Passing through a Cambodian village (© Andrew Spooner)
Posted by Andrew Spooner, Associate Editor
http://www.travelwireasia.com
January 16, 2012 in Adventure & Eco
IN the mid-1990s, as Cambodia recovered from the horrific genocidal crimes of the psychopathic Khmer Rouge, a group of dirtbikers set off on one of the nuttiest and greatest motorcycle adventures in history.
Three dirtbikers are on their knees, hands raised, in front of a group of well-armed and rather annoyed soldiers. The still, heavy Cambodian jungle is cut through with the shrill admonishments of the section commander, as rifles are dug into ribs, boots kicked into backs. The sinister clunk of guns being cocked and bayonets fixed reminds the entire group that no-one would ever be the wiser if these riders paid for their folly with their lives, bodies chopped up and fed to the local dogs. A soldier armed with a B40 rocket propelled grenade has his eye on one of the riders’ KTM520 and decides it is his. The other two bikes – an XR 650 and an old XLR250 – are also soon in the process of being requisitioned for the pleasure of the band of armed men. With so much firepower on show the bikers are resigned to their fate and offer little resistance.
“It was the first time anyone had tried to reach Mondulkiri, a wild place in the far west of the country, since the Khmer Rouge had been overthrown,” says Zeman McCreadie, a self-confessed petrolhead from a remote corner of Wales. “Even though it was 1997 and the civil war had ended years before, we knew we shouldn’t have really been there. But we just wanted to push the limits a bit. See what was possible.”
Zeman’s journey to Cambodia had been all about pushing the limits. With a childhood background of offroading in the Welsh hills – “My first bike at 14 was a Kawasaki FE175” – Zeman was a confirmed bike-freak long before he was of road-legal years. By the age of 19, and after a failed attempt to break into motorcycle journalism, he decided to hit the Asia trail and ventured through India and into war-torn Afghanistan. “I was just this stupid thrill-seeking kid when I arrived in Afghanistan,” says Zeman. “One time I was picked up at gun point by the Mujahideen but they could see that I wasn’t a threat. They told me to leave the country before I got killed.”
It was whilst travelling through Thailand in 1993 that Cambodia caught Zeman’s interest. “An old travelling buddy told me that the country was opening up and that I’d love it,” he says. At this point in Cambodia’s history the entire country had been almost completely destroyed by 20years of civil war and the Khmer Rouge regime’s orchestrated genocide. Millions had died and yet Cambodia, with the astonishing temples of Angkor Wat and the French Colonial charms of its cities, provided enough allure to attract adventurous travellers. Only a few years earlier at the end of the 1980s foolhardy Western travellers who entered this lawless country rarely made it back out alive. By the time Zeman arrived in early 1994, things were relatively safe. “I had to cross the border illegally as the Thai border police told me it was too dangerous,” he says. “These two Cambodians got me across for US$10. The Thais were shooting in the air but I made it safely.”
“When I arrived the civil war had just ended and there were very few privately owned motor vehicles in the country,” says Zeman. “There were of a lot of military trucks on the roads and a smattering of NGO-owned SUVs but the number of serviceable motorbikes could almost be counted on one hand.” Undeterred by this, and the fact that Cambodia’s entire road network had been reduced to rutted, potholed runs of tarmacless dirt, Zeman and a few bravehearts cobbled together a motley collection of bikes and ventured out into the unknown. “I was on a 1978 Yamaha XS750,” says Zeman. “It was hardly best suited to the conditions but it was still two wheels. The rest of the bikes were old Russian machines brought over by the Vietnamese, Minsks and Dneprs and the like.”
The first trips out for Cambodia’s nascent bikers took them to the towns and villages near to the capital, Phnom Penh. “We were getting up early and trying to reach our destinations before lunchtime as by then the locals would be getting drunk,” says Zeman. During the post-civil period inebriated soldiers and ex-Khmer Rouge fighters were known to go on the prowl for bribes and whatever else they could get their hands on. Bikers were sometimes kidnapped while other foreigners simply disappeared. “Just after I arrived in Cambodia these two Western women travellers were taken from a car at a checkpoint and into the jungle,” says Zeman. “They were never seen again.”
This is part one of a three-part story – parts two and three will follow this week.
IN the mid-1990s, as Cambodia recovered from the horrific genocidal crimes of the psychopathic Khmer Rouge, a group of dirtbikers set off on one of the nuttiest and greatest motorcycle adventures in history.
Three dirtbikers are on their knees, hands raised, in front of a group of well-armed and rather annoyed soldiers. The still, heavy Cambodian jungle is cut through with the shrill admonishments of the section commander, as rifles are dug into ribs, boots kicked into backs. The sinister clunk of guns being cocked and bayonets fixed reminds the entire group that no-one would ever be the wiser if these riders paid for their folly with their lives, bodies chopped up and fed to the local dogs. A soldier armed with a B40 rocket propelled grenade has his eye on one of the riders’ KTM520 and decides it is his. The other two bikes – an XR 650 and an old XLR250 – are also soon in the process of being requisitioned for the pleasure of the band of armed men. With so much firepower on show the bikers are resigned to their fate and offer little resistance.
“It was the first time anyone had tried to reach Mondulkiri, a wild place in the far west of the country, since the Khmer Rouge had been overthrown,” says Zeman McCreadie, a self-confessed petrolhead from a remote corner of Wales. “Even though it was 1997 and the civil war had ended years before, we knew we shouldn’t have really been there. But we just wanted to push the limits a bit. See what was possible.”
Zeman’s journey to Cambodia had been all about pushing the limits. With a childhood background of offroading in the Welsh hills – “My first bike at 14 was a Kawasaki FE175” – Zeman was a confirmed bike-freak long before he was of road-legal years. By the age of 19, and after a failed attempt to break into motorcycle journalism, he decided to hit the Asia trail and ventured through India and into war-torn Afghanistan. “I was just this stupid thrill-seeking kid when I arrived in Afghanistan,” says Zeman. “One time I was picked up at gun point by the Mujahideen but they could see that I wasn’t a threat. They told me to leave the country before I got killed.”
It was whilst travelling through Thailand in 1993 that Cambodia caught Zeman’s interest. “An old travelling buddy told me that the country was opening up and that I’d love it,” he says. At this point in Cambodia’s history the entire country had been almost completely destroyed by 20years of civil war and the Khmer Rouge regime’s orchestrated genocide. Millions had died and yet Cambodia, with the astonishing temples of Angkor Wat and the French Colonial charms of its cities, provided enough allure to attract adventurous travellers. Only a few years earlier at the end of the 1980s foolhardy Western travellers who entered this lawless country rarely made it back out alive. By the time Zeman arrived in early 1994, things were relatively safe. “I had to cross the border illegally as the Thai border police told me it was too dangerous,” he says. “These two Cambodians got me across for US$10. The Thais were shooting in the air but I made it safely.”
“When I arrived the civil war had just ended and there were very few privately owned motor vehicles in the country,” says Zeman. “There were of a lot of military trucks on the roads and a smattering of NGO-owned SUVs but the number of serviceable motorbikes could almost be counted on one hand.” Undeterred by this, and the fact that Cambodia’s entire road network had been reduced to rutted, potholed runs of tarmacless dirt, Zeman and a few bravehearts cobbled together a motley collection of bikes and ventured out into the unknown. “I was on a 1978 Yamaha XS750,” says Zeman. “It was hardly best suited to the conditions but it was still two wheels. The rest of the bikes were old Russian machines brought over by the Vietnamese, Minsks and Dneprs and the like.”
The first trips out for Cambodia’s nascent bikers took them to the towns and villages near to the capital, Phnom Penh. “We were getting up early and trying to reach our destinations before lunchtime as by then the locals would be getting drunk,” says Zeman. During the post-civil period inebriated soldiers and ex-Khmer Rouge fighters were known to go on the prowl for bribes and whatever else they could get their hands on. Bikers were sometimes kidnapped while other foreigners simply disappeared. “Just after I arrived in Cambodia these two Western women travellers were taken from a car at a checkpoint and into the jungle,” says Zeman. “They were never seen again.”
This is part one of a three-part story – parts two and three will follow this week.
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