The bike and the water buffalo

By Dave Kannas

How to proceed when ideas relating to bicycles, bicyclists and my place in the grand scheme of the world appear to be in temporary short supply? 'Guess I'll dig behind the boxes in the closet of my mind, boxes that contain worn and soiled jerseys, shorts of various materials that have seen better times and cobwebs covering memories of long gone days on the bike.

The memory I pulled out kicking and screaming today happened long, long ago in a land far, far away. To start, what was a northern Minnesota boy doing on a rice paddy road in Central Thailand in the first place? It seems that the United States government was my travel agent for quite a while when I was young. It took me to many of the world's garden spots: North Dakota, Alaska, Japan, Hawaii, Vietnam, California, New Mexico and, of course, Thailand. That brings us to the rice paddy road.

I bought my first serious road bike in Khorat, Thailand about 40 years ago. It was a beauty (I wish I hadn't sold it). The frame was polished steel. It had a five-speed rear gear cluster and a single chain ring. The seat was red. It had "racing" handlebars. Need I say more? It was made with parts from Czechoslovakia and France and set me back $75. I rode it everywhere.

On the day I'll describe I left a good paved road to see where a smoothly packed dirt road would take me. The road meandered through some trees then came out into a rice paddy with a creek along one side. The day was hot and humid like most days in Thailand. The road was a single lane used for the transport of farm implements which consisted mostly of animals, mainly water buffalo.

Water buffalo, when at work pulling a plow through water and mud up to their bellies, are picturesque; in the humidity filtered light of Thailand, even more so. A short way down this road I came upon a boy and his water buffalo in the creek that bordered the road. The boy was washing away the day's grime from the water buffalo. The buffalo appeared to be almost asleep as the boy washed and rinsed its rough hide. A more peaceful scene was hard to imagine.

I stopped on the rode just above where the pair was standing. Still astride my bike, I greeted the boy in his language. He greeted me back and went on with his work. The scene before me was one that had been performed for centuries. My presence on a piece of modern technology made the scene that much more poignant. Then the bucolic scene took a sudden shift.

The buffalo had apparently taken notice of me through its half closed eyes. He didn't like what he saw. It could have been the strange "animal" I was on or maybe it was me, a foreigner. Whatever the case, the water buffalo came charging from the water toward me, snorting, with murder in his previously sleepy eyes. His intent was clear; he wanted me off his land and out of his sight. I was still astride my bike, so it took only a split second to get on the seat and pedals and leave with renewed purpose. When I was out of hoof and horn distance I stopped and looked back. The boy and buffalo were standing on the road. The boy was patting the buffalo's neck and smiling. I waved at the boy who waved back. That was another of those missed Kodak moments. Moving along the paved main road, I was grateful for the bicycle; it had come through in a time of need. I rode back to the security of my base with another lifelong memory.

That day, 40 years ago, everyone did what he was supposed to do. The boy took part in his family's farming; the water buffalo protected his boy and farm from an invasive foreigner and war- maker, and I made a meager attempt to understand a distant land where I was sent to "advance the march of freedom." To quote a great American, "so it goes."

Even when being pursued by a water buffalo or beagle, ride safely.

Dave Kannas may be reached via wseditor@robinsonnews.com