Labies, gears, and dogs

Labies, Part II: 

The rabies prophylactic comes in a three-part series. Two days ago it was time for my second encounter with a rabies needle, and we organized our route to pass a rural hospital. No English signs anywhere, but we locked our bikes near the motor scooters and paraded into the hospital, winding past open rooms with busy nurses over beds, offices with a computer, and finally a waiting room with blue seats. I explained that I needed the second shot in the series, and between a little acting, some Pictionary, and a little English, the Misses Front Desks understood what I needed. 

"Go wait in room 9 please," I was instructed. I padded in, expecting the classic small empty doctor's room. Instead a flurry of nurses bent over the gruesome leg of a pre-teen boy, and a number of other doctors worked on computers. I sat on a bed, facing opposite the leg operation behind me. A lovely doctor finally approached me, needle in hand, and gently gave me some rabies. I chose the less sunburned arm. Mrs. Doctor then handed me another laminated hospital card (?) and a bill. "Where to pay?" I asked. She indicated I could pay right from my hospital bed, "one stop service!" she joked and we all laughed. So far my rabies experiences have included laughter with Thai doctors. 

On Bike Maintenance: 

Buddy Lissy's bicycle (bought second hand in Bangkok, but a decent light Japanese bike nonetheless) had begun coughing and complaining on the lower sprockets, and had also reduced itself to all of 3/7ths of its available gears.

There's some things I am comfortable doing with bikes, but we wanted to watch a professional greasy thumb adjust it first. But the prospect of finding a bike shop--finding anything in these contorted labyrinth towns and cities--is like looking for a piece of barley in rice. 

But the other day a group of spandex jersey men whirred past us, all on expensive name-brand bikes. It felt just like being around Seattle again. When later we passed them taking a rest-stop, I couldn't let this possible lead go without at least trying. With this concentration of moneyed bicycle men there was a good chance that at least someone spoke some English, and all would know where a bike shop was. I dismounted my bike and stepped into their numbers. They laughed at me--whether surprised by my approach, or at my bike, or my tall short-haired appearance--but I asked hopefully "bike shop?" They all repeated it, "bike shop! bike shop? bike shop." like little kids trying out a new word. It was like being in a flock of crows. 

But then Mr. Gray Hair stepped from the fold and bowed slightly at me, "where you go, Sir?" 

I explained, then he got on his bicycle, "follow me!" and he lead us a few blocks (how lucky!) to the bike shop. How grateful and fortunate I felt! 

On Dogs:

From the guide books and CDC website recommending rabies shots for "more adventurous travelers" I expected that every dog at every little house would come tearing out after us, knock our bikes over, and give us rabies not from needles. It's truly astonishing how different tropical reality can be from research-by-the-fire-at-home. Most dogs here in the cities are truly unmotivated, scrawny dirty things that are only interested in sleeping. Dogs in the countryside mostly just watch us, but there has been more chase instinct. 

I'd brought pepper spray, which I'd never used before. I wondered how I would coordinate pedaling, reaching, aiming, and firing all at once. I amazed myself how this happened absolutely without thought the first time someone came barking and charging after us.  

My little squirt of red stopped him no problem, snuffing and confused. 

Another dog was far enough back that I didn't bother with the spray, but instead shouted "NNNNOOO!" It wasn't so much a shout as a roar and I surprised both Buddy Lissy and myself. The dog put his ears back at that one and left us alone. 

So I'm feeling quite reassured against dogs. Have not seen any truly nasty pit-bull or German Shepherd types like the states either.