Ha Giang Province.

I’d looked forward to this for quite some time. I rose early and made straight for the immigration office, which would issue the permit allowing me to go beyond Ha Giang City towards Vietnam's final frontier. The process was painless, since the woman behind the desk spoke English well and processed my request quickly, charging me VND220,000 for the piece of paper. I also managed to please her by saying, “Vietnam is very beautiful,” in response to her question about why I had come back a second time. Ha Giang City is a pleasant enough place but little detains the traveller other than places to sleep and a statue of Uncle Ho posing as father of the nation in a large square.

Immediately after leaving the city, the roads became more uneven and narrower, with all the usual hazards popping up (water-buffalo, cows, dogs, children), as well as the shouts of, “Hello!” and the concomitant waving. The scenery, however, became more and more imposing, with mountains and hills creating lush valleys on the way to the entrance to the aptly-named Dong Van Karst Plateau Geopark.

The landscape here is composed almost entirely of limestone, as is most of northern Vietnam. The karsts are most impressive, since on the plateau they rise from the earth as if someone had pushed their fingers through the earth. The formations are similar to those found in Ha Long Bay and help the observer to imagine what Ha Long Bay might look like if the sea were somehow drained away.

By this point, Chairman Mao was needing a little attention, so in Yen Minh his brakes were tightened. His gears had also started to clunk and began to require more than a gentle prod to shift, but I put this down to the previous day’s experience in the mud, also mindful of Clay’s sage advice about the temperament of the bike. Yen Minh was again very provincial, with friendly faces but little of interest other than providing a contrast with the surroundings and a couple of places for food and/or drink.

The road from here to Dong Van was spectacular and the weather cleared up sufficiently for some beautiful, dramatic vistas. The landscape became greater the closer I came to China, with mountains, valleys and rolling hills looking magnificent in the afternoon sun. Traffic was at a premium and the going was good, though I was costing myself time with my frequent stops for photographs.

Coming towards the Dong Van pass, there was almost a fatal tragedy. I had stopped by the side of the road eighty-nine kilometres (fifty-five miles or so) from Dong Van for a sip of water when, turning round, I saw and heard an almighty crash. Two scooters had collided on the mountain road, with one disappearing along with its passengers down the ravine. I dropped my things and hurried up the hill, where a small crowd was gathering. The stricken scooter was visible, tangled in the brambles and grass, while one of its riders could be seen rolling nearby, moaning and groaning. As she rolled over, the man driving the motorcycle appeared beneath, fiddling with what appeared to be a wound on his lower abdomen (he was attempting to reattach a dressing or perhaps some sort of drainage device). The bystanders did exactly what that word suggests: they stood there, watching the spectacle but doing little to help, until one man stopped and immediately jumped into the ravine to retrieve the scooter. Cajoled by an old woman, I joined him, hauling the scooter onto the road; its front end was smashed from the collision. As I rode off after being thanked by the riders, I was more than mindful of the dangers of these beautiful, winding roads, although I was puzzled as to how this accident had occurred, for both bikes were on a straight…

The accident's aftermath. The lady in the red top on the left of the picture was one of those who fell down the ravine.

Soon after this, yet another reminder of the road's dangers presented itself when, coming round a left hand hairpin, I found an overturned lorry. Its driver, thankfully unharmed, was standing by the side of the road, not really sure of what to do with himself. When I showed interest in the sad sight, he perked up, cheerily telling me that this was the second occasion on which he had done this, ruefully blaming the road, which fell away on the inside of the corner, leaving mud and stones; presumably he had tried to cut the corner to make his life easier (and others' harder). The cargo had been taken away by another wagon, but presumably he was waiting until the lorry could be righted so that he could drive it away.

Around thirty miles from Dong Van, I stopped for another sip of water and experienced an altogether different happening. I looked back down the hill to see eight or so small children, the oldest no more than nine years old, running towards me, laughing and smiling. They reached the bike and stood in front of me, still laughing and smiling. I laughed and smiled back, saying hello in both English and Vietnamese, wondering why they were standing before me like this. After about a minute and a couple of photos, I fired up the engine and went to pull off, but the bike barely moved. I looked back to see the children, who had now been joined by a couple more, holding onto the bike to stop it moving. I found this amusing and turned off the engine. Then all became clear: they were after something, probably sweets. I opened my backpack, which contained some keo lac, a sweet made from peanuts, seeds and honey (I think), Choco-Pie (the food of champions) and a couple of pieces of fruit. As soon as the first keo lac emerged, the fight was on: the children wrestled and grappled to get it. I assured them that there was enough for everyone but this didn’t seem to register. Each child received something to eat, while passers-by smiled approvingly at my apparent generosity and waved. The children all smiled and waved as I rode off quite affected by the episode, wondering, amid a whole host of thoughts, when they might last have eaten or what their background really was.

The road wound up to Dong Van, a town described by Lonely Planet as “…a dusty outpost…with quite an interesting old quarter.” They didn’t deign to provide a map and, with limited time, I simply stopped for a bite to eat before heading off towards Meo Vac, where I hoped to spend the night. The road to Meo Vac is simply stunning, taking in the Ma Pi Lang Pass, a road cut into the side of a mountain which runs for about thirteen miles. I had dallied rather longer in Dong Van than I should have, for the sun soon set, and I tackled the road in the dark, the third time I had ridden in the dark. This was in itself an experience, for the karsts were a deep black against the lighter night sky, making for a dramatic and imposing ride into Meo Vac. I would return the following morning to catch a glimpse of the pass in daylight.