Riding the Ho Chi Minh Trail Part 1: The Learning Curve
Stunning scenery, extreme weather and some of the most challenging roads in Asia. Seven riders tackled the Saigon to Hanoi ride in October. Our Stan was one of them.
Stunning scenery, extreme weather and some of the most challenging roads in Asia. This October seven riders tackled the ride from Saigon to Hanoi. Our Stan was one of them.
With the arrival of Andy from the UK our group was now complete. I’d been in Saigon for a week and my jet lag had just about passed, not so for the Americans who’d arrived that morning. Having travelled from the USA’s West Coast they were going through a nightmare ‘night becomes day’ transition. Even if it was only 10am I couldn’t blame them when the first thing they asked for was beer.
We’d been brought together by Pat Joynt, owner of Saigon Scooter Centre. It had been a while since he’d organised a Saigon-Hanoi ride and last year he’d asked if any of his friends were interested in making the trip. Ironically none of the people he’d invited were able to make it and we were all friends of friends. Although Chris, Christian, Dan and Dean knew one another from the California scooter scene it was clear that we were all very different characters. It looked like being an interesting couple of weeks...
That afternoon the group visited Pat’s workshop to select their scooters. I’d been riding around on a PX150 and was happy with that but the others were faced with a line of scooters all covered in dust sheets. Each rider chose a scooter at random, the only clue being which were Vespas or Lambrettas. On offer were a selection of PX150s, a standard SX150 and an LI kitted with an old school 175 conversion.
Everyone agreed that Dan won the lottery with his pick of an RB250 kitted Series 2 finished in a custom ‘Belstaff’ scheme. Also joining us on the trip was Peter, who runs Saigon Scooter Centre’s rental operation. He was riding his Series 2 which had only been completed the day before. Finally Pat was riding his Targa Twin GP. I wasn’t alone in thinking him optimistic by planning to make the trip two up with his partner, Linh, riding pillion. Our convoy was completed by Chua, one of Pat’s mechanics and Son, driver of the backup van.
Any thoughts that this would be easy were dispelled on the way back to the hotel. None of us were strangers to rain but Vietnam’s climate is something else. During the 15 minute ride the roads flood to a depth of 4-5in The SX was our first casualty when its flywheel gulped in water, killing its standard 6V points ignition.
I suddenly realised that this wasn’t just a road trip, it was the most comprehensive road test of classic scooters ever devised.
Acclimatisation: Saigon to Binh Chau
The first stages were designed to get us into the swing of things and averaged around 130 miles. Predictably the early departure from Pat’s shop had been delayed due to the usual faffing around but we’d been rewarded with an escort out of the city by a group of local scooterists. The only drama en route was at the Cat Lai ferry when the RB and LI175 refused to start. Patience isn’t a Vietnamese virtue and both riders found themselves swamped by a sea of humanity rushing forwards. Any smugness felt by we Vespa riders watching Dan and Dean trying to start their scooters was dashed when a local proclaimed the SX to be the most beautiful machine he’d ever seen. He even offered his new Honda as a trade!
We didn’t realise it at the time but on this leg we’d encounter the only real rain of the trip. We also learned the first two lessons of life on the road in Vietnam. Firstly, that the comical open sided rain
Vespa issue were dispelled when the Belstaff Lambretta also showed its displeasure. Clearly we’d bought bad fuel. Somehow my PX adapted to the rotten mixture but Christian’s required some attention from Chua and the Belstaff proved reluctant to start all day. Back in convoy we rode along the coast road, passing sand dunes that rose four storeys above us. All seemed well until Andy’s PX soft seized. Fortunately Dean prodded it back to life but fate hadn’t yet finished with Andy. The convoy had found shelter in a roadside shack and, as Andy approached, the throttle cable nipple detached itself. Due to the lack of a solderless nipple, we lost an hour waiting for Chua and the backup van to arrive. After the cable was secured, frustration mounted when the PX refused to start. Unfortunately the seizure hadn’t been as soft as first thought and a new top end was needed. Once again Chua surrendered his PX and away we went.
Having missed a turning and then backtracked for 25 miles we thought that the worst must have passed but no. That morning Son had mentioned that our planned route was in worse shape than the day before. He’d suggested an alternative which was slightly longer but in better condition. We of course knew better. It didn’t need an interpreter to translate his sharp reply that was along the lines of “Don’t blame me.” Soon after leaving the highway potholes began to appear. These weren’t the type of surface damage beloved of angry letters written to local newspapers, they were huge. With the road surface changing from perfect to gravel quarry and back again in the space of a few feet there was little opportunity to enjoy the scenery. As we climbed
upwards the mountain roads twisted and turned in beautiful sweeping curves. Unfortunately enthusiastic cornering was a risky business and I wasn’t alone in almost losing it on a random patch of gravel.
By lunchtime we were wildly behind schedule but only had 25 miles of Route 28b to negotiate before hitting the main highway. With luck we could still make Da Lat before dark. Unfortunately we’d not planned for the fact that Route 28b no
longer existed. Obviously the road needed resurfacing and rather than mess around with short stretches the contractors had ripped it up entirely. The soil in the area is rich in iron and once exposed turns vivid red. Looking ahead Road 28b was easily traced as its path ran like a severed artery through the jungle.
It was easy to believe that karma was being cruel but actually it was smiling. Had there been rain the mud road would have been completely impassible, however, we rode gingerly along a route that kicked up choking dust storms while we negotiated construction traffic. When the light began to fade potholes, which had been amusing in daylight, were now potentially lethal. There were no street lights and soon it was every rider for himself. With headlights barely cutting through the darkness the time between spotting and reacting to a pothole was too short to give advance notice to the rider behind. The best to be expected was following tail-lights as they jinked around. This was little consolation for anyone following Dan as vibrations had done their worst to the LI175’s electrics and his lights were erratic at best.
With only a couple of miles to the main highway any thoughts of relaxing were dispelled when we crossed a small river bridge. For a third of the bridge’s width the expansion strip was missing, leaving a 12in wide gap with nothing between it and the river below. If anyone had tried to design a trap for a scooter’s small wheels they couldn’t have bettered its lethal potential, yet by some miracle we all avoided it.
At 8pm we finally arrived in Da Lat. What should have been a four hour joy ride had turned into 10 hours of the most brutal riding any of us could recall. The barbecue planned was an evening party was instead a subdued affair. We’d set out from Saigon confident that we had the experience to carry us on to Hanoi. After only a few days on the road we were no longer that certain. We’d covered less than one fifth of our total distance and were already exhausted. It was clear that this wasn’t just another long distance tour, it would be a test of both man and machine.
Words & Photographs: Stan