Sitting in the rear of a 22-seat bus for eight hours doesn't sound all that bad, but when you throw in the small fact that the road we were covering was a mere 168 miles you might change your mind. And if you still aren't convinced try imagining sitting on a hard bench at the back of the bus with five other people, the sixth nestled practically on your feet, while thick clouds of red dust continually pour in through open windows and cracks. I was okay with the entire situation until my rear started to ache -- it had been comfortably numb for the previous five hours. In between restless shifting of my body -- leaning forward huddled over my knees, sitting as straight as possible with my back against the seat, or any number of varieties in between -- I watched the dust settle into a thick layer on every person and thing within the last five rows of the bus. Now I knew why every person in Pakxe that I spoke with started laughing, "very bad, very bad road.", when I said I was taking the express, four-hour bus to Savannakhet. Arriving, finally, to Savannakhet Bill and I quickly found a hotel and a restaurant before finding blinding sleep seconds before nine o'clock.

Waking up this morning I had decided that instead of letting a bus make me sore (my lower back was so stiff I had a hard time pulling myself out of bed) I would make myself hurt. I rented a bicycle. It was only 15km to the wat, the holy Buddhist temple, and I sped off, powerful pushes hurling the mountain bike through the hot Laotian streets. 20km later, and much less powerful, I knew I was lost. Damn. Can't I do anything right? I thought, thinking back to the morning when I had, for the third time on this trip, dropped my toothbrush into the toilet. I turned around and right where everyone had said it would be ("go 12km, no more, Wat will be on your right.") was the turn off. I had lost some of my high enthusiasm for holy places by this time but figured since I was already there I'd check it out.

The ride down to the Wat was pleasant enough with Lao school kids accompanying me as they had off and on the duration of the ride. At the front steps of the temple I could go no more. I sat in the shade and drank a 7-Up with ice out of a plastic bag and chatted with two Buddhist nuns. Pointing and nodding they discovered that I was going to actually go inside the Wat. Because of this they insisted that I either give them the silver bracelet I had on my right arm or buy a few lotus buds for the altar. I finished my drink and excused myself, my braceletts and my new lotus buds over to the Wat.

The ride back wasn't too bad. If I hadn't of had a flat tire, a small hard seat and a sun burn it would have been much better. The kids were still tagging along behind me, one occasionally cycling up even with me to say hello and ask "How are you?" To which I'd respond with a "I'm fine, thank you. How are you?" They never knew how to respond though and would politely say goodbye before dropping back to their pack where loud raucous howling would take place until the next brave soul dared to test the falang's, the foreigners, English speaking ability.

Now, I sit on my bed, gently resting my back with a pillow propped up against the cement wall, while sitting on a bunched up blanket to use as padding. Not only did my back hurt this morning, but now my butt's going to be bruised for weeks. Smart is not the first words that come to mind.