My feelings about motorbikes

The first thing you need to know is that all the painted white and yellow lines on roads that separate lanes or opposing traffic are viewed as mere suggestions. Not even that. Less than suggestions. They might as well not be there at all. I am actually not sure why anyone bothers to paint these lines at all since vehicles certainly don't seem to notice them. If you are in a vehicle you can drive on any part of the road in any direction and at any speed you like in order to get to your destination. Sometimes the roads are wide and can fit a whole car width and sometimes, like in rural northern Vietnam, the roads are hardly one car width wide and yet two cargo trucks full of pigs or cement or whatever make it work.

 

So on Friday Bill and I decided that the best way to get from Ha Giang up to Dong Van and Meo Vac was to do so by motorbike. 

 
That's what all the recommendations said. It should be said as well that for years my stance on motorcycles has been No. No way. Too unsafe. Bill, you absolutely cannot have a motorcycle. So we rented two motorbikes. 

The trip is 142 kilometers one way and the recommendation is to leave early to avoid nightfall -  therefore we left at noon. Just enough time to get us there in the dark. Turns out the moto's light works pretty well. Unlit barely paved winding mountain roads are the best way to discover that. 

The motos took a few minutes to figure out but within 10 minutes as we were gliding past densely green forested bamboo and banana mountains next to torquoise streams and ancient stilted homes of the indigenous locals I was thinking "motor bikes are the absolute best way to travel!" and was scheming about our next moto tour. I continued to feel this way for the next 279 kms. 

We had to go over 3 mountain passes on those narrow roads I was telling you about. Chickens, dogs and water buffalo wander around as rudimentary rock grinders and hand tools are used to pave the parts that are still dirt and gravel. For the most part the motos handled so nicely it was no worry but every time a big truck or bus came roaring around a blind corner, horn blazing, I held my breath and clenched my fists tighter. 

The mountain passes were so much colder than I had imagined. Despite 4 layers and wool socks I was shivering the whole time (smiling too - but also tense with bone-deep coldness).

 

There were hundreds of pinch me moments. Every time I tried to take a picture it just didn't even come close to capturing the vastness and the depths of the winding canyons of these ancient mountains. The shadow work of the layered monolithic heaps was surreal. Watching the road wind around and on the edges of mountains as the clouds wrapped themselves around the landscape was magical. The place was so raw. Looking. Back over a pass into the misty shadows it was hard to imagine so many people making their lives and living in this ultimate frontier. Even though the man-made farming terraces carved into the mountain sides gave clear hints to the presence of people, the perfectly beautiful gardens, flowers and bee hives seemed to belong there.  So many times it really didn't even feel real. Except for the crazy numbing cold part. I felt that. Felt it real good. 

There are 12 indigenous tribes of people that live in these mountains and looking at their settlements and farms and crumbling rock walls built with black volcanic rock I kept reminding myself that these people have lived here in much the same way for thousands of years. Thousands. 

 

 

 

 

When we arrived in Dong Van on Friday night we were so cold that we checked into our hotel (a pricy but very nice $15/night) took hot showers, climbed under the covers and never got out of bed. We watched the new Dumb and Dumber movie (what a terrible mistake) and Date Night (where I got to ponder about how much perfection and control makes me stressed out in daily life - just let Bill make a messy goddamn sandwich and be okay with it!) 

The return moto ride on Saturday was a little longer and we had to stop a few times to get hot tea to warm up. 

We made it 280 kilometers and averted innumerable errors on our magical mountain pass ride before our luck ran out. Bill and I were somehow separated just outside of the city and right at dusk. He returned to the hotel while I rode up and down the road looking for him to no avail as the sun set, my gas gauge said empty, I had a dead cell phone and no money (don't worry we learned some valuable lessons here). The kindest hotel owner was fluttering around trying to "fix it" when Bill returned alone asking "have you seen my wife?" But language barriers are really hard. 

Eventually we found each other back on the country road and the surge of relief and fear didn't make me cry until we got back to the hotel where I processed all the what ifs into Bill's shoulder. 

So how do I feel about motorbikes? Pretty mixed at the moment. Are they terrifying and unsafe? Oh yes. Will I ride one any time soon? No I will not. Are they probably the most fun and exciting way to explore a new country? Of course they are.  Was the 2-day moto tour the absolute best part of our trip?  It most certainly was. It so so so so was.