Page 41 of The Big Race
"No itinerary," he confirmed. "Maybe rent a cabin in the mountains. Drive back roads. Stop whenever something looks interesting."
The idea appealed to me more than I'd expected. "I'd like that."
Around the fourth hour, as we crossed a high mountain pass, Maddox finally succumbed to motion sickness. Zara held his head as he suffered through a bout of nausea, their usual content-creation dynamic completely forgotten in favor of basic human care.
"You okay back there?" Ray called out.
"He'll be fine," Zara replied, stroking Maddox's hair. "Just needs the road to straighten out a bit."
It was a reminder that beneath the influencer personas, they were two friends looking out for each other. Not so different from any of us, really.
The final stretch descended through a series of long curves, and suddenly we saw lights twinkling in the valley below—Luang Prabang, spread along the banks of the Mekong like a constellation that had fallen to earth.
"Almost there," I said, feeling both relief and regret. The forced stillness of the journey had been exactly what I hadn't known I needed.
As the bus pulled into the small terminal, Ray squeezed my hand. "Ready to get back to racing?"
I looked out at the ancient city waiting for us, then back at my husband's familiar face. "With you? I'm ready for anything."
We exited the bus, stretching after the long trip. It was twilight, and we hailed a taxi to take us to the Golden Temple. We pulled up in front of a barred gate, where we saw the other two teams already set up in tents. “Are we sleeping here?” I asked.
“The direction card will tell us,” Ray said.
It read, “Driver Switch,” which meant that one of us had to begin the challenge and the other had to complete it.
“At 5:30 AM, arrive at the Golden Temple to participate in a traditional alms-giving ceremony with Buddhist monks,” I read. I looked up. “So we’re still in this. There’s no way the other teams were able to do this today.”
I continued reading. “The first team member will prepare the offering basket, while the second will carry it down a street lined with monks, distributing the offerings. If any monk rejects the offering because it isn’t correct, the team must return to the start and repackage it.”
“You’re the meticulous one,” Ray said. “I’m more likely to jump ahead and miss something.”
“And you’re good with people,” I said. “You can charm those monks out of their robes.”
“Not sure I’d want to do that,” Ray said, with a laugh.
It looked like we had to camp out in front of the temple to be sure we would be among the first to perform the offering, which our guidebook said was a popular activity for tourists.
“I’m heading to the hotel,” Cody said. “Don’t do anything camera-worthy in the middle of the night.”
Though we liked him, it was nice to be free of him.
A tent and sleeping bags had been provided for us by the producers, and as we set it up we laughed about our trip to the Everglades and the video we’d taken.
Then Ray went off and got us plates of something called kua mee from a street vendor, which was the Laotian version of pad Thai .
We ate the stir-fried rice noodles and pork and then settled into our sleeping bags.
None of the other teams were talking—it was a chance for all of us to rest up for the early morning.
I pitied Zoe, who woke us up at five so that we could all be ready for the challenge at 5:30. She led us to an area on the side of the temple where we would assemble the baskets to give to the monks.
A monk in a gold robe explained that we were “making merit,” an important part of Buddhist practice. Giving alms to monks was considered a way to gain spiritual merit and good karma.
I was provided with a basket and directed to a preparation area where various offerings were laid out—rice, fruits, candles, incense, and small bottles of water. A diagram showed how to arrange them properly, with specific positions for each of the ten items.
“Hurry up, Jeffrey,” Ray urged from behind me, shifting his weight impatiently. “Adrienne and Fletcher are already halfway done.”
“If I get this wrong, we have to start over,” I replied, not looking up from the task. “Trust me on this one.”
I studied the diagram carefully, noting the precise arrangement. The sticky rice needed to be wrapped in banana leaf with exactly three folds. The mangoes had to be positioned with their stems pointing east. Each incense stick required a specific angle of placement.
My fingers worked methodically as I arranged the items one by one.
First, the wrapped rice at the center of the basket.
Then the mangoes and bananas in a semi-circle around it.
The lotus flowers needed to be slightly elevated above the fruit.
Water bottles positioned at the north, east, south, and west points of the basket.
The candles and incense sticks had to be arranged in a specific pattern that symbolized the Eightfold Path.
I double-checked each item. The diagram showed the lotus petals should be facing upward, not outward as I’d placed them. I corrected this, aware of Ray’s increasingly restless presence behind me.
“We’re falling behind. The models are the only ones behind us,” Ray whispered urgently.
“Almost there,” I said, adjusting the final pieces. The candle’s wick needed to point toward the incense, symbolizing the connection between light and fragrance. The water bottles’ caps needed to be loosened but not removed.
I checked all ten offerings one final time, mentally reciting their symbolic meanings as taught by the official. The rice represented sustenance, the fruit represented impermanence, the flowers represented beauty and purity, the incense represented mindfulness, and so on.
Finally satisfied, I nodded to the official who inspected my work with a critical eye. After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small nod of approval.
“You must remove your shoes before approaching the monks,” the official instructed Ray. “Keep your head bowed at all times.”
Ray nodded, removed his shoes, and took the basket of offerings from me with surprising gentleness. I watched as he walked down the street where ten monks in orange robes were seated at intervals, each waiting to receive a specific offering from the basket.
The other side of the street was much busier. Temple monks sat close to each other as lines of tourists approached them, offering pre-packaged offering sets sold by vendors near the ceremony route. They contained sticky rice, bananas, and cookies in small bags.
From my position, I couldn’t hear Ray’s conversations, but I read his body language.
He approached the first monk with his head properly bowed, but I recognized the slight tilt of his shoulders—the same posture he used when charming potential clients.
He was trying to use his salesman personality on Buddhist monks.
The first monk accepted the offering, neither impressed nor offended by Ray’s charm offensive.
As Ray moved to the second monk, I saw him adjust his approach, becoming more reverent.
The second monk examined the fruit part of the offering carefully, turning it in his hands before giving a small nod.
I held my breath as Ray continued down the line. Ahead of him, I spotted Adrienne and Fletcher being turned away by the fifth monk, forced to return to the preparation area. Had I arranged something incorrectly? My stomach tightened with anxiety.
The third monk accepted Ray’s offering without reaction. The fourth monk took longer to examine the water bottles, and I saw Ray’s shoulders tense slightly. To his credit, he maintained the proper posture of respect, not rushing the monk’s deliberation.
When Ray reached the fifth monk—the same one who had rejected the military couple—I nearly bit through my lip with nervousness. The monk took the candle from Ray’s offering basket, held it up to the light, and examined it for what seemed like an eternity. Had I positioned the wick incorrectly?
After a long moment, the monk nodded and accepted the offering. I exhaled in relief.
The sixth and seventh monks accepted their offerings with similar scrutiny. Finally, the seventh monk tied a white string around Ray’s wrist, chanting softly, and handed him a small envelope.
Ray made his way back to me, his face breaking into a wide smile as he approached.
“Challenge completed,” he announced, showing me the white blessing string on his wrist and holding up the envelope. “Those monks are tough customers. No amount of charm works on them—only getting the offerings exactly right.”
“That’s why I took my time,” I said, unable to keep a note of satisfaction from my voice.
“That was actually beautiful,” Ray admitted, his expression softening as he touched the blessing string. “I felt something... I don’t know... peaceful, I guess, when that last monk blessed me.”
“You did great,” I said softly, touching the string on his wrist. “What’s next?”
Ray opened the envelope, and we turned our attention to the next destination card, which told us to take a bus to the rural town of Ban Pong.
We had to hike to the bus depot, and when Ray stopped to ask a very cute Laotian guy for directions I realized that in the past, I might have felt jealous.
Now he was simply using his charm on behalf of both of us.
The local bus to Ban Pong was already crowded when we returned to the small Luang Prabang terminal.
Adrienne and Fletcher were near the front, their purple team shirts making them easy to spot among the other passengers.
Alex and Ross had claimed seats in the middle, while Zara and Maddox sat toward the back, looking slightly green around the gills from whatever they'd eaten for breakfast.