Page 36 of The Big Race
The Temple of Dawn
T he late afternoon heat hit us like a wall, the humidity so thick it felt like breathing through a wet cloth. Ray ripped open the envelope and read. “Make your way to the Wat Arun temple. Warning: the last team may be eliminated.”
“It’s on the opposite side of the Chao Phraya,” I said.
Ray nodded, adjusting his backpack straps. “Think we should risk the Bangkok traffic in a taxi or try the river ferry?”
“The ferry,” I decided, remembering my research. “Traffic is unpredictable, but the express boats run on schedule. Plus they’ll take us right to the temple pier.”
We spotted a tuk-tuk and frantically waved it down. The driver’s face lit up at the sight of our race gear, clearly recognizing us from the day’s filming.
“Tha Tien Pier, fast as possible,” I said, climbing in with Ray right behind me. “For the boat to Wat Arun.”
The driver nodded enthusiastically. “Big Race! I take you quick-quick!” I was glad Cody had the ability he did to hang on as the tuk-tuk lurched into the flow of traffic, weaving between cars, motorbikes, and street vendors with alarming precision.
I gripped the metal frame as we swerved around a food cart, the scent of grilling satay momentarily overwhelming the exhaust fumes.
“The Temple of Dawn,” I explained to Ray as we bounced along. “It’s one of Bangkok’s most iconic landmarks. Those spires are covered in porcelain and seashells—they’re supposed to be incredible up close.”
“Great,” Ray grunted, bracing himself as we took a corner at what felt like forty-five degrees. “All I care about is that we’re not the last team there.”
Through gaps in the buildings, I caught glimpses of the Chao Phraya River—a broad, murky expanse teeming with watercraft of all sizes. Long-tail boats with their distinctive propellers sliced through the water alongside tourist cruisers and rustic ferries.
The tuk-tuk suddenly veered right and burst into an open square teeming with tourists and locals. “Tha Tien Pier!” our driver announced triumphantly, coming to an abrupt stop.
I pressed some baht into his hand as Ray was already halfway to the ticket booth, where a sign in English advertised “Cross-river ferry to Wat Arun - 4 baht.”
“Two tickets, please,” Ray said, holding up two fingers to overcome the language barrier. The ticket seller nodded, took our money, and pointed us toward a waiting wooden boat. Behind us, Cody bought his own ticket.
We rushed down to the pier, where a ferry was already boarding. The wooden vessel rocked gently as we stepped aboard, its deck filled with a mix of tourists and locals. An elderly monk in saffron robes sat serenely near the bow, seemingly untouched by the chaos around him.
“Is this the right boat?” Ray asked nervously as we found space near the railing.
“Has to be,” I replied, pointing across the river where the distinctive spires of Wat Arun rose against the afternoon sky. “See? That’s our destination right there.”
The boat’s engine rumbled to life, and we pulled away from the pier.
The river churned beneath us, its surface a kaleidoscope of reflected sunlight, oil slicks, and occasional floating debris.
The journey took less than five minutes, but standing still after hours of frantic activity made it feel much longer.
“You think any of the other teams figured out the river route?” Ray asked, scanning the boat for familiar faces.
“I don’t see any of them,” I said. “Though the military couple might be smart enough to?—”
My words were cut short as a flash of purple caught my eye on the opposite bank. “Is that them? Fletcher and Adrienne?”
Ray squinted. “Damn it. Yes. They’re already there.”
Sure enough, the military couple was visible on the landing, clearly having just disembarked from another ferry. They were looking around for directions, giving us a chance to catch up if we hurried.
The moment our boat bumped against the pier at Wat Arun, we were moving. We squeezed past a group of German tourists, ignored the souvenir vendors, and sprinted up the steep steps from the landing.
The temple complex opened before us, a breathtaking arrangement of ornate structures dominated by the central prang that soared toward the sky. Every surface seemed to be covered in intricate patterns formed by pieces of porcelain and colored glass, glittering in the late afternoon sun.
But we had no time to admire the architecture. We spotted Fletcher and Adrienne heading toward the main temple entrance and took off after them.
“The clue just said ‘Wat Arun’,” Ray panted as we ran. “But where exactly is the mat?”
“Probably in the main courtyard,” I guessed. “Follow the race markers.”
We spotted the red and blue flag tucked beside an ornate doorway and veered in that direction. The path led us through a gateway decorated with fearsome guardian statues and into a sunbaked courtyard.
The main prang of Wat Arun towered above us, its steep steps leading up to multiple terraces. At the base of these steps, I spotted Julie standing beside a Buddhist monk, the Stop’n’Go mat placed squarely in front of them.
Fletcher and Adrienne were already racing toward it, but they’d taken a longer route around a group of tourists. There was a more direct path—if we cut across a small garden area.
“This way!” I grabbed Ray’s arm, pulling him toward the shortcut.
We sprinted across the courtyard, our footsteps echoing off the ancient stones. The heat was oppressive, my lungs burning with each breath, but the mat was in sight now, no more than thirty meters away.
Ray surged ahead, his athletic training giving him an edge in the final sprint. I pushed harder, determined not to slow us down at the crucial moment.
We reached the mat just seconds before Fletcher and Adrienne, all four of us breathing hard as we came to a stop in front of Julie.
“Ray and Jeffrey,” Julie announced, her perfect TV smile in place despite the heat. “You are team number three to arrive at this Stop’n’Go!”
Relief flooded through me as Ray pulled me into a sweaty hug. We’d made it. Not first place, but not eliminated either.
The monk beside her smiled serenely, hands folded in front of his orange robes, as if the frantic race activity was just another form of life’s constant motion.
As we stepped off the mat to make room for Fletcher and Adrienne, I finally had a moment to look up at the temple surrounding us.
The central prang rose like a mountain, its surface a mosaic of tiny fragments that caught the sun in a thousand different ways.
After all the frantic activity, the temple’s ancient solidity offered a striking contrast—a reminder that some things endure while others, like our moments of triumph or disappointment, pass quickly.
“It’s beautiful,” Ray murmured, following my gaze upward.
“Worth running for,” I agreed, feeling the connection between us strengthen with each shared experience.
In that moment, with the temple soaring above us and Bangkok’s chaos continuing around us, I felt a profound sense of gratitude—not just for making it to another leg of the race, but for the journey that had brought Ray and me to this point, challenges and all.
The last team to arrive were Tyler and Brandon, the young friends who'd started the race with such enthusiasm and energy. As they stepped onto the mat, both were visibly exhausted but still holding hands in solidarity.
"Tyler and Brandon," Julie announced solemnly, "you are the last team to arrive. I'm sorry to tell you that you have been eliminated from The Big Race."
The two friends looked at each other and nodded, having clearly expected this outcome. Tyler's usual bright energy was subdued but not bitter.
"We gave it everything we had," Brandon said, his voice hoarse from exertion.
"And we're proud of how far we came," Tyler added, managing a smile. "When we started, we just wanted to prove that friendship could be as strong as any romantic partnership."
As they said their goodbyes to the remaining teams, Tyler approached Ray and me. "You guys showed us what twenty-five years of partnership looks like," he said earnestly. "The way you worked together out there, especially these last few legs—that's something to aspire to."
Brandon nodded in agreement. "We may have lost the race, but watching you two find your way back to each other? That was worth the trip."
Their words caught me off guard. These young men, who we'd initially dismissed as naive about relationships, had been observing our journey with more insight than I'd given them credit for.
"Keep being friends," Ray told them. "Real friendship is rarer than people think."
As Tyler and Brandon walked away toward the production vehicles, arms around each other's shoulders, I felt a pang of loss. They'd brought such genuine joy to the race, and their elimination left a hole in our little racing family that couldn't easily be filled.