“There’s a rock in my hand!” I yell to my friends. I’m staring up at the sky as my whole body starts to hurt…
We leave Bac La in the morning enroute to Coc Pai. I’m neck and neck racing with David. The road curves up and around like a helix as we race up the mountain. As we lean into a fast bend a huge radio antennae melts into the foreground, the vast landscape far beneath and beyond–it was surreal. I felt like I was playing a videogame, except it was real life and I wasn’t wearing any protective gear.
A kilometer after we finish racing we reach the summit and were greeted by the sign HA GIANG PROVINCE. The road flattens out here, and as soon as we cross the provincial boundary the smooth asphalt we were cornering on immediately deteriorates into rocky gravel. Welcome to Ha Giang Province.
We stopped to piss, smoke, and take some cool photos of the beautiful landscape that had presented itself to us. The roads were shit, but the view was great. So this is it–the mythical Ha Giang province. It’s the most Northern province, and offers the best riding in Vietnam. We could see off into the distance, the mountainous landscape visible for many kilometers.
We set off down the road to Yenh Binh. It was 10 kilometers through mud and rocks, but it was really fun to rip through. I had discovered that my front sprocket cover had fallen off, leaving it and the chain fully exposed–I was wondering what that sound was halfway through the ride.
It’s a quick stop in Yen Binh, and at the third mechanic shop they finally have the part we need. I hit the thuốc lào–bamboo tobacco bong–while the mechanic grinds the cover down to fit my bike. The boys were with some old drunken Vietnamese man across the street. I went to say hi, and he held onto my hand for over a minute after I shook it. I quickly left them with him and hung out by my bike.
Now the real riding begins. We get on QL279 and back onto some real asphalt. It was 70 kilometers of twisty mountain roads to Coc Pai! I’m loving it–laughing maniacally as David and I race around the bends again. I was loving it too much apparently, as I came in too hot on a gravelly right turn and the rear wheel skidded out under me. I lurch right, left, and then boom the bike goes down on the right side, skidding a few meters on the ground. I reach and turn the bike off and then just lay there in pain. “There’s a rock in my hand!” I yell to my friends. I’m staring up at the sky as my whole body starts to hurt…
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah.”
They all start laughing at me once it’s established I’m not dying. My right hand hurts, and there’s a pea shaped rock lodged inside of it, neatly flush with the rest of my hand. What the fuck. I’m showing this to the boys, and pain surges through my hand more intensely than before. They get the peroxide ready for me so I can bathe it thoroughly with the antiseptic once I pull the rock out.
The peroxide hurts less than I thought. The worst part was looking at the resulting hole in my right hand. Disgusting. I cleaned it all out with peroxide, and then put a peroxide filled latex glove on my hand for the rest of the ride to keep it clean. We had no bandages. We reach Coc Pai by 5:00 PM, riding through a super cold and foggy mountain pass. There was at most 10 feet of visibility in front of you–Silent Hill style.
It was raining when we got into town. We get two passable hotel rooms for 100,000 ($4.50) per person and then get some dinner. Andreas and I get Beef Fried Rice, while David and Kevin get Beef Pho. It was an open kitchen–but not out of some fancy design. The place was essentially plastic tables and chairs with a gas fueled wok set off in the back. The owner was cooking with love here, you could see it as he gingerly threw in the spices. The resulting food was excellent.
Andreas, Kevin, and I decide to go for a little ride around town while David hangs back. I show my hand to the pharmacist and she gives me some iodine, cotton, and bandages. They use iodine for everything here–the Vietnamese panacea. We go into a karaoke bar at the big hotel in town and grab a beer in the lobby. It’s deserted, everyone is in private karaoke rooms.
Some young Vietnamese man joins us after a few minutes. Music is pumping in here, louder at times when one of the three karaoke rooms open up. The young man is telling us he is police! “Police! Police!” he says. There’s a load of them in a Karaoke room, coming out in bursts to join us–I suppose this young fellow broke the ice. We figure if we’re friendly that perhaps they’ll invite us in. David joins us 45 minutes later once he gets bored of doing nothing in the hotel room.
More of the cops join us, and soon we’re yelling cheers in Vietnamese and downing our drinks! The empty bottle collection on the table grows. We’re gettin’ pissed tonight.
The police chief and all of his officers are drinking with us. The oldest man there is the uncle of one of the officers–he’s a medical doctor. They bring us in the Karaoke room eventually–everyone’s piss drunk. There’s pistachios and unlimited beef jerky laid out here. The Doctor keeps giving us vodka shots. 15 minutes later the bar closes up and kicks us all out. We go to pay, but the cops only let us pay $1 each! We definitely had a lot more than that.
We’re drunk and it’s a good time to go to bed. We ride off, but we see the police at a restaurant across the street and they wave us in. We keep riding, and get back to the hotel. As soon as we get there Kevin says “They waved us in! We gotta go back!” So we do. Four men on two bikes.
I’m quite drunk at this point and David’s riding on the back of my bike. We get back there after a fun 3 minute ride through town, and the cops are beyond stoked to see us again. We all order beef pho. “No beer, just water” says the Doctor. He points at a fresh water bottle on the table. “I’m down with that” I say and seize the bottle off the table. I’m too drunk for any more booze. I open the cap, noticing the seal had already been cracked–fuck it. I take a big gulp–what the fuck!? My mouth is burning and they’re all laughing. It was a fucking bottle of Vietnamese moonshine! Bastards.
I thought the cops were being responsible and making us sober up. It turns out I’m drinking with the fucking Vietnamese Super Troopers. They use the tea cups to keep pouring us shots of moonshine. Three shots in the last five minutes–the foods not even here yet. You drink one, they pour another, cheers, repeat. This moonshine tastes like gasoline.
It’s barely 10:00 PM. After the last shot I come a hair away from puking, but then the pho arrives–thank God. I wash that fucking methanol shit away with some of the tastiest broth to enter my mouth. Yum. It might be the best Pho we’ve had, but we’re too wasted to know for sure.
We finish the water bottle full of moonshine and breathe a collective sigh of relief. 30 seconds later another bottle appears on the table. Jesus Christ–it’s endless. We decide it’s time to bounce, we’re too drunk to hang. The police had drunken us all under the table! The staff try to charge us 40,000 for the pho, but the cops say it’s only 30,000. Thanks, officers.
My motorcycle has no exhaust, as it cracked off when I crashed. David and I must’ve woken the whole town up with our ride back, hooting and hollering while revving the engine up. A dog barks at us and we keep yelling at “Who lets the dogs out? Who? Who? Who?” timing each who with a rev-up of the engine. The crude headlight on the bike gets brighter when you rev the engine higher, highlighting the yappy dog.
I park the bike at the hotel and keep revving it up so we can watch flames shoot out of the exhaust port.
Afterwards I go lay in bed, and Kevin tries to kill a bug but accidentally shatters one of the hotel glasses. I pass out surrounded by my belongings–laptop open and all.
Whoever said Asians can’t drink is full of shit.
