In Hanoi, I had decided to have Chairman Mao
looked at by a mechanic, for I had established that my problems with him were
due to a slack clutch and a loose chain. The mechanic, an affable chap from
Flamingo Travel, pointed out that the chain and its sprockets were knackered,
pointing at the ground teeth and highlighting the gaps between these teeth and
the gaps in the chain. He also told me that a new rear tyre was in order and
told me to return in two hours.
I came back to find a new tyre, chain and
sprockets, while the gears no longer clunked and the clutch actually engaged
properly. He also showed me my old inner tube, pointing out that I had been
sold a bike with a rear tyre which had been repaired EIGHT times! After paying the VND800,000 for all of this work, I
was also informed that one of my rear shocks was broken and that my cam belt
was on its way out, but both could be fixed for a lower price down south.
Bearing this in mind, I took Chairman Mao to the bus; he seemed to be running
better than before…
The bus was predictably uncomfortable. I
established when signing the passenger sheet that I was one of only two
passengers not going all the way to Hue. The lady at Sinh Café Travel had told
me that the bus would reach Dong Hoi at 06:00 the next morning, so I set an
alarm for 05:30 and tried to get some sleep.
Waking at 05:30, the bus was just pulling into
a bus station. “Great,” I thought. “I’m in Dong Hoi half an hour early and will
make it to Phong Nha Ke Bang by about eight o’clock at the latest.” To my
horror, however, all of the passengers got up from their seats, taking their
belongings with them. Looking out of the window, I realised that I was at Hue
bus station, some two hours south of Dong Hoi, where I should have been
dropped. I went apoplectic, interrogating the driver as to why I hadn’t been
dropped where I had asked, while a woman looked on apprehensively, presumably
because Vietnamese people do not engage in such outbursts. He simply shrugged
and pointed at some buses parked in the station, indicating that I should
simply catch another bus. When I gestured that my motorbike was in the bus, he
hurriedly removed it, setting it on the tarmac before speeding off with my
petrol, which had been drained from the bike and was in the luggage
compartment. Standing at the bus station, short on sleep and with a bike bereft of fuel, I
remembered why I hated the night buses so much.
Eventually I managed to get some petrol and
began the ride up to Dong Hoi, which involved travelling along the much-vaunted
Highway One. I don’t see what all the fuss is about: the surface is good and
there wasn’t much traffic of any real size. Anything big was overtaken easily,
while the majority of the buses were speeding in the opposite direction to me.
I was making excellent time and stopped for breakfast at a pho restaurant,
where a little old lady served me perhaps the best bowl of pho I have tasted;
she even topped it up when I finished, together with a couple of glasses of
tea, for no extra charge. I climbed back onto Chairman Mao, thanking the old
lady for her kindness and determining to reach Dong Hoi quickly.
I sped along the highway, overtaking other
bikes, lorries and coaches with ease. As I hit a long, straight stretch of
road, Chairman Mao suddenly lost power. As I turned the throttle, the engine
simply revved, having lost all drive. I pulled over the side of the road and
tried re-starting the engine to no avail: Chairman Mao had a serious problem.
There were no garages in sight, so I began to push the stricken bike along the
hard shoulder, much to the amusement of those in gardens and fields adjoining
the road.
 |
| Looking closely, one can see about three components of the engine lying in the tray. |
After walking for around two miles, I came to a
garage in Vinh Linh. The mechanic approached me, smiling, and I gestured that
the cam belt had gone, recalling the mechanic’s warning from the previous day.
As the mechanic drained the oil from the engine, a few local men appeared,
either for repairs or to talk to the foreigner. When he thought that all the
oil was gone, the mechanic unscrewed the side panel, removed it and, to my
horror, the parts of engine fell from the compartment onto the floor in front
of me. I couldn’t believe it. The assembled men began to laugh, pointing at the
bike while they exclaimed, “China! China! China! No good! No good!” I failed to
see the funny side. I reddened. I struggled not to scream. I wanted to get on
the next bus to Hanoi and go straight to the Vietnam Motorbikes garage to set
them straight. I was furious, upset, bemused and confused all at once. How had
this happened?
 |
| A power vacuum. |
Eventually the hyenas’ laughter died down,
presumably because they realised that I was in a bit of trouble. The mechanic
attempted to explain that the engine was finished unless I wanted to wait at
least three days for a Chinese part to arrive. I failed to understand this,
presumably because I didn’t wish to, so an interpreter was summoned, the local
teacher of English. He told me that the bike should either be thrown into a
ditch or another (second-hand) engine installed; the latter could be done in
two hours, for VND2,200,000. Having poured enough money into the bike so far, I
wasn’t willing to ditch it now, so the new engine was requested. The mechanic
drove off, returning twenty minutes later with a Korean replacement, telling me that it was much better than the Chinese model.
 |
| A bemused onlooker. |
The mechanic installed the engine quickly and
fired it up: the dream was still alive. The English interpreter pointed at the
discarded Chinese engine, saying, “Hu Jintao, no good. Lee Hyung-Bak, good!”
This gave me a new idea: no longer was I being oppressed by a bad Chinese
engine. Instead, a Korean engine was likely to step into the breach. Lee
Hyung-Bak, President of South Korea, is mildly oppressive but lacks both the
comic appeal and widespread recognition. Despite the engine being manufactured
in South Korea, Kim Jong-Il is now leading my Long March…
 |
| Heroic. |
I took off, marvelling at the smoothness of my
new engine. I soon reached Dong Hoi, where I met five young men eager to
practise their English and find out what I though about Vietnam. They wanted me
to stay in Dong Hoi that evening but, alas, I had to go to Phong Nha, having
booked to stay at the Farmstay.
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