Day 3. June 27.
We get an early start today, skipping breakfast in favor of making it to Da Lat sooner.
I set up Nicole's bike so she can quickly strap her bag down. We chow down on some muesli and get going. Meandering through Mui Ne, I struggle to find my bearings and get us out. The buildings occluded my view of the horizon and the ocean surrounds the little peninsula so I lose my sense of direction easily. After a couple of wrong turns we are free to cruise! Our route today takes as away from the beach and into the mountains.
Our route meandered through--you guessed it--more farmland. But once again we are captivated by the subtle differences offered by such a unique climate. Upon turning the bend in we see a far off sand dune of the whitest sand I've seen (in person, anyway). But the noteworthy sight isn't just the dune, but how closely that dune saddles up against lush greenery and farmland. Usually the only vegetation I see near sand is something like rugged chapparal or iceplant--flora I imagine to be suited to a desiccated environment. Once again I am seeing something new. These physical differences are plenty beautiful on their own, but the effect is enhanced by seeing new species of plants and animals. There is something satisfying about challenging/altering your expectations, and this applies to more than just landscapes.
Our route turns northbound through rolling hills towards highway 1A, but fortunately we will only be crossing it for a moment on our way to Da Lat. Nicole falls back a bit and sounds the emergency signal: one long blast of the horn. I whip around and we assess the situation. For some reason Nicole's bike struggles to get up any hill, but this one being a little bit steeper it finally presents an insurmountable challenge to her little steed and the engine stalls out. Even with my bike (and excessive weight) I have to drop into 3rd to go up this little hill (perhaps 10%), so hers shouldn't be having any issue. I start her bike back up and quickly notice it feels totally gutless--the engine just isn't generating much power at all. I eventually crest the hill in first gear at a jogging pace, and we are able to ride into the next town. Realizing this will be a huge problem for the ascent into Da Lat (elevation some 1500 meters), I pull into the first Honda shop I see.
The young men drop what their doing and approach warily. None of us speak each others language, so I do my best at charades and pointing to express that the engine is running poorly. Because nothing is ostensibly out of place, I don't have much luck on my own. In the meantime, I point out the bad bearings on my bike by wobbling the wheel and this guy fixes it in a few minutes. Fortunately this gave me time to think, and I know just who to call. It occurred to me that we exchanged numbers with Hoa and, using a cheapie cell phone sold to me with one of the bikes, I call her up to see if she can do a quick translation. She is happy to help and within seconds the mechanic nods in understanding, fires up the bike, and begins to tinker with it adeptly. He checks the spark plug, carburetor, ignition, and all of these things I can't fully comprehend. Unfortunately the problem is not so simple to isolate and we end up waiting for hours while he and his two colleagues go at it.
During this time I go into figurative nailbiting mode and try to console myself. I keep wondering if it's reparable. I don't know how much it'll cost. I worry we'll be stuck all day or even overnight in this insufferable little highway town as I try to shop for a new bike and there is no vegetarian food and suddenly zombies are everywhere and we get bit and I am consigned to eat dog brains for the rest of my miserable existence, or whatever awful scenario I can imagine.
It's fixed by lunch time. Total cost is 8 dollars for what looks like an ignition coil (after they even installed a new carb but removed it after it had no positive effect; most places back home would just leave that in and add it to the bill), and 6 dollars for my new bearings. Do they even charge for labor? Why is it so cheap for these guys to drop everything they're doing and fix our rides? I'm blown away and relieved after I take it for a quick spin and it feels revitalized. We still have at least 150 slow kilometers to Da Lat but it's on like Donkey Kong. We gas up and immediately hop onto the Dai Ninh mountain road.
Having our first breakdown of sorts sapped me considerably, but my confidence and energy quickly returns, enjoying the gradual changes in scenery as we book it away from the ocean, dodging potholes and even spotting other backpackers on bikes.
Another long blast of the horn from Nicole. What the flying f--You've gotta be kidding me. Tell me it's a false alarm. We haven't been riding for more than thirty minutes.
"Something fell off the bike and it won't start back up," she says.
"Okay, can you find the part?"
"Well, yes, it's still hanging from the bike."
I peer over her side to see the spark plug dangling from the ignition cable. It popped out while going over the bumpy roads. I look closely at the cylinder head and imagine the color leaving my face. The threads inside the head are almost completely stripped. The plug was held in by a dodgy although clever implement of foil wrapper to expand into the remaining threads. While a temporary fix, it is admittedly quite resourceful and inexpensive. Yet I'm of the peace-of-mind camp and I'd much rather have this properly fixed instead of MacGyvered or duct-taped back together. Unfortunately there's no way I can get the plug back in, so I race up to the next town 3km away and see if I can find a mechanic and get help. I easily find a shop, but can't communicate that my friend is down the road. I buy a spark plug and a tool to see if I can squeeze a new one in and head back. Fortunately the walk to the shop wouldn't be so exhausting (a nice downhill cruise). But by the time I get back to Nicole she is already almost in town, and not from walking.
The kindness of strangers is a humbling thing, and we thank our new friend profusely before turning our confused, helpless looks to the mechanic. Our fate is in his hands. I'm hopeful they can drill out the hole and use a tap to create new threads--something I did once to fix a stripped brake mount on a bicycle--but I don't know if that's something you can perform on a cylinder head and still keep the proper compression. Or whatever.
He pulls a brand new cylinder head out of a box and my heart sinks a little. This can't be cheap. I look at our poor little workhorse and start to wonder if this will be a regular occurrence.
As a side note, it's amusing how easily we can anthropomorphize these machines. We're all too familiar with how easy it is to assign a gender or even a name to your vehicle. She's a real beauty, someone might say after whistling. It's a commonplace tool in our modern world, but we've come to rely on them so heavily. They become extensions of our identity--for better or worse. Some people might invest more time in their car than friendships, but who am I to judge?
Well I am perfect, so judge I shall. But I'm in the same boat. Calling my motorcycle a steed or beast or something alive is a silly idea, but I'm compelled to do so organically. It's a marvelous creation, after all. These machines are somehow so simple and complicated all at once, and they enable us to do amazing things. I'm certainly not thinking this in the moment (this time it's alien Godzilla with laser beam vision), but it's a dammed good reminder that these tools need proper attention to allow you to, say, travel the span of a country within a few short weeks. I don't know why I see them as beasts of burden, especially when I can think of so many actual living things that merit more love than a hunk of steel. But this perception creates a sort of implied respect for the technology. You can't mistreat a machine and expect it to harness the power of millions of years of dead dinosaur juice to create thousands of tiny, deafening explosions just so you can smoke a bowl and go to the Krispy Kreme drive through in the comfort of a moving couch with wheels. Well, some people certainly do expect their vehicle to operate without failure. Even it you don't appreciate it then, I certainly hope you feed her or him and take him for walks or whatever it is cars like to do after a serious breakdown.
Oh, but this is Vietnam! For 23 dollars this bored-looking (as in this is going to be a cake walk) gentleman tears apart the engine block and performs open heart surgery on our already tenuously-recovering little friend during the course of a meal.
It's back on like Donkey Kong 2: Diddy Kong's Quest. Nicole's bike is Rambi the Rhino and mine is Expresso the Ostrich. Let's do this!
We fly up the hills and the hot bursts of wind from the lowlands give way to cool, drizzly air as we come up the pass. This road offers some of the nicest views of Vietnam. We pull off the road often to snap photos but we know full well they won't capture the magnitude of what we're seeing.
We have to ride through a bit of horizontal rain but it doesn't slow us down too much. The roads meander
through small towns but we just following the main pass and eventually get dumped out on QL20. The sun comes out and we open 'em up to Da Lat. I accidentally take us on a road that says no motorbikes but we would rather play ignorant foreigner than turn around to find the parallel highway.
We ascend even higher through narrow mountain roads which now have a plethora of tour bus traffic moving along at disconcertingly high speeds. Nicole handles this stress swimmingly and we crest the last hill for the day to see a stunning mountain city surrounding a lake. We made it.
I find a spot of internets and figure out the way to the hotel where Michael and Sam have just arrived. Getting out of the saddle after a long day is a relief by itself, but I melt a little when part of the staff at Camellia Hotel, Lan and Sang, greet me with big smiles and hot green tea.
We don't even shower before walking down to the city center to share several bottles of wine with our Saigon friends. Upon seeing them I feel another wave of euphoria. I can finally let my guard down--the feeling that something else would go wrong--and the ensuing relief almost reduces me to tears. But I'm too busy laughing about everything to cry.
We return to the hotel and meet the owner, Tin, and his wife and two sons who also live in the hotel. I guess that makes it more of a homestay. Tin cracks open a bottle of rice wine and they legitimately surprise me with a cake (they somehow found a bakery to decorate one at 10:00pm) and an adorably broken version of the birthday song. I usually dislike the attention, but this time I lean into the occasion and dole out shots like it's the end of the world. Cheers! Salut! Prost! And in Vietnamese, a hearty Yo!
Journey stats:
Ham Tien to Da Lat.
162 km over 10 hours with repairs.
Route notes:
From Mui Ne head up DT716 to the Luong Son - Dwi Ninh road. You'll merge onto highway 1A for all of ten seconds before turning left onto this road, so don't go into autopilot! Well worth the detour, but some potholes and bad roads on the way. The route to Da Lat takes you to QL20 and then the Prenn expressway, but it's all very straightforward with ample signage.
Pro-tip: love thy motorcycle.
We get an early start today, skipping breakfast in favor of making it to Da Lat sooner.
I set up Nicole's bike so she can quickly strap her bag down. We chow down on some muesli and get going. Meandering through Mui Ne, I struggle to find my bearings and get us out. The buildings occluded my view of the horizon and the ocean surrounds the little peninsula so I lose my sense of direction easily. After a couple of wrong turns we are free to cruise! Our route today takes as away from the beach and into the mountains.
Our route meandered through--you guessed it--more farmland. But once again we are captivated by the subtle differences offered by such a unique climate. Upon turning the bend in we see a far off sand dune of the whitest sand I've seen (in person, anyway). But the noteworthy sight isn't just the dune, but how closely that dune saddles up against lush greenery and farmland. Usually the only vegetation I see near sand is something like rugged chapparal or iceplant--flora I imagine to be suited to a desiccated environment. Once again I am seeing something new. These physical differences are plenty beautiful on their own, but the effect is enhanced by seeing new species of plants and animals. There is something satisfying about challenging/altering your expectations, and this applies to more than just landscapes.
 |
| The mixed climate as we leave the beaches, marked by alternating blasts of hot and cool air. |
The young men drop what their doing and approach warily. None of us speak each others language, so I do my best at charades and pointing to express that the engine is running poorly. Because nothing is ostensibly out of place, I don't have much luck on my own. In the meantime, I point out the bad bearings on my bike by wobbling the wheel and this guy fixes it in a few minutes. Fortunately this gave me time to think, and I know just who to call. It occurred to me that we exchanged numbers with Hoa and, using a cheapie cell phone sold to me with one of the bikes, I call her up to see if she can do a quick translation. She is happy to help and within seconds the mechanic nods in understanding, fires up the bike, and begins to tinker with it adeptly. He checks the spark plug, carburetor, ignition, and all of these things I can't fully comprehend. Unfortunately the problem is not so simple to isolate and we end up waiting for hours while he and his two colleagues go at it.
It's fixed by lunch time. Total cost is 8 dollars for what looks like an ignition coil (after they even installed a new carb but removed it after it had no positive effect; most places back home would just leave that in and add it to the bill), and 6 dollars for my new bearings. Do they even charge for labor? Why is it so cheap for these guys to drop everything they're doing and fix our rides? I'm blown away and relieved after I take it for a quick spin and it feels revitalized. We still have at least 150 slow kilometers to Da Lat but it's on like Donkey Kong. We gas up and immediately hop onto the Dai Ninh mountain road.
Having our first breakdown of sorts sapped me considerably, but my confidence and energy quickly returns, enjoying the gradual changes in scenery as we book it away from the ocean, dodging potholes and even spotting other backpackers on bikes.
Another long blast of the horn from Nicole. What the flying f--You've gotta be kidding me. Tell me it's a false alarm. We haven't been riding for more than thirty minutes.
"Something fell off the bike and it won't start back up," she says.
"Okay, can you find the part?"
"Well, yes, it's still hanging from the bike."
I peer over her side to see the spark plug dangling from the ignition cable. It popped out while going over the bumpy roads. I look closely at the cylinder head and imagine the color leaving my face. The threads inside the head are almost completely stripped. The plug was held in by a dodgy although clever implement of foil wrapper to expand into the remaining threads. While a temporary fix, it is admittedly quite resourceful and inexpensive. Yet I'm of the peace-of-mind camp and I'd much rather have this properly fixed instead of MacGyvered or duct-taped back together. Unfortunately there's no way I can get the plug back in, so I race up to the next town 3km away and see if I can find a mechanic and get help. I easily find a shop, but can't communicate that my friend is down the road. I buy a spark plug and a tool to see if I can squeeze a new one in and head back. Fortunately the walk to the shop wouldn't be so exhausting (a nice downhill cruise). But by the time I get back to Nicole she is already almost in town, and not from walking.
 |
| Nicole getting a push. |
He pulls a brand new cylinder head out of a box and my heart sinks a little. This can't be cheap. I look at our poor little workhorse and start to wonder if this will be a regular occurrence.
As a side note, it's amusing how easily we can anthropomorphize these machines. We're all too familiar with how easy it is to assign a gender or even a name to your vehicle. She's a real beauty, someone might say after whistling. It's a commonplace tool in our modern world, but we've come to rely on them so heavily. They become extensions of our identity--for better or worse. Some people might invest more time in their car than friendships, but who am I to judge?
Well I am perfect, so judge I shall. But I'm in the same boat. Calling my motorcycle a steed or beast or something alive is a silly idea, but I'm compelled to do so organically. It's a marvelous creation, after all. These machines are somehow so simple and complicated all at once, and they enable us to do amazing things. I'm certainly not thinking this in the moment (this time it's alien Godzilla with laser beam vision), but it's a dammed good reminder that these tools need proper attention to allow you to, say, travel the span of a country within a few short weeks. I don't know why I see them as beasts of burden, especially when I can think of so many actual living things that merit more love than a hunk of steel. But this perception creates a sort of implied respect for the technology. You can't mistreat a machine and expect it to harness the power of millions of years of dead dinosaur juice to create thousands of tiny, deafening explosions just so you can smoke a bowl and go to the Krispy Kreme drive through in the comfort of a moving couch with wheels. Well, some people certainly do expect their vehicle to operate without failure. Even it you don't appreciate it then, I certainly hope you feed her or him and take him for walks or whatever it is cars like to do after a serious breakdown.
Oh, but this is Vietnam! For 23 dollars this bored-looking (as in this is going to be a cake walk) gentleman tears apart the engine block and performs open heart surgery on our already tenuously-recovering little friend during the course of a meal.
 |
| We could be seeing more of this garbage right now! |
We fly up the hills and the hot bursts of wind from the lowlands give way to cool, drizzly air as we come up the pass. This road offers some of the nicest views of Vietnam. We pull off the road often to snap photos but we know full well they won't capture the magnitude of what we're seeing.
 |
| Tree party! |
 |
| Uh... let's ride through that! |
 |
| Meh. |
through small towns but we just following the main pass and eventually get dumped out on QL20. The sun comes out and we open 'em up to Da Lat. I accidentally take us on a road that says no motorbikes but we would rather play ignorant foreigner than turn around to find the parallel highway.
We ascend even higher through narrow mountain roads which now have a plethora of tour bus traffic moving along at disconcertingly high speeds. Nicole handles this stress swimmingly and we crest the last hill for the day to see a stunning mountain city surrounding a lake. We made it.
 |
| Not pictured: idyllic levels of kids flying kites |
 |
| Necessary spinal readjustment. |
I find a spot of internets and figure out the way to the hotel where Michael and Sam have just arrived. Getting out of the saddle after a long day is a relief by itself, but I melt a little when part of the staff at Camellia Hotel, Lan and Sang, greet me with big smiles and hot green tea.
 |
| Hot tea in Vietnam? Oh-my-gosh-yes-please. |
 |
| I manage to make us both look like freakish toddlers. Lan is a sweetheart! |
We return to the hotel and meet the owner, Tin, and his wife and two sons who also live in the hotel. I guess that makes it more of a homestay. Tin cracks open a bottle of rice wine and they legitimately surprise me with a cake (they somehow found a bakery to decorate one at 10:00pm) and an adorably broken version of the birthday song. I usually dislike the attention, but this time I lean into the occasion and dole out shots like it's the end of the world. Cheers! Salut! Prost! And in Vietnamese, a hearty Yo!
Journey stats:
Ham Tien to Da Lat.
162 km over 10 hours with repairs.
Route notes:
From Mui Ne head up DT716 to the Luong Son - Dwi Ninh road. You'll merge onto highway 1A for all of ten seconds before turning left onto this road, so don't go into autopilot! Well worth the detour, but some potholes and bad roads on the way. The route to Da Lat takes you to QL20 and then the Prenn expressway, but it's all very straightforward with ample signage.
Pro-tip: love thy motorcycle.
No comments:
Post a Comment