I’ve thought a bit about Saturday’s ride. It was my third ride starting from Seolbong Park in Yi-ch’eon. It’s an absolutely beautiful park, and since I get there by 6 AM just about every time, there’s plenty of good parking. An excellent place from which to stage rides.
The park itself is backed up against the ridge that forms the western edge of the valley in which Yi-ch’eon sits. A bit of a steep climb from the park to that ridge (even steeper after you’ve ridden 100km) sits a Buddhist temple, the entrance of which is guarded by a Gingko story tree and a beautiful view of the city.
Yi-ch’eon is at the Northwestern side of a good-sized valley, and it was this valley I crossed twice on Saturday. And today it came to me that I was a tiny speck on that valley floor – like a ship on a broad sea – for quite some time that day. I really was adrift, far from home. Far from anyone who even knew of my existence. Really quite alone. It was pretty cool when I thought about it.
This is one of the things I love most about cycling in Korea. Every ride can be a new experience. I may not repeat a route for months at a time (except for the out and back roads closest to home). And a start from somewhere an hour away from home means a whole new raft of adventures. Even though I followed some of the route we did last November, I did it in reverse, which makes for entirely different views.
And here I was, crossing that valley, pretty much free to go the way I wished. Seeing things that so many others had never seen. Surprising farmers as I came over a rise or turned a corner. “What’s this? A bike out here? And a foreigner on it?”
What fun.