It’s a searing 47 degrees Celsius and I’m on the road on a bike in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even like cycling but here I am in Thailand riding from Bangkok to Khao Lak. Sweat is pouring down my face and I’ve already gone through four bottles of water on this leg alone. Words: Anthony Sherratt COMMUNITY Around me my fellow riders are also struggling. The jokes and camaraderie have been pushed to the side as most of us struggle to even draw breath. Aching muscles are battling with a deep fatigue whose onset has been both quick and scary. It’s only day three and for the first time I have doubts as to whether I’ll make it to the end of this 500-kilometre ride for charity. I’ve had a few moments of dizziness and briefly even slipped into a head-bowed fugue as I pedalled: a trance I only snapped out of when I barely missed a coconut which would have caused a nasty fall. How far to go? How bloody hot is it? Can I make it? I can’t see anyone in front of me. Why the hell am I doing this? I reach to my back pocket hoping there’s some water left in my final bottle and my hand catches something. Momentarily curious I pull it out; it’s a little card I’d been ceremoniously given a few days earlier. It had a picture of a smiling six-year-old girl named Pla. She likes rainbows and dancing. Suddenly I remembered why I was here. She’s one of 112 children waiting for us at a Hands Across The Water home still a few days away. Just over a year ago I had the opportunity to travel to Thailand and work in an orphanage. My wife had agreed to cycle 500 kilometres across the country for a charity I'd not heard of called Hands Across The Water. I was initially sceptical - both of the charity and of my wife's ability to ride a bike that far - but when I looked into Hands Across The Water I was stunned. It was everything a charity should be. pindaramagazine.com.au Pindara Magazine 83
Pindara Private Hospital Magazine - Issue Seven
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