We frequently come across grass fires from slash and burn farming, the smoke impedes our vision and burns our throats. Rumours of bandits who could very well shoot and rob us begin to circulate. We are after all, in the middle of rural Cambodia. Another rider appears to report there's a river ahead, but nowhere to cross.

We head into the fields towards the river, the grass sometimes as high as two metres. Across the field a line of flames can be seen and heard as the fires move across the scrub. We can see other riders, their outlines silhouetted by the flames.

We're informed that it's possible to cross the river at a village 10kms away. The group rides on under darkness, everyone exhausted from manhandling their machines. Kilometres get longer and crashes become commonplace as jellyfied muscles struggled to continue. Each delay sees riders lying next to their bikes, each time less willing to remount.

We take nearly four hours to cover 12kms with no sign of the village. A pool is found and we camp under the stars. Tea is made by boiling water using a bike's metal luggage box. There are supposed to be tigers and leopards in the wilds of Cambodia but this is far from our minds as we sleep.

Around noon the next day the village finally homes into view, bringing fresh jackfruit, coconut and our river crossing. A couple of hours later, with the sun now low in the sky and the crossing complete, we revel in the easy 40km blast to Banlung. Five of the remaining group take off back to Phnom Penh. The remaining bikers venture to a gem-mining village 30kms away. Here, locals dig holes down as far as eight metres a day using only small picks, buckets and their bare hands hoping to discover the illusive ruby or diamond that will make their fortune. Eagerly they try to sell us their wares, whilst the youngsters of the village scrambled all over our bikes.

The road to Kratie was until recently notorious for banditry. But recent moves by both the army and the police have more or less irradicated this problem and the last of us still on the Mondulkiri rally enjoyed a great ride to the banks of the Mekong.

The next day finds us headed south along the Mekong, initially being whooped and cheered by locals watching us shoot past their doorsteps and through their homesteads. Later though, the atmosphere would be different. As the track we are on is not marked on my map, asking directions brings very conflicting answers. At one point a wall of locals pushes around me, shouting responses to my gesticulations above one another and becoming really impatient. This, along with a fine display of fire power, leaves me deciding it is time to move on. I express my pleasantries and leave.

The next day we follow the riverbank to Kampong Cham. It's heavy going as the afternoon wears on, the track switching back across paddies and small sand dunes. Villagers here are completely different to their neighbours on the west side of the Mekong as they rarely see Westerners. Upon seeing our bikes approach, children drop whatever they are doing and run behind trees, or into homes with looks of genuine fear. I hope a few smiles and waves would help to lessen our intimidating appearance. One last ferry ride across the mighty Mekong has us in Kampong Cham at dusk. Phnom Penh can wait one more day.

Sitting by the river with a cold beer I reflected how five days have turned into twelve, how 900kms have doubled, and consequently how sore my backside is. Already we're talking about an extended rally next December and asking who might be interested in signing up.