Created By: fluidSummary: "UP AND DOWN LIKE A WHORE'S KNICKERS," THE IRISHMAN SAYS of the road out of Phnom Penh. He is standing beside it in the middle of nowhere--nowhere here being only 60 miles from the capital--supervising a crew of 700 Cambodians digging a trench for a fiber optic line. The telecom project is part of the slim economic recovery largely funded by French and Japanese corporations and international aid agencies. Every now and then one of the workers is blown up by a mine, but Cambodians need jobs and so they keep digging. The Irishman's rude metaphor for the road politely conceals the truth: It is a nightmare of clay, dusty when dry and slick when wet, pocked with craters. It is also Cambodia's major roadway, running 180 miles from the capital to the second-largest city, Battambang. After only a few hours Wink and I are excruciatingly butt-sore. Our dirt bikes are ghastly, $7-a-day jokes that shed pieces as we progress. We wear scarves and goggles to keep the pervasive red dust from choking and blinding us, but when Wink is lightly rear-ended by a car it becomes clear that the main danger we face is the Cambodian driver. The only traffic laws are the laws of physics: We lurch up and down, dodging the surprisingly dense traffic heading both ways in either lane. The typical Cambodian vehicle is a scooter bearing multiple passengers; the typical car, a white Toyota Camry, stolen in Thailand, with 200,000 miles, nine passengers, no shocks, and the steering wheel on the wrong side, which creates some problems when passing. Once in a while there is a truck or a cart pulled by water buffalo. The countryside is flat as a dance floor, dotted with palm trees, low huts, and children fishing in muddy ponds. Their parents hoe and plant in batik sarongs; an old, gentle Southeast Asia lurks behind the bloody recent history.