FRIENDS OF KOREA Cycling Korea's east coast in 1968
Ron Rezac and George Delaney are surrounded by children in an east coast village where they stopped for food in 1968. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
Perhaps encouraged by some late-night passing of makgeolli bowls, I and two other Peace Corps volunteers, Jim Stroud and George Delaney, decided we would bicycle from Samcheok to Pohang along the beautiful east coast of South Korea.
We did not have bikes, knew next to nothing about the roads there, had not considered the terrain, the weather, food or lodging. We were young and all that did not seem to matter. The year was 1968, and it was adventure we sought. We would come to regret our lack of planning, but that trip became for all of us, a favorite memory, among many wonderful memories of our time in Korea, which for each of us remains our beloved second country, over half a century later.
The scenery of Korea's east coast in 1968 / Courtesy of Ron Rezac
Our plan had a step one — procuring bicycles. We gathered in Samcheok, Gangwon Province, where George lived, bought three matching hats and rented three freight bikes. George assured us that the locals had taken care to make them roadworthy, although they did not understand why we wanted to bike to Pohang, North Gyeongsang Province, when there were buses available.
Ron Rezac and George Delaney pack their rented bicycles for a cycling journey down Korea's east coast in 1968. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
So, with the confidence of a Jeju Island shell diver, but without a thought to logistics, one clear morning we mounted the bikes and began pedaling. I guess that was step two. We knew enough to head south. We would figure out the rest as we went — the route, the food and shelter.
Children help push a bicycle uphill somewhere along Korea's east coast in 1968. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
The first "whoops" was that the road to Pohang was... well, hilly. Sort of mountainous actually. And the days initially were hot. And these were freight bikes. We had to push the heavy bikes up steep dirt roads to the hilltops where we would remount and then coast for what seemed like miles down steep, rough and curvy roads.
The terrain on Korea's east coast is hilly in 1968. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
With the wind in our faces, we bounced and sped down the hills with frightening speed, a fierce grip on the handlebars and scant faith in the brakes of unfamiliar bicycles. At times terrifying. At times exhilarating. Push up the hill, race down and repeat. That became the routine for most of the trip — a series of thrills punctuated with amazing scenery. The wind would ‘poof’ up our hair in frightening ways, and I recall that one hat was lost.
Jim Stroud, an American Peace Corps volunteer, crosses a wooden bridge near some women washing clothes in the river during a bike journey down Korea's eastern coast in 1968. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
We stopped at villages along the way to rest and to eat — usually some fruit, dried squid, whatever was available, and offered — typically at a roadside market.
Jim Stroud and George Delaney stop for food in an east coast village in 1968. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
Crowds gathered around us at every stop. Even today, I would imagine that three Americans pedaling into town on bicycles would attract a crowd. In 1968, oh yeah, we had crowds.
Children gather to stare at the three American cyclists who stopped in their east coast village in 1968. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
I don’t recall just when we became aware of ominous weather. I do recall where we were when it first became an issue. We were somewhere beachside. We went into the sea — as much to cleanse as to refresh our tired bodies. A nice late afternoon until evening approached. It was fast becoming dark, there was wind and some rain and heavily pounding surf. We took shelter behind a large rock formation. It provided some protection from the wind and the spray of the surf. The reality was that we were going to be sleeping there on the sand. On the wet sand. We did not know if the tide was in or out or would later engulf where we had settled. We had zero other choices. We expected to be cold and wet and we prepared to make the best of our circumstance.
The three American cyclists set up camp on the beach. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
But then — and this is an emotional memory for me — we were approached by a slightly built, soft-spoken Korean man — I believe he was a fisherman. After greetings, and some manner of explaining who we were and why we were there, he correctly assessed our circumstances and invited us to his home. We declined. He insisted. We declined. He insisted. He had assessed our dire circumstance much better than we had. As we listened to the pounding surf and the wind, the invitation became more and more welcome. So we packed up and followed him some distance to his home.
The three American cyclists set up camp on the beach, near a village. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
The house, consisting of two very small rooms, was home to him, his wife and two children. He invited us to share their evening meal. We did so — gratefully — and talked into the evening, making some use of our halting Korean. It became obvious that we were so tired we could not stay awake, and observing this, he motioned us to the other room where he had prepared Korean yos (floor mattresses). We collapsed into that room just about filling it wall to wall.
We were again fed in the morning, then we mounted the bikes and pedaled away, our Korean benefactor and his family smiling and waving.
The American cyclists stop at the roadside on their journey down Korea's east coast. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
Did I mention that this was an emotional memory? The kindness of Koreans was a constant during my years in the country, but this was exceptional.
A Korean helps the American cyclists with their bicycles somewhere along Korea's east coast in 1968.
We continued to push up-coast down the rough road, finding spectacular views at every turn. The views from the peaks we had pushed up to were so indescribably beautiful that at times we would just stop and sit and look.
The cyclists stop to appreciate the scenery. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
Later, when we stopped roadside to eat, we learned that a typhoon had gone through south of us — I think near Pohang, but I am not certain of this. We pushed on, but again our lack of planning — along with the weather — presented a problem.
In the late afternoon we were somewhere on a beach between nowhere and anywhere, and desperately looking for options for shelter that night but there was none. Really none. Until there was, well, maybe one. A guy walking alone on the beach approached. We asked about lodging — any lodging. No problem. He had a tent. OK. That — by default — became our plan.
We followed him across a long stretch of storm-ravaged beach, and saw some of the devastation of the typhoon that had gone through. And we walked. And walked some more across barren beach seemingly toward nothing, pushing our bikes through wet and dark sand. He would stop from time to time and look around appearing befuddled. And at times he kicked at the sand and mumbled, and then walked on, still mumbling. The three of us shared side-eyed glances that revealed what we were each thinking: the guy was crazy.
We were about to end this adventure and say goodbye when after a series of rapid kicks at the sand, he started digging. A corner of something appeared. He tugged and then kicked some more. Finally, after much digging, he excitedly retrieved a tent — a very small tent – a tent that had apparently been buried by the storm. We said very little. He uncovered poles and stakes and set the tent up. Voila.
The three travelers spent the night in a tent that had been dug up out of the sand. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
And so that is how three very tired bikers came to rent a tent — a very small tent. He threw a rice mat into the bargain and pitched it on the wet and windy beach. Inside there was barely enough room for one, but with effort two could fit. Comfort, though, was not part of the discussion. As there were three of us, our compromise was for two to spend some time inside, and then rotate out, and in, and again out, and in and — well, such was our fate — all night — roughly at two-hour intervals. Actually, being inside was not that great anyway as there was wet sand caked on the inside roof of the tent which — with the wind — continuously fell down onto the occupants — us. Exhaustion probably allowed us to sleep when otherwise the circumstances would not have permitted it.
The tent on the beach attracts curious onlookers. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
The next morning the weather had improved a bit and we journeyed farther down the coast, marveling at the fantastic views. We arrived the next night at the home of a Colombian priest George knew. He fed us and put us up for the night. While we enjoyed warmth and bedding and American food — and I think showers — all very much appreciated by weary travelers — nothing was as welcoming and regal as the night we spent as guests of the kind Korean fisherman and his family.
We ended the trip sometime later — none of can agree on precisely where that was — and we shipped the bikes back to Samcheok and we each went our separate ways back to our own Korean homes.
The scenery along Korea's east coast in 1968 / Courtesy of Ron Rezac
I have many fond memories of my time in Korea. At my hasukjib (boarding house), bathing with water retrieved from a rope and bucket from a well (oh the mosquitos in summer and the cold in winter!). Traveling on a third-class train from Seoul to Seocheon, South Chungcheong Province, midwinter. I think it was about a seven-hour trip. Many windows were missing and I still insist that no one has ever been as cold as I was then and lived.
And the time I discovered that the delicious roasted nuts I would eagerly buy from vendors in the alleys of Seoul were actually bug larvae. The time I hiked up and into the volcano on Jeju Island when the fog came in as it was getting dark and I was seriously lost. A really frightening time. I made it out and down but not without consequences.
The time — soon after arriving in Korea — when we were directed to go alone somewhere in Korea to see how we would manage on our own. I went to Gangneung, Gangwon Province, and on the beach there I met a descendent of Yulgok Yi I and was invited to stay the night at his childhood home and birthplace.
Or the time I was caught after curfew and had to stay in a police station until early morning — entertaining the officers with my less-than-perfect Korean and laughing at stories I did not quite understand.
The rural bus trips where sometimes the passengers had to exit and help get the bus over a hill.
Skinny-dipping at night in a small rice field pond with my fellow taekwondo students after class. Being medically evacuated to the States but lobbying my way back.
Sitting on elevated platforms in strawberry or tomato fields — eating, drinking, laughing. And so many, many more.
George Delaney, from left, Jim Stroud and Ron Rezac pose together during a K-2 reunion in Los Angeles in 2016. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
I am now 80, and the favorite memory — a complete story actually — remains the bike trip. I am always reluctant to relate the "tent-in-the-sand" story — and would not have shared it here — as it is not quite believable. But I have the pictures which I include here. And pictures of us behind the rock formation where the kind Korean man found us, and of the crowds that gathered when we stopped anywhere, of the kids helping us push our bikes uphill, and so many more of the adventure.
Ron Rezac poses with his wife Patricia in on the grounds of Cheong Wa Dae in central Seoul, Oct. 23, during the Peace Corps Korea Revisit program. Courtesy of Korea Foundation
The ordeal rewarded us with a great story — and more than a few laughs over the years as we recall the incident — and particularly how Jim pleaded with George and me to move on and please, really please, not rent the tent. Our three memories are pretty much identical except for how much we paid for the tent. I recall it was 100 won. Another of us recalls it was 50 won.
Ron Rezac poses with his rented bicycle on a cycling journey down Korea's east coast in 1968. Courtesy of Ron Rezac
Ron Rezac volunteered for Peace Corps Korea's K-2 mission from 1967 to 1968, during which he taught English at Seocheon Middle School in Seocheon, South Chungcheong Province. After being medically evacuated to the United States and following a six-week stay at Bethesda Naval Hospital, he returned for another year from 1968 to 1969 — but a condition of returning to Korea was agreeing to remain in Seoul near medical care. He returned to Korea again last October as part of the Revisit program. It was his first return to Korea after an absence of 54 years. Visit friendsofkorea.net for more information.