On the Road Again

Woke up this morning feeling completely refreshed and rearing to go. The only problem is that Gwanmae Island's sole ferry to the mainland (Mokpo via Jindo) doesn't leave until 1.50 p.m. On the upside, this gave me some more time to explore my surrounds, but in all honesty, I was itching to get back on my bike and keep going.

That's the bizarre thing about long distance cycling: the more kilometres you get through, the more you want to rack up the next day. It's almost if you don't exceed or at least match the previous days total, the whole outing has been a failure and a complete waste of time. I wonder if this is a symptom of an addictive personality?

As I wrote yesterday, Gwanmae Island is not overly large as far as Korean islands go and can be travelled around in about 40 minutes by bike. It's relatively mountainous with about 60 per cent of the roads being sealed. Most of its attractions are off the beaten path and can only be accessed on foot through light pine forest.

Still full from last night, I slipped out of the mimbak's compund sans breakfast and headed off for Namkum (penis rock). With Mi-hyang in tow, we made good time to the beginning of the hiking track and after a brisk 15 minute ascent, reached a viewing point where "penis rock could be seen in all its glory. Namkum is situated on Panga Islet and is fabled as a place where the local women would go if they were experiencing difficulties in falling pregant. Apparently, this 10m high penis-shaped rock possesses fertility powers that are not to be taken lightly. As you probably guessed, I kept my hands of Mi-hyang and didn't hang around too long for fear that I might fall pregnant as well. Shades of Scwarzenegger's "Junior" perhaps?

A quick jog back down to the road and we were on our way towards Haneuldari (Haneul means sky), which is basically two mountains jutting out of the sea with a deep valley between them. At one point, there was a bridge between the two but it's been removed for fear that tourists staring into the depths of the abyss will lose their balance and never be seen again. Staring into the blackness, I was reminded of a line from Oliver Stone's "Wall Street" delivered by Lou Mannheim (the great Hal Holbrook) to Budd Fox (Charlie Sheen): "Man looks in the abyss, there's nothing staring back at him. At that moment, man finds his character. And that is what keeps him out of the abyss."

By the time we hiked back down to the beach it was time for lunch and after a quick swim, I was ready for another of the adjuma's culinary delights. And as Yoda would say: "Disappointed, I was not." Lunch consisted of the usual hundred sidedishes and a steaming bowl of spicy chamshi (tuna) kimchi jigae (stew). Twenty minutes and two servings of rice later I was back in my room preparing myself and my bike for the ferry.

By now I've got the whole packing, hooking and strapping thing down to a fine art. From taking a ponderously slow 20 minutes at the start of my trip to stuff my panniers and attach them to my bike, I'm now down to under 10, which if you've ever dealt with panniers before is a defintiely something to be proud of.

The ferry to Jindo is larger than the one I came over on, capable of carrying at least 10 cars and umpteen passengers and their luggage. Buddha must have been smiling as the sun was out, the sea was calm and all was good in the world -- managing to sneak an hour long nap on top of several sacks of rice which had been piled up near the front drop-ramp was also an unexpected bonus.

Interestingly enough, a lot of people during this ferry ride were outwardly inquisitive about my bike, panniers and travels. Although they spoke no English, I could understand a few word of Korean here and there and had a fairly good idea as to what was going down. Basically, they were amazed that I had cycled to this part of Korea for a visit and were even more surprisd to learn of where I was heading.

The ferry touched land at Baengmok on Jindo Island's southern shores after 3 hours. After disembarking, Isaddled up and hit the road. It was nearly 5.00 p.m. by the time I got going, and at this point, I was still entertaining delusional ideas of clocking up 120km before nightfall. After about 50km of fairly hilly riding with a mild headwind, I realised that I'd be lucky to make even 100km. In the end, I settled for a swift 79km.

Cycling through Jindo is a wonderful experience. The countryside sparkles like an emerald as the area has received quite a lot of rain in recent months. I couldn't get over how green the land was, set off in a marked contrast by the bluish lustre of the mountains. After several hours, Jindo's twin bridges loomed on the horizon -- the manmade landmark feature of this region and its official symbol.

Resmebling McDonald's infamous golden arches, the bridges are an imposing sight and are quite the architectural accomplishment. Crossing by bike reminded me of peddling over Vancouver's Lions Gate Bridge but without its dizzying height and unsettling habit of swaying in high winds. Guarded at one end by an army checkpoint and flanked at both ends by statues of white Jindo dogs, the whole scene is oddly reminiscent of Farncis Ford Coppola's "Apocalypse Now" during the Do Lung Bridge scene; except it's daytime, I wasn't drunk, the locals weren't wasted on psychedelic drugs no one was shooting at me.

After crossing the bridge, I buckled down and decided to head for Haenam. With the light rapidly failing and I was getting worried that I'd find myself cycling through the Korean countryside in compete darkness as I had no idea how far away the next town with a yogwan was.

Not surprisingly, the last hour of my journey was in total darkness, in the Korean countryside, on a major road which the only trucks and cars driving on it felt necessary to use as a F-1 race track. With my arse killing me as a result of my saddle being incorrectly set (the front was slightly elevated), the last 20km was murderous and the bright lights of Haenam could not come fast enough.

When the exit for Haenam finally did appear, I stopped at the first yogwan I saw, asked the owner -- a genuinely kind old gentleman -- to order me the largest pizza possible and retired to the comfort of my room and a warm bath for the evening. Sleep and melted cheese was all that mattered.

Tomorrow: Hell in a Very Beautiful Place.