Why Two Wheels?

I could stop every five minutes to take another picture – a cascade of rice terraces on the mountainside; another group of children, smiling and waving (a few give me the finger and laugh); a woman washing clothes on the roadside; a herd of water buffalo meandering in the middle of the highway… Instead I keep going, threading my way through the water buffalo, a wave to the kids, a nod to the laundry woman and the many other people whose lives intersect, ever so briefly with mine.

Of course, I do take pictures. And others in our group catch some of the ones I miss. But an image is at best an approximation, a truncated, single sense version of the experience. You see, but you do not hear the wind or the laughter, you don’t smell the moist rich earth of the rice paddies, or feel the hot tropical sun. Even video, which some of our group are shooting, shows only what the camera sees. It’s impossible to capture the full experience.

I’m very glad to have the pictures Liz and I are taking and shared by others in our group. They will be treasured souvenirs in the years to come. But mostly, I’m trying to be fully present in the moment; to take it in with all my senses. I try to capture these moments in all their modalities and string them together like pearls in my memory. (Perhaps at my age, that’s not such a great plan 🙄).

And that goes a long way to explaining why I’m doing this on a motorcycle – it is fully immersive. I realize that words can never capture or explain it, any more than a photograph can capture an experience. If you ride, you get it, if you don’t it’s a pleasant narrative (I hope). In a car you’re essentially sitting in a chair, sealed inside a glass and steel bubble, breathing filtered, air-conditioned air. Riding a motorcycle requires both hands and both feet. You’re constantly shifting your weight on these winding mountain roads. Riding forces you to be in the moment, scanning ahead for potholes, livestock and the next corner. Feeling down through the bike to sense how much grip the tires have on gravel and rough sections. When it rains you get wet. When it’s hot or cold, so are you. It engages all that you are, mentally and physically.

I understand it’s not for everyone. That’s why Liz is in the van. And I am very glad that option is available, so that we can share the adventure from our own perspectives. And now our injured rider is back with us, so Liz has a van buddy. Evidently what happens in the van, stays in the van. Probably just as well.

We’ve left Laos behind.  It’s an apples and oranges comparison, but despite the rough roads and poverty, I will miss Laos – the soaring landscape, it’s warm, thoughtful people and relaxed pace.

There’s some problem with our paperwork crossing into Vietnam, and the Vietnamese border officials are scrupulous about details. Our group is left baking in the parking lot, while our local Vietnamese guide, who was supposed to handle all this, scurries from one office to another, and yells at someone on his phone. I’m still not sure what the problem was. It takes 3+ hours to get it sorted out, but we all wait patiently. I think some of the Buddhist vibe of SE Asia must have worn off on us.

Stamped and processed, we are finally on our way to Dien Bien Phu, where the French suffered their final  catastrophic defeat in the Indochina war. We were supposed to visit a battle field memorial, but with the border delay, it’s now closed. I’m not upset – I’ve seen enough war memorials. Everyone is happy to get to the hotel and unwind.

The transition into Vietnam is obvious.  The roads are better. The towns and villages are more prosperous. (Per capita income is two and a half times what it is in Laos). The people are generally fairer and slighter. It’s also louder and busier.

For the first couple of days we’re in the mountains of NW Vietnam, which compared to the rest of the country is less densely populated. Traffic is relatively light and the roads are a motorcyclist’s dream. I could take the corners faster, but you never know what’s around the next turn. Trucks, livestock, road construction and other assorted hazards are still an issue. And a more relaxed pace gives me the opportunity to appreciate the full experience. The bike and I dance through the mountains in a graceful waltz, rather than a full-on twist.

It’s a beautiful landscape and greener being closer to the coast. It’s also cooler, which is a relief. In Sapa, where we stay in the hotel looking down on the clouds, the temperature is in the teens. In Tu Le, our resort has mineral hot springs – a welcome soak after a long day in the saddle. This is adventure travel, but it’s definitely not roughing it!

At one point we turn off the main road onto a steep, narrow village road, little more than a path. Negotiating the hairpin turns requires a fair bit of skill and concentration. And it’s two way traffic! The locals, on their scooters make me feel like an amateur.

The closer we get to Hanoi the busier it gets, reaching a crescendo of traffic madness as we enter the city. Riding here requires skill and concentration of another form, not to mention a fair bit of aggressive driving. This is no place for the timid. Thankfully we park our bikes on the outskirts of the city and take a van to our hotel in the old quarter.

We have a rest day here. Most of our group have booked a tour of Ha Long Bay but Liz and I did that on our last visit to Hanoi. We decide to kick back and relax. Getting our laundry done and having  coffee on Train Street is the limit of our agenda. Yes, the inter-city trains actually run right in front of the coffee shops. Even my health & safety oriented wife thinks it’s a pretty cool experience. I haven’t had a nap for two weeks. I’ll see if I can work that into the schedule too.

Here’s the link to the photo gallery for this section.