In the morning, during the 15 kilomter ride back to the main north-south road through Laos, Route 13, we saw several cows on fishing poles. At least that's what I called them. The cows are really just staked out to graze on the grass along the road but instead of being tied to a stake, the way my Alaska Uncle Bob staked out his horses, these cows were tied to a contraption that looked like a bamboo fishing pole. The pole was attached to the top of a larger bamboo pole stuck in the ground. The pole could swivel and also bend up and down like a toll gate opening and closing. I'm not sure of the purpose of this but it kept the cow's rope off the ground and gave them a large grazing area.

As we went north we saw less of this and more cows just wandering around, often on the road. As we went north we also saw more barbed wire. At first I wondered why we saw more free grazing cows and more barbed wire until I figured out they used the barbed wire to keep the livestock out of the planted fields, not in the pasture.

There's far more livestock on the Lao roads than any other roads in Southeast Asia. P.J. O'Rourke, writing about El Salvador, said the surest sign that the Communists had screwed up the country was the lack of chickens running around. By P.J.'s measure, Laos is doing quite well despite the Communists. Chickens, turkeys, goats, pigs, cows and water buffalo run all over Laos in huge families. Many times a giant sow would run across the road in front of us, followed by six or so piglets, then a moment later by two spacey runts.

For lunch we stopped in Ban Hinhup, a tiny town along the Nam Lik river. We ordered "Tom Mak Hoong" with "Khao Nuaw" or spicy papaya salad with sticky rice. A couple of guys sitting at the foodstall got interested in my horn so I played several songs for them. They kept talking to us as we tried to eat the super-spicy dish. We found out they were both 32 years old, just like us. One was a teacher and we think one was trying to say he was a Christian. Other than that we couldn't communicate too many verbal ideas. Everyone tried to play the horn and that got a lot of laughs. I gave quick lessons so some people could at least make a tone.

They could see we were suffering on the spices. We downed lots of water and they kept getting the waitress to bring pitchers of ice water. Fortunately in Laos, as in Thailand, the water served has been boiled so it's safe to drink. The most careful travelers still won't drink it, but we do. And we haven't regretted it.

After we crossed the Nam Lik the road started climbing. As the hills increased the population decreased. We no longer saw rice fields but mostly young jungle. Some hills had been victims of slash and burn where the jungle is burned, and the following year, rice is planted. The rice uses the ashes for nutrients. After one or two harvests the nutrients are spent and the land is abandoned.

At one little village we saw four guys and a woman (coordinating) trying to bring down a TV antenna on a tall bamboo pole. They were having some trouble and just about lost control of it but they were laughing the whole time. We saw this over and over again in Laos--people laughing and smiling while they worked.

As we crested a small hill we discovered an especially picturesque view of some mountains in the distance. I pulled over to take a photo but before I could snap, a big truck crested the hill from the other side. A pickup truck was passing the truck. I waited for them to pass but they stopped, which traffic rarely does.

Both drivers leaped out and ran towards the back of the big truck. Tied to the truck's hook-like trailer hit hitch was a huge dead snake. It's head hung straight down, tongue out. It was dripping blood. It's head had been dragging on the road for a bit. The big truck driver got there first, and pulled the head off the ground. (Joan: I guess to make his 'goods' look better). Then the pickup truck driver bought the snake for about 3,000 kip (less than US$1).

As we rode up and down relatively small foothills, we passed a tall mountain to the east. Mist shrouded the top and when we got a long view we could see it was raining hard at isolated places up and down the valley.

We stopped for a photo again and I thought I heard a waterfall nearby in the thick vine covered growth behind us. But the roar of the waterfall got louder even as we started moving away from it. I looked back and saw a rain squall chasing us down the road! Not only were the rain drops large enough to see (at first I feared they were hail) but I could see a wet/dry line in the road and the line was moving toward us. The squall stalked us down the road. It vaguely frightened us that the normally indifferent Mother Nature was deliberately acting malevolent towards us. Instinctively we pedaled harder even though we both knew it was futile. The storm quickly engulfed and soaked us. A storm with an attitude.

About 25km from Vang Vieng and a few km from any village we parked our bikes against a small bridge railing for a rest and a snack. We had saved some Oreos for just such an occasion. Down the river valley we could see large karst cliffs. About the time we finally got through the thick export-quality plastic wrap on the cookies, a man on a bike with a large stainless steel box on the back rode by. A bell hung from his handlebars. He rung it with a small metal bar he held in his hand. Almost no one keeps two hands on the handlebars in Laos.

Knowing he was selling something possibly edible, I waved him down. He took a round lid off the box, which was double-lined. The inner box contained carefully cut rectangles of vanilla ice cream, still quite frozen. We bought two for 200 kip (about U.S. 6 cents) each. He served it on six-inch wooden skewers. Was God making up for siccing the storm on us by sending us an ice cream man?

Next: Karst and Caverns

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