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Waking up that morning in an abandoned fruit stand was a humble beginning that only the desperate, and lonely alike may ever lose themselves into. A small crowd of Thai locals were bunched up, on the side of the road and awaiting the next bus, to pass the time, they muttered on about a tent occupying their bench that particular day. The fresh sunrise hadn’t fully tipped its hat before that tent was packed and roped back on my bike, my gear squared away, and yours truly was back on the road, cycle touring. A certain freedom is appointed to those that can bear the weight of long term travel, but the price is paid every day, and every inch, when your transportation is self propelled on two wheels. There is only character building out here, no easy days, rewards they won’t find on a guided tour, sights they won’t see, stories they won’t tell, people they won’t meet, words they won’t write. The twists and turns of the open highway lead not only to where I’m going, but also to who I’m becoming. But today, they would lead to something more. A four of spades, hiding in the deck of cards, alone and content to be that way, this mountain road was shuffling me to the top. A new clearing, opening up after hours of deep green canopy, some open hand waves exchanged with a man dressed in a white button up dress shirt well passed its prime, was dragging fresh palm branches from one side of the road to the other and it tailed him some fifteen feet as the thick, long sword shaped leaves scratched out their swan song on the weathered grey asphalt. Workers like these were everywhere, and now commonplace, paying little attention if any at all, I simply registered that the coast was clear once he disappeared, and my mind was back to floating through the scroll of new scenery. Until I hit my brakes hard. Is that a herd of elephants? I couldn’t believe my eyes, this simply wasn’t happening. As the ice melted away, it became apparent that this was “someone’s” herd. The palm tree was being crunched and snapped into a mess, bite by bite. That dress shirt was standing right there, watching me watch them, and I heard “You wann tuss?” as a friendly offer, “Okay”, I replied. Leather sandpaper of fine grit, decorated with deep, thick wrinkles and long, stiff hairs like match sticks, these giants crunched their meal as if I weren’t there at all. As I admired this beautiful lady, she turned her head to face me, our eyes met and the creature got a solid vacuum suction sniff off of my hand that I forgot must’ve still been heavy with fried chicken grease. Her reaction like stalling a five speed said it all. A quick wave good bye after a dozen thank you’s, hand shakes and I was throwing my leg over the seat once again to get back on track. I didn’t come down from that experience until the following week, and it’ll be tattooed in my mind as long as I live. What a world we live in, and to think; some people are content to live and stay, most of, if not all their lives well within 500 miles from home. You can see adventure on TV, in a movie, or read it in a story, but to be the story is what life really tastes like and I’m hungry.