I checked only had two rooms left – ‘superior rooms’ which were too expensive for me. The owner pointed out another place and I took a room. 40,000KRW for the night. Expensive but necessary. I put my bike in their store room and took the lift to the fifth floor to my room.
It had only been two days of camping, three days of cycling, but it felt odd being indoors again. I showered and washed the dirt and sweat off my face. I would sleep well.
Playlist
Dirty Projectors – Impregnable Question, Father John Misty – Drive, Beck – The Golden Age, Nico – These Days
Map (via Strava)