Motorcycle Explorer October 2014 Issue 2 | Page 29

Vietnam
Across an immaculate green park, obedient
crowds filtered into the darkness of the solemn
grey monument to pay their respects. Watching
them, I asked Ho to look after us on the Trail
ahead, promising to come back and see him after
our safe passage to Saigon. I then sprinkled a
small pot of glitter over my handlebars and
proclaimed, ‘I christen you the Pink Panther. May
you be strong, brave, pink and never let me down.’
My route out of Hanoi took me south west through
the heart of the city. In an effort to calm my
nerves and focus my mind I talked out loud,
commentating on the road ahead like a demented
racing pundit.
‘Woman crossing the road… bicycle… oh God!
Bus!... car turning without indicating… family
having a conversation in the middle of the road…
crumpets, lady with a baby!... man on mobile
phone driving on the wrong side of the road –
bloody hell, why can’t he drive on the right side?...
old woman in pyjamas… durian fruit seller on
bicycle parked in slow lane…’
And so on. As I edged slowly out of the maelstrom
my observations of the road around me poured
out in a staccato stream of consciousness. At times
my situation made me laugh hysterically, as if
possessed. Minutes later I would feel momentarily
close to tears, or engulfed by a surge of elation. It
was exhausting.
"This was going to be a
journey of small
victories"
Hanoi is now the most polluted city in Southeast
Asia, and a soupy veil of mist and filth clung to the
skeletal new developments and cranes of the
capital’s western suburbs. Beyond these, at Hà
Đông, a satellite town to the west of Hanoi, I
pulled into a roadside stall, switched off the
engine and breathed a sigh of relief. This was
going to be a journey of small victories, and
getting out of Hanoi was my first significant
achievement.
Anyone got a set of TKCs?