Having a Beastly Good Time in Cambodia with My Good Friend Newton, Isaac Newton...

I bought a Cambodian bicycle. I must admit that I feel I was a bit misled. I thought I was purchasing a bicycle called “Beast Cycle 2008.” But apparently all I got was a “Best Cycle 2008.” You can understand my disappointment. But, being the positive guy I am, I decided to make the best of the situation and rationalize it. I figured that best was a superlative word and since a bicycle having beastly qualities is a desirable characteristic, the “Best Cycle 2008” must be the beastliest, living up to its superlative nature. I further rationalized that the company that made the bicycle (China) was just a forward thinking and finance motivated organization (unlike their frivolously spending American counterparts). They did their math. Leaving the “a” off the sticker saved them .05 USD. With such a quality machine it’s not unreasonable to assume that they shipped in excess of 45 billion units. So that amounts to a savings of like 2 gajillion dollars. It’s all right there. Right there in the numbers.

Photo taken at angle to accentuate maximal Beastliness

This brings us to one of the only issues I have with the bike. I made the purchase on January 2, 2009. So it’s a bit disconcerting that my bike is the “Best Cycle 2008.” I just know that through the evils of planned obsolescence, a “Best Cycle 2009” will come along shortly with 30% more beast. It’s not so much the beast quotient that I’m concerned about. I’ve only been riding my bike at 68% beast capacity. What I’m concerned about is the appearance of less beast. Think of how humiliating it is to ride down the street and have all the pedestrians talking under their breath, in Khmer, about how my bike is sooooo last year. I can’t handle it. I’m white. My face shows the redness of embarrassment very obviously. To rectify this issue, I’ve been in contact with the factory (China) trying to get my hands on an aftermarket 9 to replace the 8. But they’re breaking my balls. They know they’ve got me bent over the proverbial bicycle seat and they’re telling me I have to replace the entire decal. I just need an effing 9 and they’re acting like with all the advancements in technology and manufacturing, there’s no way to make a 9 separate from a 2 and two 0’s. It’s typical corporate behavior to just stick it to the little guy. I may end up folding, but not until after a round of breakneck negotiations, that may or may not involve talk of mothers and threats of personal harm. When in Rome.

That one complaint aside, I would now like to take the time to highlight some of the nice features of the bike, the features that give it the right to have that “Super Power” sticker emblazoned across the side of the frame. Notice, first, the plastic cranks. Weight reduction is a key factor with any ride. And on the “Beast,” sorry, “Best Cycle 2009,” sorry “8” they have wisely abandoned common wisdom, and sense, and went with plastic instead of metal or carbon fiber. I for one applaud their courage. It takes a group of innovators to take the component of a bike that sees the most torque and stress out of all of them, and use a material that routinely succumbs to breakage under the weight of a household set of papayas (in Cambodia a group of papayas is called a household set, like a gaggle of geese, or a murder of labradoodles, and it is a common unit of measuring force, like a Newton). It may be a moot point anyway. This is the “Best Cycle” we’re talking about here, not the “Average Bike” or the “Kind of OK Cycle.” It’s probably some sort of space age composite plastic that weighs basically nothing but is rated for the kind of centrifugal force normally reserved for planetary orbits.

Then there are the cassettes and derailleurs. Ask any seasoned veteran of cycling and they will tell you that it is largely a mental game. Even when taking a leisurely ride to the French quarter to purchase a bootleg North Face backpack and pair of flip flops, this mental edge is imperative. To this end, the “Best Cycle” boasts a gearing system that is more psychologically impressive than it is practically useful. To the innocent bystander or experienced mathematician, the bike would appear to be an 18 speed. I assure you, this is only for looks and intimidation as the bike has 3, maybe 3.5 usable gears. The uninitiated might be asking, “Wouldn’t an 18 speed be better and more versatile?” The answer, obviously, is no. With fewer of my mental papayas (papayas are also a measurement of concentration in Cambodian culture) being used to figure out which gearing ratio is most suitable for the situation at hand, I can focus more on pedaling hard with my space age, weight reducing, mega-polymer, ahead of their time plastic cranks. Oh, and the pedals are made of the same durable, amaze-o-plastic but sprayed with chrome paint to allow the image conscious cyclist to properly adjust their hair and clothing upon disembarkation from the cycle craft.

This is a Buddhist culture. So the seat is made of some sort of Cambodian hardwood, reinforced with more hardwood and then generously padded with a single covering of red and black vinyl at least 3 mm (just like in Uganda, England, the Netherlands, Kenya, Belgium, Korea, Mexico, and presumably every other nation on the planet aside from the U.S., they use the stupid metric system) thick. It may seem like an inconvenience at first, to have such an uncomfortable posterior situation. But intentions must be addressed. The seat is this way to help the cyclist advance on their travels through the Buddha’s Eightfold Path. So ask yourself this question, and then go ahead and answer it as well. What’s more important, that your three block ride to get a Slurpee at the corner store is a comfortable one, or that your soul frees itself from the derisive weight of the human ego and is able to spend all of eternity relishing Wholeness with God and Oneness with All in Nirvana?

Cambodia is also a very practical and efficient culture. No nonsense, if you will. Someone at the “Best Cycle 2008” institute of research and development pondered, most likely in a state of deep meditation, the purpose of brakes on a bicycle. Arriving at the natural conclusion that the brakes were to stop the bike, they designed the braking system accordingly. Apparently the purpose of slowing the speed of the bike did not come into view of their third eye during the aforementioned meditation because the custom Shaigun brakes have only two functional positions. Go and complete stop. They have some managed to circumvent Newtonian physics and eliminate all concepts of gradual braking from this ride. California stops are a thing of the past with the “Best Cycle.”

The shocks are for decoration. But in that capacity they are very effective, once again offering the appearance of ruggedness but delivering no practical advantage. Good thing all the roads in Cambodia are like the Bonneville salt flats. It’s all about wet, hot, nasty speed out here. Suspension is something for the Vietnamese to worry about.

See, aside from the chicken and the kids, just like Bonneville

Finally, I have to justify my purchase in print. My Spenders Anonymous sponsor says that justifying purchases in a concrete medium like the internet will help to dissuade me from spending frivolously as I move through the steps. So I saved $200 by not bringing my own bike on the flights. I’ve avoided $200 in tuk-tuk rides and a $25,000 medical evac to a Thai hospital for when one of those tuk-tuk rides nearly kills me. If I didn’t have a bike for exercise, I would have to join a gym. So I saved $180 processing fee as well as $360 for a year contract to the Cambodian 24 Hour Fitness. No. There’s not really a 24 Hour Fitness here. Please stop sending emails asking about it. The kickstand on the bike allows it to double as a handy leaning device, which is perfect for avoiding the Cambodian leaning tax that mandates that any object of greater vertical height than horizontal width, capable of supporting the weight of a western adult male, will command a fee of 2500 riel per hour for its services of support per Newton-meter. You don’t even want to know the math and unit conversions involved in figuring out how much you have to pay a pylon in USD for leaning on it for 17 minutes as a 190 lb. person. And they expect exact change. Exact. Then If I fill the waterbottle up with water from the river instead of paying 30 cents for clean, cold water, like a sucker, then that’s like $60,000. Purchase justified. Suck on that compulsive spending habits. I’ve beaten you. It’s all right there. Right there in the numbers. Oh yeah. The bike was $90. That’s a savings of $59,910.

So there. Now I’ve got an ecologically responsible means of conveyance in Cambodia. This should facilitate many misadventures and at least one or two more blog entries before the trip is over in like 20 days.