July 9th, 2009

It's possible, if not probable, that I haven't been this wet in my entire life. Sure, I've spent hours at a time swimming in pools, or in the ocean or wherever. I've even taken some really long baths. But I've always been able to take a break, towel off, sit somewhere dry and let my dermis dehydrate for a while. The most comparable moment in my life was the first week of hiking the Camino De Santiago, when it rained nearly the entire time, but at least then I was able to protect my torso with a decent rain jacket, and my underwear was usually dry. Now, the only thing dry is my head, and so I try to pay attention only to feelings above my neck. This doesn't work, and my thoughts drift to pictures in science class of over hydrated cells rupturing, of tissue dissolving in water, and that scene in X-Men when that one dude can't hold himself together anymore and turns into a puddle of water on the doctor's table.

I probably shouldn't have planned a motorcycle trip during monsoon season.

In my defense, I didn't know it was monsoon season. In my offense (?) I knew there was going to be a monsoon season, but didn't really bother to find out when it was going to be. Truthfully, I didn't even check the weather. The first downpour two days ago should have given it away, but yesterday was so nice, it reassured me that everything would be OK.

I started the trip 4 days ago from Mokpo. It was July 5th here, so the 4th of July back home, and so it somehow seemed like a natural time to start a motorcycle trip. Now, I realize riding around a country that is not the U.S. isn't the most patriotic thing I could do, but then again, I'm not the most patriotic person. That's not to say I have negative thoughts about my home country, I've just never really understood nationalism. There is however some patriotic imagery involved in an American riding a motorcycle that made it seem like the perfect time to start, even if there wasn't a Harley or even a stars and stripes bandanna involved.

This morning I woke up in my tent at 7:00 a.m. after camping illegally behind some bushes on a public beach. It had started to rain again. Honestly I'm shocked that I woke up because of rain, and not because a policeman was telling me to get out. I was in the town of Yangyang, which is just south of Sokcho, and when you're at this latitude, all the beaches are lined with barbed wire. At this particular beach, there were floodlights just above the high tide line pointed out to sea to keep an eye out for North Korean Spies. I'm pretty far north.

The light rain at 7:00 evolved into a full-on monsoon by 8:00. After hiding in a coffee shop for an hour and eating a breakfast of instant ramen noodles, I bought a poncho and some duct tape, and in a public bathroom prepared for the worst.

10 minutes on the bike and the poncho has done nothing but keep water in. This turns out not to be such a bad thing though. I've used some of the calories from my breakfast of champions to warm the water up to body temp, it's like sitting in a hot tub at 50 kph. It's still far from comfortable however, and if I want to keep on schedule, I'll have to endure about 6 hours of this today. This is the 5th day of the trip, and a combination of that, intermittent sleep last night, and the cold rain has got me a little worried about my mental condition in the rain. That's not to say I'm worried I'm going crazy (although I have been talking to my bike since day 2), I'm just afraid I'm not as alert as I could be, and riding in the pouring rain is always a bit dangerous.

Gmail has got this feature called "Mail Goggles" where it won't let you send an email after a specified time unless you answer a series of simple math problems to make sure you're not intoxicated and sending poorly worded emails to ex-girlfriends. I'm using a similar method to prove to myself that I'm still alert enough to ride. For the first calculation, I accelerate to 55 kph at which point the tachometer shows 5000 rpm. Then I spend the next few minutes figuring out gear ratios for 5th gear:

55 km = 55,000 m = 55,000 m ~ 915 m = 915 rev ~ 500 rev

hr hr 60 min min 2*pi*r min min

The ratio of this and the tachometer reading (10:1) should be constant and not depend on the speed I'm going, and so this turns into a game. I decelerate down to 45 and try it all again. If I get a ratio far from 10:1, I'll know it's time to pull over and take a little break somewhere.

Earlier in the trip was a similar story. I tested the limits of my bike and rode her up the hairpins that went near the summit of Jiri mountain. The terrain was such that the road would climb at about a 25 degree angle on the straightaways, and then turn into 45 degree climbs at the hairpins. I don't think I got higher than 2nd gear the whole time.

When I reached the top, I was beaming and gave the bike a little pat on the back, "Good job, Jiri". Then a confused moment later, ".... I guess your name's Jiri..."

Down the other side of the mountain, I found a nice little town where I got a good dinner. Just past the town was a campground with no attendant present to accept my fee. Too bad. At the edge of the campground, I found a little trail that lead down to a stream, and 20 feet away from the stream, a nice flat place to pitch the tent for the night.

Jirisan is known for its bear population, and so I was a bit nervous while falling asleep. I didn't imagine there could be anything more dangerous than bears up there. I was wrong.

The rain started at 1:30 a.m. The sound of it coming, smacking leaves thousands of feet away was what woke me up, and then suddenly it was on me. I stayed up for 30 minutes or so, until I was convinced that the rain fly was doing it's job and that I wouldn't be packing up a soaked sleeping bag in the morning.

My alarm went off at 7:00, although I didn't need it, and it was still raining. Hard. Looking outside, the river was still at a safe distance, but was brown with mud from erosion. I decided to wait it out a bit and tried to sleep.

At 9:00 it was still pouring. I considered spending the day reading in the tent, but decided against it as soon as I looked out the window. The mountain stream which had previously been 20 feet away and 1.5 clear feet deep was now only 4 feet from the tent.

2 panicked minutes later I had the majority of my gear on my back, and carried the rest in the still erected tent up to higher ground where there was a shelter.

I had quelled my fears all night by assuring myself that I was more than half way up a mountain, and that there couldn't possibly be enough rain to flood a stream whose source was less than a mile away. There was apparently something very flawed in my logic. Shortly after 10 am, I went back down to check on things, and found my campsite was under 2 feet of raging water. Oversleeping can kill.

I read till noon, and when the rain wouldn't let up, I wrapped my gear in the rain fly, packed on some layers, and went out into the rain.

Part way down the mountain, the rain slowed, but by that time, I was soaked to the bone. The road followed my "stream" and I watched as each new tributary flooded it wider and wider.

Today's rain is worse than that. It's just not letting up at all. I start counting down the Kilometers to the DMZ.

Jiri is air cooled, and has had some overheating issues in the past. When I stop, steam comes billowing up from the engine. The world is her radiator.

I take a break at a "North Korean Observation Center" which is nestled between some mountains, so it ironically doesn't have any views at all and is really just a big gift shop. I buy some coffee, pour the water out of my boots, and cut a hole in my taped up poncho so that I can use the bathroom.

Just a little further and I'm stopped at a roadblock. A group of 18 year old South Korean soldiers come over to see the novelty of an American on a motorcycle and tell me that no traffic can go through because the road is flooded.

The first day of my trip was spent riding down to the southernmost point in mainland Korea, and now here I am, as far north as I can possibly go, being pelted with the same rain that is falling on North Koreans just a few short Kilometers away. This is the closest I've been, and the closest I ever hope to be to a border between two countries at war.

I tell my story to the soldiers, and then I cut another hole in my poncho, reach into my pocket, and pull out a rock I picked up from the first day at the most southern point. I give this to the soldiers with instructions to place it as far north as they are allowed to go, and then get back on the bike.

Jiri doesn't start. After the 10th attempted kick start, I lean in slightly and whisper, "Jiri.... let's go...". I give her another strong kick and she roars to life.

"Thanks dude, you scared me"

"Give me a break man, I was tired"