Well, now that it's been about five months, I guess it's finally time for me to write a post about what I did for my summer vacation: cycling the Geum Gang Bicycle Trail, a 146-kilometer (a little over 90 miles) ride from the Geum River's estuary at Gunsan to Daecheong Dam, north of Daejeon.
I bought a sturdy bag for the occasion, since the Jansport I'd had since high school (already a decade ago now) was finally decomposing. I also bought a cheap, single-person tent. The family of my high school buddy translator at church often spontaneously showers me with gifts, and right before my trip they gave me a box full of snacks and bicycle supplies, including some handy bungee cords. I used the bungee cords to tie the tent onto my bag so I could ride with it on my back, since it was too big and heavy to keep in the basket on my bike. That was where I kept my sleeping bag.
In the backpack I packed clothes and my Korean textbook - never having gone camping on my own before, I pictured early nights with nothing to do after sunset except lie around and enjoy nature, and I figured it'd be a great time to study some Korean. It turned out to be dead weight.
The water bottles I packed were not dead weight, however. On my previous excursions, I'd packed food and water only to find plenty of travelers' convenience stores everywhere along the way, and every time I'd find myself thinking, "I shouldn't have packed all this food and water - it's just slowing me down. I can buy what I need every few kilometers or so." So this time, thinking that my bag was heavy enough with the tent on my back, I only brought a couple water bottles and some crackers.
After all, everybody said the Geum River Trail was very accommodating to cyclists. It sounded like there'd be plenty of opportunities to buy food and water on the way. Right? Ah...it's a good thing I survived.
I set out later than I meant to the first day, and it's about a 40-minute ride from my apartment out to the beginning of the trail behind Emart. I wanted to stop by that massive duck building (I think it's the Migratory Bird Observatory, maybe?), but I told myself I'd do it on the way back, since I was already late. I ended up not coming back the way I'd left, so I still haven't been inside.
A lot of the trail is really nicely laid out - fun to look at, fun to ride on, and just generally appealing. There are nice warning signs reminding you that it's a bad idea to cycle over cliffs and such. It's very thoughtful, really.
But as the time goes on and you've cycling for hours, you begin to realize just how remote and isolated the trail is. It's still beautiful, but you really start to get a sense of how far you are from all the places you're familiar with.
It goes on and on. Occasionally you'll find a little shelter set up where you can stop and rest. I think most people in Korea go on long cycling trips with friends, and they tend to stop and eat and drink together at these little rest stops. Most of the solo travelers I saw out here were actually just locals walking their dogs or exercising. There's a darker edge to adventure when you're all alone on a road that never ends with almost nobody around. I didn't stop for very long at any of these shelters.
The scenery was beautiful. I passed a lot of lush, green farms and interesting towns.
Periodically along the way there'd be these interesting markers about the area you'd reached or describe the places you could see along the river. Tucked behind this one is the bike trail signs I became accustomed to keeping an eye out for. Just 134 more kilometers to go!
Some of the trail was absolutely gorgeous. I really enjoyed riding on the bridges out over the water because it was so beautiful. Although I will admit it also added that extra element of uncertainty and thrill to my circumspection - nobody wants an abrupt end to their vacation because they took a curve too fast and plummeted into the river. After all, the signs warned you not to do that!
There were some breathtaking flowers along the trail, too.
When I first saw the sign for Iksan, I was really proud and happy that I'd made it. It's sort of similar to that first sense of satisfaction you get on a long, cross-country road trip when you see the "Now Leaving (Your State)" sign in America. It feels great - because you've barely left. By the time you come back it's just a drop in the bucket.
I'd never seen a spider that looked like green jewelry before. I still don't know what kind of spider it was, but it was beautiful and exotic, so I had to take a picture of it.
At first I was really impressed by all the cool bridges I could see along the way. Then at some point I realized, "Oh, I'm following a river...of course there will be bridges!" But I still really enjoyed seeing them. I tried to take a lot of pictures of the interesting scenery around the trail.
Have you seen any convenience stores yet? Yeah, me neither. Good thing I packed those crackers...
At some point the trail veered up into a mountain. I'd read on-line that the trail was virtually flat so that cyclists at any level could complete it. When it started going up the mountain, I got worried. Originally I'd thought I should try to cycle every single ounce of the trail, but in the end I had to cave and walk my bike up several places. At this particular mountain, though, I was a little nervous. It was starting to get dark - not really dark, but that edge of twilight where it could be day for quite a while or the night could drop on you like a heavy curtain, and after being out under the open sky for hours and hours, suddenly heading up the mountain into a thick forest made everything seem a little bit more full of shadows. I'd forgotten how scared I am of the dark, and of being alone in heavily-wooded areas, and of being alone in deep forests at night, while going up mountains, when I don't really know where I am and might not see the signs and don't have cell phone reception and might not be able to prevent myself walking off a steep cliff once the sun has really set. Let's just say I was not really enjoying my vacation very much at that particular moment.
And then - as if nature read my mind - I heard this terrifying sound. It sounded like a lion roaring. And I realized then that I didn't know very much about the wildlife of Korea. Surely there weren't lions here. But other wild animals? Bears? But it sounded so much like a lion...could there be a circus down below? I was getting closer and closer to the source of the sound, and I had to fight the urge to turn around and go back. But honestly, where would I have gone? All the way back to Gunsan? At the start of my vacation? And I didn't want to have to go back down that mountain again. Definitely not. So I persevered.
And there were definitely animals at the bottom, but they weren't lions, bears, wild animals, or even circus animals.
They were only cows. The trail went through a smattering of farms.
I still thought I would be coming back the way I'd come, and even though this hill was terrible to climb, I thought, "Won't that be a fun ride down on the way back!" But I didn't come that way again. The scarecrows are my witnesses.
At long last I rolled into what seemed to be some sort of rest house place. I thought surely I had gone quite far. Nope - still Iksan. It was supposed to rain and storm that night, so imagine my delight when the campground areas they had included elevated platforms where you could pitch your tent above the mud. I asked how much it'd be to camp out there and was ready to go at it - but the folks who ran the place insisted that I stay inside in their nice rooms. "It's not safe for a woman to spend the night camping alone!" they said. I thought it seemed much safer to camp here in this community area than it would be in the remote places I'd been cycling through. But they made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Normally a room this nice would cost about $70, as it's meant for a whole family or large group to stay in. I can't tell you the discount that they gave me, as they made me promise not to mention it, but I will say it was definitely favor and closer to miraculous than not. To top that off they even brought me food, so I cooked dinner, watched Korean dramas on TV, charged my phone, and fell asleep.
You might be wondering why there's toilet paper on that TV stand. In Korean homes toilet paper is often substituted for napkins and even tissues. Even at my church when we eat lunch after the service, there aren't napkins on the tables - just boxes with holes on the top, and inside: toilet paper.
Underneath you can see the amazing array of bedding I had to choose from. Korea has a "sitting culture," so a lot of things are typically done on the floor. Essentially you pick whatever mats and blankets you want, spread them out on the floor, and bingo, there's your bed.
To the left of the closet you can see my backpack rigged to go with my unused tent still strapped to it.
The next morning it was drizzling. Most of the nice weather on my trip was concentrated on that first day. From here on out it would be gloomy, rainy, or even stormy for a lot of the time.
Before I left, however, I made sure to find the red phonebooth.
At these stations you can stamp your cycling passport to prove that you arrived somewhere. At the end of the trip, you can present your stamped passport to a member of the bike trail staff and get some form of recognition for your efforts.
I already had the Gunsan Estuary stamp. Here's the stamp for Iksan.
Every red booth also has a map showcasing all the different cycling paths there are as part of the 4 Rivers program. The Geum Gang bike path is the orange one on the left. Suddenly 146 kilometers doesn't seem like it's that far...glad I didn't pick one of the longer trails for my vacation!
That morning a family invited me to eat with them down in the cafeteria sort of area, so I did. One of the older men there pointed out to me that my tire had a leak. He put air in it but it kept deflating. When I'd first seen the Iksan sign I'd sensed that maybe something had happened to one of my tires, so it was easy to believe him. But I didn't have an extra tube or anything. I know a legit cyclist would always be prepared for flats, but I don't know how to patch or change an inner tube, so I didn't bring a kit along, figuring I wouldn't know what to do with one anyway. It was only the second day of my trip and my only mode of transportation was that bicycle. So what could I do?
The man offered to drive my bicycle to town in his truck, get it repaired, and bring it back. Sounds sketchy, right? And it very well could have been. But I prayed and didn't get a bad vibe, so I agreed to let him do it. I watched him load my lifeline into his truck and drive away, then waited.
His word was good. He brought it back with a new tube and air in both tires, and the shop had fixed the brakes to boot. I asked how much I owed him, and I forget now what he said, but it was surely less than what it'd actually cost him. Something crazy cheap like three dollars or something. God was looking out for me.
Then it was time to set out again. I could have waited for the drizzle to let up, but the weather forecast had been calling for rain all week. Waiting for good weather would just squander my vacation days, and I'd already come too far to turn back now. Onward, to the great unknown!
Around here I met an older man who was also cycling alone. He lived nearby and rode everyday to exercise. He rode with me as far as Nonsan and knew some shortcuts. We rode together for about an hour and the time really flew by. I'm really glad I did this bike trip for my vacation because it feels like such an accomplishment, but I think if I ever do something like this again, I'd like to do it with a friend. The difference it made just having somebody to chat with really broke the tedium of pedaling, pedaling, pedaling along a neverending road while the rain seeped into you.
Eventually I came to Buyeo, and kept riding.
At one point on my trip the sun came out for a while, and the trail was covered with 달팽이 (dalpaengi), or snails. I'd never seen so many snails before and had to get a shot of one. I hope I didn't crush too many as I rode, but it'd be hard not to just because the path was literally crawling with them.
More beautiful scenery.
I never really figurd out exactly what these signs were telling me, but I liked to stop and look at them anyway. It made me feel like I was making progress, however slowly.
I'd seen on the news that various parts of Korea were experiencing heavy rains and even flooding. In fact, while staying in the room in Iksan I'd texted with some friends from Gunsan and heard that Gunsan itself had experienced some flooding. Maybe I had left just in time! But where I was hadn't escaped the heavy downpours totally unscathed. Several patches of the bike path looked like this:
What could I do? I just had to keep on going and hope the water didn't get much deeper. After all, this was the only path around:
Eventually the standing water on the path thinned out and the trail shifted to the cliffside bridge again. Even on such a gloomy day, it was still very beautiful to ride.
Afterwards the path swung out into more open air, and the sun came out again. Finally the weather lightened up to a hot day and the light was bright for a while. I rode on - and on, and on.
Eventually I stopped for a break just on the path. I sat down on the ground and ate some crackers, drank some water. (Did I mention the lack of convenience stores?) This beautiful blue butterfly really seemed to like my bicycle, and my sandals, and even me. I took a lot of pictures, and this one came out nicely. You might recognize it as the original of the brightened version at the beginning of this post. I've never seen a butterfly like this before or since, but it really made my day and cheered me up after a long morning of cycling in the rain, the sun, and the heat.
So I continued on.
At some point I stumbled across this interesting area. This helicopter wasn't the only thing I saw - it seemed almost to be some kind of refueling station for emergency vehicles and aircraft. Maybe? Regardless, it was interesting, and I don't usually get to stand so close to helicopters that aren't on display.
Korea's famous for its cuteness, and its signs about the bike paths are not excepted from this rule.
Civilization! Not to mention a sweet bridge with an awesome overlook showcasing a cool, traditional-looking boathouse area.
This building was really pretty on the outside, so I took a picture. But what is it? I'm glad you asked. It's just a public restroom for passers-by to use. And I ended up not using it, because the outside was the only pretty thing about it. I'm not usually too picky about restrooms when I really have to go, so believe me when I say it really wasn't worth it to go in.
More beautiful sights.
I stumbled across a tourist trap. And it really was a tourist trap - after I got out, I kept following the signs to get back to the bike path and literally just rode in circles for a least half an hour. It's a wonder I escaped at all!
I was exhausted and thought sitting down and eating some delicious 돈까스 might help. It did...for about twenty minutes. There's something about cycling for hours and hours at a time that just wears your body down...
Then it was off to more cycling...
...and more cycling.
I certainly saw a lot of interesting structures on the water. I don't know what half of them were, if they were just bridges and dams or also water treatment plants. Either way, it was really cool to see them all.
Near this one the bike path wound around a bit until at last it reached...
...a rest stop! Hooray! Complete with a shoe cleaner (I guess?), a bike rack, and some stations to put air in your bike tires. Fortunately, my tires were good now that the leaks had all been fixed. Huzzah!
You could go up and explore the view from several stories up, and so I did. Behold the dazzling sights of tourists taking five:
Did you spot the stamping booth? I did, and I made sure to get my stamp.
Oh, that's it? After cycling for an entire day, I really thought that I'd gone further...
There was a cool museum, though. So I stopped in to check it out and rest a bit.
I didn't rest for long. About fifteen minutes after I came in a lady came and told me the museum was closing. Since it was already evening, I asked her if there were any motels around here, because I was exhausted and thought it'd be a good time to call it a day. She said the nearest hotels were at least a half-hour bike ride away - and back the way I'd come. There was no way I was cycling backwards! So I asked about any in the direction I was going. She said that there was nothing until Gongju, about two or two and a half hours away by bicycle. I hoped I wouldn't regret it, and set off at light speed. I didn't want to be out on this isolated trail after dark.
It wasn't long before I came upon another obstacle. Due to the recent rains and flooding, the path was waterlogged. I couldn't tell how deep the water was in this tunnel, but you already know how I felt about turning around and going back. So I went through.
Another vibrant flower near the path.
Despite my best efforts, it was after dark when I made it to the next rest stop. I knew the city of Gongju was nearby, but exactly where it was or how to get to it I didn't know, and since it was after dark, I didn't really want to stray too far from the bike path looking for it. And, while Gunsan is a relatively safe city even at night, I knew nothing of Gongju. So when I reached the rest stop, I stayed there.
I thought there'd be accomodations - even if there weren't any vending machines, I at least expected restrooms. Nope. There was a parking lot between the highway and the river. There was a little picnic table with a sun umbrella. There was a bike rack. There were a sign or two announcing your location and how far you'd come, etc. There was a stamp booth (and believe me, I did get my stamp!). That was about it.
So, even though I knew this wasn't really the most intelligent thing I'd ever done, I pitched my tent in the parking lot next to the river after dark while the weather forecasters were calling for big storms with heavy rains and lightning to come rolling in.
Considering I'd never pitched a tent before in my life, I think that part was actually pretty successful. But sleeping? Not so much. I used my sleeping bag but the tent was like a sauna. The rain had already begun so I didn't dare open up the flaps until it stopped. I kept jolting up thinking that a dog had come to rip my tent open and eat me, until finally I realized it was just the wind blowing the edges of my tent flap zippers. Eventually it started pouring. Fortunately, my cheap tent was pretty sturdy. It kept all the water out and the only dampness in the tent was just from condensation from humidity. For every hour I slept about twenty minutes, woke up with a start, and couldn't go back to sleep again for another forty.
At around 4 a.m. the rain let up, so I took advantage of the lack of downpour and the cover of the night and relieved myself out in the bushes by the river. It's times like these that I think it would be so much handier to be a guy. Oh well. My time in Senegal prepared me well.
Those of you who heard me tell the story of my hike up Hallasan in person* may remember how I desecrated a UNESCO world heritage site on one of the New Seven Wonders of the World (only because I had no other choice, of course). After that, using a spot next to the Geum River was easy. Did you know that geum means gold? It makes you wonder what the real reason behind the naming of the Yellow Sea was...
(*Even I have standards. Some things are just too inappropriate to post on-line!)
Anyway. I was fairly undisturbed all night, except for one time when I woke up because someone was definitely outside my tent trying to peer in with a flashlight. Talk about unnerving! Hopefully it was just a police officer making sure I wasn't doing something questionable. I held my breath and didn't move, and whoever it was left me alone.
In the morning (which took far too long to come), I waited for the drizzle to let up and then went out and took some pictures for the sake of posterity. Here's my tent:
Some signs. The bike rack. The stamp booth.
Clearly everyone else was much better at planning their trips than I was, because nobody else was camping anywhere in the vicinity.
Not only is this a nice view of the bridge (or dam?) near Gongju, but it also includes my ad hoc 화장실.
My tent had a lovely interior.
Check out this beautiful rest stop.
The Galleria Luxury Hall. Classy!
My body was about ready to break down and die after cycling for hours and hours and then barely getting any sleep during the storm in a steaming tent in a parking lot. I saw this traditional village tourist spot and dragged myself in.
The restaurant only really had one thing. I'm not sure what was in it. Maybe abalone? I couldn't finish it. I just felt sick.
What I really wanted was to find a bed somewhere and sleep it off. But that would set me back a lot. So I trekked on. Through the interesting architecture, and then through the fascinating sights of Gongju and beyond.
I kind of had a feeling these signs were important, maybe warning you about the washed out trail beyond. But I made it through okay.
Another beautiful bridge, and later on some sun trying to break out through the haze.
This part of the trail was really beautiful, and I think I really would have enjoyed it a lot if I weren't sick, exhausted, and on the verge of collapse.
Is that a city in the distance? Might there be a motel there? At this point I'd lost sight of my original priorities and only had one thing in mind.
After ordering some pizza for lunch and being practically unable to eat it because I was so exhausted that I kept nodding off mid-chew, I asked around until I got directions to a part of town that had motels. I got a bad vibe from the first place I stopped in, so I'm glad that the lady just took one look at me and said they had no rooms. The second place turned out to be alright. I'm pretty sure it was a love motel, but the price wasn't too bad, and after asking the most important questions - "Does it have a shower?" and "Does it have air conditioning?" - I'd heard all I needed to and checked in.
That was around one o'clock or so. The bathtub looked pretty typical of love motels. I took a long, refreshing shower, washed my clothes in the sink (I hadn't packed too many), hung them up to dry, and slept for fifteen hours.
The next day I set out again. I found a cool little machine set up to accommodate cyclists like myself. It's solar powered and has air to fill your tires with for free. Unfortunately, I couldn't get it to work, but I'm glad that stuff like this is here at all. Seems like a great idea to me.
I got my stamp at Sejong and continued on.
From what I gathered from talking to people (while searching for motels, while trying to find where the bike path went to get to Daecheong Dam, etc.), it seems like maybe Sejong isn't really a city in its own right, but is like a big office city, or some sort of administration hub. The motel I stayed at was actually across the bridge in a separate area where shops and things were bunched together. Either way, it was an interesting place to be, and after resting and sleeping and eating a lot, I was ready to continue on.
I passed some interesting construction projects and another handsome bridge along the way.
Here the path got interesting again, turning down a steep hill past that house.
I wasn't sure what this big machine was doing, but it looked interesting, so I snapped a shot.
My trusty steed.
More beautiful bridge paths.
Here the bike path actually went through what seemed like a factory or plant area. I kept thinking, "Did I read the signs wrong? Am I really allowed to be riding around through here?" But it was right, and I went through.
I don't really have any pictures from there until the end, however, because shortly after that the huge downpours began. For about two and a half hours I rode through farms, on mud trails, down steep hills, up small mountains, and on precariously small cliff-side shoulders of winding highways in torrential rains. I think it was pretty dangerous. You could see the sheets of rain running down the roads. But I made it to the end okay.
The path took me through Daejeon, and there were some beautiful sights to see. There were more beautiful bridges to ride on and plenty of steep hills. I rode under train bridges and past huge industrial complexes. At some point I was really pedaling hard to get up a hill and a car that was speeding down went through a massive puddle and totally splashed me. I was already drenched to the bone so it didn't matter, but I've never been hit with such a wall of water before. My Korean friend said that drivers can actually be fined for that - if they splash pedestrians they have to pay for the pedestrians to clean or replace their ruined clothes. I think that's kind of cool. But obviously it's not easy to enforce.
I rode and rode and rode. I was so sopping wet that I didn't want to stop until I made it to the end, so even though I was exhausted, the rain actually helped me to finish. I think if it hadn't been pouring so heavily I probably would have taken a lot more breaks and rested way too much and dragged it out even further.
At long last, I arrived. Daecheong Dam.
It looked like you could get ferry tours and explore other interesting things there, but I was physically exhausted, mentally drained, and ready to be warm and dry. I looked at the boats down below, watched the lightning flashing overhead, and heard the thunder crack against the mountains in the distance. But not for long.
I found the stamp booth, got my final stamp.
I went inside, dripping wet, and - this is not hyperbole - left a pretty big puddle on the floor where I stood. I gave my cycling passport to the woman at the desk. She congratulated me and took my information. I guess I'm registered on a list somewhere now with other people who were cool enough to ride this path.
She gave me a cool seal as my reward for cycling it all.
Then I asked her where the train station in Daejeon was. She was kind enough to show me with a streetview on-line map and gave me very good directions. I rode straight back to Daejeon and found the train station.
My trip had taken me four days, and even though I had the time to go back, I was so exhausted, I didn't want to ride it all again. At first I thought that seemed kind of a shame. But then I thought, "There's no shame in riding 150 kilometers instead of 300. It's okay!"
At the station I asked how I could take my bicycle by train to Gunsan. It seemed like a very tricky matter, since bicycles don't really fit on trains. But they let me do it. The train I needed left in five minutes, though, so there was no time to go to the bathroom or anything. I ran and got my bike and got on the train.
It was a special car without any seats. People were sitting on the floor and holding rails and you could buy snacks from a vendor in the middle. It was perfect for my bike. But that train actually went to Cheonan, much farther north than I'd already ridden (and I needed to go southwest to get home), and from there I had to transfer. The second train, the long one from Cheonan to Gunsan, didn't have any nice, bicycle-accommodating cars. In fact, I felt pretty bad trying to get my bike on and off the train because I couldn't do it alone - especially with my big bag on my back, the doorway was just too narrow for me to carry my bike up the stairs into the car. So I was always holding people up and someone always had to help me. But it was the only way for me to get back without cycling, so I just apologized and did it.
Since there was no room for my bike in the passenger area, the train staff man said I had to keep it in the area by the restrooms. I'd paid for a seat, but he asked me to stay with the bike so that it didn't fall over on anybody. I thought that was reasonable - I didn't want it to get stolen anyway. Since I still hadn't had a chance to go (no time between trains, either), it was almost terrible having to stand for hours next to a restroom but not being able to go to the restroom. But eventually, as we neared Gunsan, the crowd on board thinned out and the staff man said it'd be okay to leave my bike alone. You don't need me to tell you what I did then.
After that I stayed with my bike for a while. A Korean woman came in, just to stretch. I think she lived in Gunsan but was visiting someone in Seocheon, maybe. (Seocheon is just across the Geum River from Gunsan and it was the stop before mine on our train.) We talked a while and she seemed to have heard about me from the guy at the bike shop in Gunsan. She was impressed that I'd done the Geum Gang Trail with my bicycle because it was so heavy. I'd thought it was much better than my tiny-wheeled yellow bike, but I guess if you're doing serious long-distance touring a lighter bike is what you're supposed to go with. She could tell I was exhausted and offered to give me a massage right there in the standing compartment. I was kind of surprised, but I accepted. After a while she offered to watch my bike for me so I could sit down and rest. I took her up on it and did. When her stop came I thanked her and said goodbye.
At long last I arrived in Gunsan. I'd known there was a train station in Gunsan but I'd never been to it before. It was late when I got back - maybe ten or eleven at night - and very dark. Looking on a map, I realized that the Gunsan train station was actually way outside the city itself, and I still had to cycle home. But it would be no problem once I got to someplace that I recognized. Gunsan was Gunsan and I know my way around here pretty well. I asked some of the taxi drivers at the station how to get either to the Geum River or to downtown from where we were, because from either place I could find my way back easily.
Their directions sounded pretty straightforward: "See that bus? Follow it. Go through the tunnel, then turn right. Eventually you'll hit the city."
So I went through the tunnel - a dark, spooky tunnel with no lights and more standing water, with broken glass on the ground and a sidewalk bulging with weeds. Then I got to the place where I was supposed to turn right, but it looked like an on-ramp to a highway. That couldn't be right, could it? But they'd definitely said to go right here, and the bus had gone that way. So I went right...and sure enough, it was definitely an on-ramp to a highway.
I went back and asked the cab drivers again. This time I tried to be clearer - how could I get to Gunsan City by bicycle?
They laughed and said the directions were the same. They told me just to keep on riding for a while and then I'd see a smaller road that I could ride on.
So I went back through the creepy tunnel again. I turned right at the on-ramp. I tried not to get any huge, fat spiders in my hair. (In the summer months huge spiders come out with a vengeance and spin webs everywhere - it's hard not to get them or their webs all over you sometimes.)
And then I rode on the highway, alone, late at night, and hoped nobody would hit me on the shoulder. But the taxi men were right. Sure enough, after a while, there was the city, and there was a smaller road below the highway I could ride more safely on. So I did. I still didn't know where I was, but I knew that I'd hit Gunsan, and once I'm in Gunsan - well, it's only a matter of time before I reach downtown or Lotte Mart. You can't get lost for long in Gunsan.
I rode like crazy, so ready to be home, batting spiderwebs out of my way and trying to shake them out of my hair without stopping. Finally I came to a big intersection that I recognized - the one with the 7-11 my church cell group leader runs - and from there the forty-minute ride to my apartment felt like nothing.
I was home.
