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Published: November 4th 2007
Wednesday, October 17th - Thursday, October 23rd -- 2235.4 KM to date Music to suit the mood, right? A song for every occasion (or is that gift)? With a blanket of smog and chaotic traffic taking me east out of Ho Chi Minh City, Tom Waits was the only artist that seemed to make sense. I turned my headphones loud until I could feel only the rumble of the trucks passing and pedalled through the gray industrial skies with a raspy voice in my head:
"She's a cheap motel, with a burned out sign.
She'll take care of you, defin-ite-ly eve-ry time.
She got a, stolen check book, and leg's up to here,
Sing-in-to a hairbrush right in front of the mirror-
Oh yeah, my baby's lowdown.."
After sixty kilometres I reached the crossroads town of Dau Giay. Eating another heaping bowl of hot noodle soup, the easiest meal for me to pronounce, I looked north to highway 20. Welcoming me on this road that would eventually lead to Dalat, was a sad looking market on a desolate road with trash littering its ditches - but there was no traffic. With a new found freedom and
On The Road
Finally some peace and quiet. Riding north on highway 20.silence at last I took a celebratory pee on the side of the road before heading north.
I didn't have a lot of information about the area I was riding in and the only places where I could be sure of guaranteed accomodation were Bao Loc and Dalat - both hopelessly out of reach for the day. The Vietnamese goverment requires hotel owners to purchase special permits in order to accomodate foreigners, and hotel's who aren't 'foreign friendly' with generally usher you away by ignoring you or giving you the screwing-in-the-lightbulb gesture, generally meaning, "I don't know, I don't care, go away!" But I was clinging to the hope that the town of Dinh Quan, marked on my map, would have at least one hotel. I wouldn't get the chance to find out, however, as a heavy storm snuck up at 3:00 pm, reminding me once again the raw power of nature and the danger posed by these rains that kill and displace hundreds of people each year.
In no time the undulating roads were turned to rivers, loose mud and soil rushing down the sides of hills and washing out the road. The thunder cracked so closely
Dinh Quan
A quick stop in Dinh Quan. overhead that reverberations could be felt on the ground. But I needed to push on and find a place to lay my head for the night, hoping this wasn't going to be another Bokor Hill disaster. Coming down the bottom of a hill a moto driver had skidded out and was chasing a few stray chickens who had used the crash as chance to escape. I stopped to help the man lift his bike and get his things sorted and was shocked and surprised to see a sign reading, 'Hotel' just up the hill. I guess Fortuna's Wheel is always spinning. I checked in to this grand hotel that had propped itself up in the middle of nowhere and spent the night drinking banana wine and watching home-video's with the friendly Chinese owner and his three sons.
The next two and a half days would be quite a contrast to the last month of riding. With a more temperate climate, the rolling hills of the highlands and my toughest riding to date, the culmination would be a ten kilometre climb, taking me to the town of Dalat at 1500 metres above sea level.
Trees being dripped for rubber
were to be my scenery for much of that first day, as the undulating highway led me closer to the Gods in the sky. Just before the city of Bao Loc I faced my first formidable challenge - a ten kilometre climb up a narrow, winding road. Mist clung to the broccoli-like forest and I slowly snaked my way to the top with the encouragement of truck drivers who poked their heads out the windows yelling, 'You numbuh 1!'. When I finally reached the top my relief and feeling of conquest turned into a little jig for the bemused locals, and I laughed my way to Bao Loc. I guess there's a little bit of sadist in all of us...
After the climb into Bao Loc it finally felt like the highlands. The air was cool and rolling hills stretched across the horizon - the fields of tea and coffee giving the scenery a neatly cultivated, tame look. The people were friendly and my typical roadside drink of sugar cane juice was traded in for hot tea.
After spending the night in Bao Loc my initial plan was to make the 110 kilometre push to Dalat, but I
Dinh Quan
A big boulder interrupts the monotony. opted to stay the night in Duc Trong instead, and tackle the last twenty kilometres into Dalat early the next morning.
I didn't find the climb into Dalat as challenging as the one into Bao Loc, and there were two waterfalls-turned-tacky-and-embarrassing-tourist attractions that acted as a perfect excuse for a rest. I was drinking a hot cup of tea in Dalat's city centre by noon.
There isn't a lot to keep one busy in Dalat. Most tourists use Dalat as a gateway to the highlands, snapshots of terraced fields, mountains and waterfalls. The entire town was built by the French, like Bokor Hill in Cambodia, because of it's cool climate. And with old French Villa's surrounded on all sides by tall pine trees there certainly was a European air about the place. In the Central Market, with its abundance of colourfully fresh fruit, people wore toque's (that's, winter hat, for anyone not Canadian) and wrapped scarves around their necks when the sun fell. Walking around the market looking at the rosy cheeks and runny noses you couldn't help but feel in the Christmas spirit. Aside from making a trip to the city's famous guesthouse - an acid-induced, Alice
On The Road
This picture was taken on my climb up to Bao Loc. This poor man's moto broke down and he had to push it up the hill. in Wonderland type mansion - I spent most of my time in Cafe Tung, drinking coffee with old Vietnamese men who sat around in leather jackets, chain-smoking, looking serious, and listening to old jazz records.
With two enormous descents that would take me from 1500 metres back down to sea level in little over thirty kilometres, I was anxiously looking forward to leaving Dalat. It would have been a tremendous ride, snaking down the side of the mountain and looking east towards the coast. Notice I said WOULD have been. Fog hung over my head and a cold rain drizzled down on me as my brake-pads wore beyond use and my fingers, clutching tightly to the handlebars, were frozen and numb. I spent most of the descent imagining how impressive it would be looking out over the coast on a sunny day. The only other traffic on the road was the occasional bus and several monkey's who scattered across the road and swung from nearby trees.
As I neared the bottom of the last big decline I was relieved to see the palm trees and feel that familiar wave of tropical humidity wash over me. I continued riding
On The Road
It was a strange sight to stumble upon halfway up a mountain, but these Catholic's were praying as I continued the climb. I think I was the one who needed to be praying. east on the now flat terrain, cactus and rice fields, and by nightfall I was in the coastal town of Phan Rang.
From Phan Rang it was 117 kilometres north to Nha Trang, one of the big beach stops for tourists traveling up and down the coast. I awoke to rain and looking in the sky it seemed there would be no let-up anytime soon. I headed north on Highway 1, busy and hectic, passing occasional road work crews. Not only was I riding in a terrible rain, but I was facing a devestating headwind that slowed my progress to less than 10km/hour. After thirty kilometres I did the unthinkable and stopped to flag down a ride.
Hitching a ride in Southeast Asia is impossibly easy. As long as you are willing to pay a couple dollars, any vehicle with enough space will easily squeeze you and all of your gear in and take you wherever it is your heart desires. I had to wait less than a minute before a mini-bus pulled over. Two men rushed out in the rain, threw my bike on the roof, strapped it down and sat me in with all the other
Adaptations
I call this piece: 'ADAPTATIONS' passengers. My first experience from the inside of one the crazy buses I'd spent so much time cursing while on my bike.
The minibus was no bigger than an extended mini-van really. With a few modifications they'd managed to cram twenty-five people into the van. Along with the squished passengers were boxes full of fruit and vegetables, a huge bag full of raw meat, and three chickens held down tightly by a young girl. It was a constant stop-and-go affair, nearly throwing out passengers at their stops, and making quick deliveries to several restaurants and shops. But it was luxury to me. The warmth and the hum of the tires put me to sleep. Even with the yelling, the sudden stops, the bumps, and the constant honking, I slept all the way to Nha Trang, waking up outside the bus station, the rain still a' pouring.
I planned on relaxing for a day in Nha Trang. What I didn't plan for, however, was an extended vacation from biking. As it happened, Great Fortuna's wheel was already spinning the other way. Nha Trang was to become my home for the next two weeks.
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