Hoi An, Vietnam

Nighttime in Hue, Vietnam. Photo: Hurl Everstone

CHARLIE DON'T SURF: 7-APRIL-03
This is the fourth installment of an eight-part series.

Greetings from Hoi An, along the central coast of Vietnam. After five days in Saigon, we tired of chewing on the black rubber tires of 4 a.m., and an attempted high-speed highjacking of my shoulder bag by two Ho Chi Minh hooligans on a scooter cinched the deal. In fact, we'd read about just this very thing, ride-by muggings.

Ho Chi Minh City--only 1,064km to go! Photo: Hurl Everstone

Friday, as we were crossing the street walking back toward our hotel, I noticed a moto do a U-turn midway up the block. Suddenly, I felt a hard pull as the shoulder strap of my bag strained against my neck. Luckily, the bag didn't give (Ortlieb, reprazent!) as both of our passports, and all of our loot was in it. I was pretty wound up for awhile after this happened, but I guess the outcome was much better than the opposite.

The next evening we hopped a passenger train northeast to Hue and are now riding south along the central coast. We chose this option for two reasons: 1) The prevailing winds this time of year are north to south, and we've had enough of the headwinds riding through Cambodia; and 2) I had a case of the 24-hour flu in Saigon, and took the extra day on the train to rest. (The fact that they sell just about anything you'd need (or want) at the pharmacies on the street is a nice bonus.)

Lang Co, Vietnam, fishing family. Photo: Hurl Everstone

The train ride was 17 hours, leaving Saigon at 11 p.m. Our "foreigner, soft-seat, air-con" tickets cost us 322,000 dong each, about two and a half times what the Vietnamese pay, but it was a mostly comfortable journey, with two meals served and much preferred to traveling on a crowded tour bus, which would have been at least 30 hours. We rolled through some rather scenic areas, and they served us ramen and tea. Our bikes went as cargo on a separate train a day earlier, which was a bit unnerving, but upon arrival in Hue our bikes were eagerly awaiting us (rejoice)! The Vietnamese will miss no opportunity to gouge a foreigner, and wanted an additional 10,000 dong for unloading our bikes from the train a day before. No, thank you very much, I said, grabbed both bikes and wheeled out the door.

Hue is nice enough town, but we were itching to ride our bikes. We found a cheap hotel for the night and in the morning pegged it 66.6 kilometers (666? 40 miles) to Lang Co, and the most tranquil, quiet, deserted beach of the journey thus far. Oddly (and gladly), this isn't in our Lonely Janet Jackson guidebook.

Climbing Hai Van Pass. Photo: Hurl Everstone

Friday morning we left for our hardest day in the saddle yet. From Lang Co to Danang City is only 32 kilometers (20 miles), but almost immediately upon leaving we were climbing Hai Van pass, a 496-meter (1,500-foot) switchback masher that lasted nearly six miles (and I remind you that we're rockin' the rock-rock on our singlespeeds, our only concession was flip-flopping our rear wheels for the climb; 34x18 and 35x20, thankyouverymuch to Surly). The road was pretty narrow in spots, and shared with all manner of exhaust-spewing Henry Ford nightmares, including local buses loaded with human cargo hanging out the sides and windows, madly cheering us on. With beautiful vistas of the coast we had just left, and with both of us sweating like a fat man in a rubber suit we stopped often and drank plenty of water. It took us an hour and a half to reach the summit. This pass was the original gateway between northern and southern settlements and is still marked by the original concrete archway. During the wars, the French and Americans both built fortresses here. The backside of Hai Van was a swinging switchback descent, passing a pig-hauling truck, and seeing our first other cyclo-tourons of the trip, slogging up the pass the opposite direction. Danang City was quickly reached; a giant white Buddha on the side of the road heralded our arrival. Riding through numerous roundabouts, Mac narrowly averted disaster in the form of a moto-bike, bicycle sandwich--the moto-biker was juggling his child in his lap and reached out to grab Mac's arm to let her know of his approach, and I yelled "MAC!" most likely unnecessarily so, as these people have an easy command of matters such as these...