Riding the Ho Chi Minh Trail Part 3: Journey’s End
Last month we left our riders in Hoi An, running out of time to complete their ride to Hanoi. Are they about to throw in the towel?
Last month we left our riders in Hoi An, running out of time to complete their ride to Hanoi. Are they about to throw in the towel?
Hoi An - tough choices
There are few prettier places in Vietnam than Hoi An. Once a thriving port, it benefitted from rich patrons and international traders. Unfortunately, when the river silted up the wealthy took their trade elsewhere and Hoi An became a backwater. In 1999 this unique example of a 15th century trading port was added to UNESCO’s list of World Heritage Sites. I should have made more of our visit than drinking cold beer by the river, but there was a difficult choice to make.
It had taken us 10 days to travel half the distance to Hanoi, but we’d always known that the pace would quicken after reaching Hue. From then on we’d be riding a highway that was completely devoid of attractions. Put simply, we’d be crunching the miles to Hanoi. From the outset, Vietnam’s Golden Bridge had been on our ‘must do’ list of activities. Only recently unveiled, it takes the form of a walkway suspended from a cliff, as if held
in place by a pair of giant hands. Obviously we’d done no research and assumed that as it was a bridge we could ride to it, take some photos and ride off again. It was only when speaking to Brad, an American ex-pat who lives in Hoi An, that we discovered it was part of a theme park and the best part of a day’s excursion. Also on our wish list were some caves north of Hue, which had the reputation of being stunning.
No matter how we crunched the numbers, there wasn’t time to visit them and complete the ride. Our only option was to skip the last couple of days and take a sleeper train into Hanoi. Wanting to have our cake and eat it, the discussion went round and round in circles until news came in of a weather front moving in from the north. The prospect of dodging trucks whilst riding in tropical rainstorms wasn’t anyone’s idea of fun. Reluctantly we voted to let the train take the strain.
Hoi An to Hue: The best coast road in the world
None of us regretted our day at the theme park. Riding the longest cable car in the world had made up for the park’s very strange interpretation of a medieval French town, and the Golden Bridge should be on the bucket list of any right-minded traveller. Fortunately, there was still some serious riding ahead. Notably the Hai Van Pass.
Situated between the coastal resort of Da Nang and the ancient citadel of Hue, the Hai Van Pass runs for 21 miles and rises to an altitude of 1,627ft (496m). Whatever your opinion of Jeremy Clarkson, he’s clearly not a man who’s easily pleased, yet even he was (almost) silenced by its beauty. Technically, it’s not a difficult ride. There are very few 180-degree turns and the gradients are gentle by Alpine standards. However, the views are stunning. Once out of Da Nang, the horizon reveals one unspoilt beach after another. An old fort crowns its summit and the descent towards Hue is dangerous, only because the scenery is so beautiful that it’s hard to concentrate on the road. As to it being the most beautiful coast road in the world, I’ve yet to see one better.
Hue to Dong Hoi: Journey’s end
Of all the historic cities in Vietnam, Hue is probably the most important. As the country’s former Imperial capital, it has a selection of buildings that give it the combined status of Stonehenge, Shakespeare’s birthplace and Buckingham Palace combined. The epicentre of the complex is The Citadel, and that’s not somewhere a group of scooterists can linger in front of too long whilst taking a group photograph. It’s certainly not the ideal location to break down, yet that’s exactly what the RB-powered Belstaff did.
We’d all envied Dan when he’d drawn the RB250 Belstaff, as it looked and sounded fantastic. Little did we know what a temperamental beast it would reveal itself to be. Mechanically, the RB had been solid. Other than a loose downpipe it had proven equal to everything Vietnam had thrown at it, but it was by far the thirstiest scooter on the fleet. Even with a 16-litre tank it was always the first to go on to reserve and it was consuming more than twice the fuel of Dean’s standard SX. Unfortunately, fuel was the least of its problems. Throughout the tour it had been a temperamental starter. With security guards showing an unhealthy interest in our activities, we pushed the RB across the road and whilst we tucked into a refreshing drink of sugar cane juice, Chua set about diagnosing the problem. Despite his best efforts the RB’s electrics proved inscrutable, and only a combination of cannibalising Pete’s engine and fitting a new CDI persuaded it back into life.
As we headed northwards ,signs of 20th century conflict became more frequent
and Vietnamese military cemeteries lined thet roadside. This area had marked the borderb between North and South Vietnam, effectivelye forming the conflict’s front line. AsA we entered the no-man’s land previouslyp known as the de-militarised zonez and passed the largest war memorial I ’ve ever seen, the RB died once again.
With his face a picture of frustration, ChuaC handed his PX over to Dan and once againa began to work his magic. Just as we re-rjoined the convoy my PX soft seized and died.d The 150 had performed faultlessly throughoutt the trip, but now with the finishfi line almost in sight it had let me down.d Having let the engine cool I kicked i t back into life, only for it to fail again a milem or so up the road. This process was repeatedr a few times before it finally refused to start. The ideas flowed quick and fast before I finally worked out that there was no fuel getting through to the carb. I congratulated myself for diagnosing the problem whilst Pat basked in the glory of thinking to pack a spare petrol tap. Chris suggested stripping out the tank so that when Chua and the support van arrived it’d be a quick repair.
Soon we heard the distinctive sound of our RB approaching. We showed our work to Chua and stood back awaiting his approval. Instead, he reached inside the tank with a pair of pliers and pulled out one of the brass tubes that rise vertically from the tap. Fuel flowed like magic. I’m certain that the part has a function, but it was instantly christened ‘Ricambi Unnecessari’. We milled around
the forecourt trying to regain our dignity whilst Chua corrected the ‘help’ we’d given him. We were soon on our way again and before long we reached our final stop, Dong Hoi.
From this point on we were tourists, catching a sleeper train to Hanoi. Our scooters were trucked to a point just outside the city and on Saturday morning we completed our trip by riding them to the goods yard, where they were packed for the journey back to Saigon. I was still disappointed that my PX had caused problems at the very last moment, but on reflection the afternoon’s events had summed up our Vietnam experience perfectly. Three weeks earlier I’d arrived with some firm pre-conceptions. I’d expected to find a poor, war-torn country with its population overseen by a dour Communist government. I was certain that the mechanics I’d find would, at best, be third rate and most probably crooks. All those assumptions were wrong. There’s no doubt that riding in Vietnam is challenging, but the rewards are tremendous. The scenery is, quite simply, some of the most stunning I’ve ever seen. Its people opened their doors to us, offering shade and refreshment whilst we dealt with some minor problem. Kids waved at us and adults took photos as we passed through their villages. It also put our collective western arrogance in place. Our solution to my fuel tap problem was to throw it away and fit a new one, yet Chua knew how to fix it in an instant and at no cost. The trip from Saigon to Hanoi had been an education; an unrepeatable experience which I’d recommend to anyone. My only advice is… do it soon.
Final word
As I headed for the airport I wondered if we’d made the correct decision in taking the train. However, the promised weather front had finally landed that evening and as we wound our way along flooded roads we came across an accident. Some poor soul had ridden straight on to a scaffold pole that hung, unmarked, from the rear of a trailer. In the rain and dark they hadn’t stood a chance. My doubts were dispelled. Vietnam is unspeakably beautiful, but riding there isn’t for the inexperienced or faint-hearted.
Words & Photographs: Stan