March 21st, 2013
My journey was evaporating quickly, the inescapable tide of
time carried me with it. I was not concerned with the disintegration of my current trip, but I was anxious about the future. Each day brought me closer to
an impasse: should I attempt to drive a motorcycle across Asia, or not? Whenever
I thought about it, the result was paralysis by analysis. This is typical of me and
I know it. I’m clinically indecisive. I can’t do much to change this feature of
my brain, but I can adopted different strategies to deal with it.
In the case of deciding on The Happy Ride, I simply made a
series of small commitments to the overall plan. The Sirens of fear, doubt, and reason all conspired to pull me away from attempting a trans-Asia motorcycle ride. All I could think
to do was tie a few lashes. I couldn’t make a decision, but I told a few key
friends I was going to do it. I was unsure what to do, but I put a deposit on
the motorcycle I would need to complete the journey anyway. I sought opinions from trusted
sources, and they all said do it. In short, I pit lack of overarching forethought against
indecisiveness. But, try as I might, I couldn’t stop my mind from incessantly debating the issue.
The whole way back to Ming-Ngo I questioned my approaching decision. I got so lost in irrelevant thoughts that I
found myself back in Hsipaw, the town where I began some five days prior. It
was only 11 am. I had overshot my turn-off to Chow-Meh by an hour. What
bothered me most was not the time lost, but the sense of continuity I compromised.
My subconscious was bound to realize the truth. I had returned to the beginning
of my trip, therefore the trip was over. Framing and context are often more
powerful than the issues themselves. I acquiesced to fate and declared the trip
finished. However, I still had the bike for two more days. Wouldn't an
excursion to Mingo-Ngo be wonderful, I thought. “Yes,” agreed my spirit, “Let’s ride to Ming-Ngo and celebrate.” With the issue successfully re-framed for digestion by the mind, I backtracked with a smile.
The section between Chow-Meh and Ming-Ngo provided me with
excellent riding once again. Even in reverse the turns were fun, the traffic
was sparse, the pavement was good, and the scenery was beautiful. I approached
the guesthouse as delighted to see my hosts as they were to see me. I was
genuinely happy to see them. By now it was late afternoon; I had some lunch and
marched out to the rice field pagoda with my book. I had 36 wonderful hours to
relax and enjoy simple things in my favorite place in Myanmar.
I began reading Jupiter’s Travels, by Ted Simon. It’s a cult
classic novel about Simon’s around the world motorcycle trip, which lasted four
years beginning in 1972. Immediately, I recognized the similarities in thought
he shared with me and indeed all travelers. This made me begin the question
the causal direction of thought in general. Do you have certain thoughts
because of the experiences and surroundings you choose, or do certain thoughts
cause you to choose certain experiences and surroundings?
I’m not a fatalist; I’m a firm believer in free-will. However,
this is an arbitrary belief as the issue of free-will is far from settled. The
older I get, the less sure I am that it exists. Accepting lack of free-will as
a possibility is something I find difficult to do. However, seeing as it’s a unsettled
issue, I must accept it as a possibility. Ouch. Apparently, my belief in free
will isn’t so firm after all.
I spent the following morning drinking tea and reading my book. I wandered about town to look at the cycle of the day in Ming-Ngo. Children wore basic school uniforms, and grabbed breakfast from shops on the way to class. At the high school there were no uniforms. Kids, mostly the boys, wore loud and garish western style clothing, but with an Asian flair. Henna colored hair, mirrored sunglasses, distressed jeans, and busy t-shirts were common.
The two schools I saw were both comprised of a rectilinear
building with large playgrounds in front. I wanted to take some photos, but
found myself to be too much a distraction. Spotting a white person was cause
enough for a student to stop paying attention, but one who was taking photos!
That required divulging my presence to anyone that would listen. More than
once, I compelled an entire classroom to come to a halt and stare out the
window. Seeing as their minds were devoid of culturally conditioned fears of strangers, terrorism,
suspicion, and the like, I wondered what they thought I was doing. Everyone
smiled, waved, and pointed. Evidently, they were devoid of the concept of
candid photography too.
There was a small mosque in town; Ming-Ngo’s most ornate
building. The walls of the cube-like structure were covered in variegated geometries
of tile, heavy on topaz and turquoise. Each corner had a small minaret, and the
central room was accented by a dome. Surrounding the mosque were Ming-Ngo's Muslim residents. The people in the streets looked markedly different in both
feature and dress. The men wore Arabic looking facial hear and stereotypically
Muslim hats known as Taqiyah’s. The women, well, they were clearly kept out of sight.
Definitely a Muslim neighborhood.
The ox-cart was still a viable piece of living machinery. The
animals were well cared for and tenderly conducted. For all I know they preferred
their current routine to idling in the fields. Seeing one up close, I got a sense
of their raw yet majestic power. I was surprised how terrifically muscular cattle can get. I chuckled to myself, remembering a section of Walden
where a farmer advises Thoreau against being a vegetarian. The farmer reasoned
that the body needs to consume meat in order to support muscle, bone, and the general
life-force essence of the body. Thoreau was flummoxed. How could the farmer ignore the fact
that the enormous and powerful oxen he put to work daily survived on grass?
Thoreau was ahead of his time; indeed, if read thoughtfully, it becomes abundantly
clear that he is far ahead of our time.
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I returned to the guesthouse determined to relax and let-got
of the future tense. I knew I wanted to see the temples of Bagan, after which I’d
fly to Malaysia for a meditation retreat. When that finished, I’d return to
Thailand and either buy a motorcycle and attempt to drive it across Asia, or
cordially back out the deal. There really wasn't that much to ponder after all.
I resumed reading my book.