On To Ha Giang.

After recovering sufficiently from the previous day's trials, it was time for one of the most hotly-anticipated parts of my trip: Ha Giang Province. This region had possessed a degree of mystique for me, largely because it is the final frontier with China and a permit is required to go there because of this.  I made sure that I saw Dr Pangloss Mr Nghe again and asked about the road to Ha Giang again, in light of the previous day's trials and tribulations. "The road to Ha Giang is so-so," said Mr Nghe, confidently. "You'll have no problems; it's better than the road you went on yesterday." I was still hesitant as I took off, fearful of the consequences for my bike, which I had christened Chairman Mao, given that assembled groups of Vietnamese men mockingly pointed out its Chinese engine at every garage I visited.

My Chinese engine is powering my very own Long March through Vietnam, is ruthlessly oppressing me financially and mentally and polarises opinion, mainly between me and the rest of the world.

Dr Pangloss Mr Nghe had again been extremely euphemistic. Having left the environs of Bac Ha, the road soon turned into a churned, wet, filthy mud bath, with my first act upon it being to soak my legs up to the knees in muddy water from a deep puddle. I then had to overtake lorries in three inches of mud, fight to prevent the back wheel from sliding out from underneath me and generally wrestle with Chairman Mao, losing one contest in which he suffered a smashed indicator and the ignominy of being covered in brown sludge. His front suspension was also taking a battering for the second day in a row, while his Chinese grit was waning, with stalling a frequent frustration in the light rain.

The "road" from Bac Ha to Coc Pai. This was a good stretch.

The terrain was proving to be very difficult indeed, with wet rocks, jagged rocks, mud baths and large puddles all proving to be obstinate impediments to my progress. At one point, I was fighting to prevent Chairman Mao from slipping backwards down a hill while a Vietnamese lady passed on her moped, emasculating me in the process. My pride was restored some seconds later, when she became stuck in the mud some fifty yards ahead of me and it was my turn to sail past, with considerably more smugness than she had exhibited.

At least my struggles had an awesome backdrop.

Eventually the road climbed to reach tarmac again, much to my relief. After establishing through a hesitant local the way to Ha Giang, I set off, with the steering off-kilter and the right indicator hanging off precariously. Pulling into a small village, a small crowd, mainly composed of children, gathered to see the muddy foreigner with the Chinese bike; the indicator was soon replaced, the steering a bit better and my location no clearer, for Vietnamese, not unlike their female Western counterparts, are unfamiliar with the art of map-reading. None the wiser as to how far I was from my destination, I pressed on past waving children and diggers and over ridiculous terrain.

When I reached Coc Phi, a thankfully asphalted village, the front suspension was leaking grease and the engine groaning. I complained to the nearest mechanic, a Cockney geezer type replete with a toothpick hanging from his mouth, about the handling of my bike and, after taking it for a ride, he came back saying, "China! China!" and pointing at the front suspension. A cool VND450,000 later, new suspension was fitted and the mechanic waved my money at me, saying, "Monley, monley!" I rode off, glad to be still moving.

The road after Coc Pai was confusing and a wrong turn led to me asking a drunk local, the first of many I met in these parts, for the way to Ha Giang. He pointed me in the right direction, eventually, and all was going to plan again. Chairman Mao was going along just fine, despite the mechanic's insistence that the engine was shot, and the roads were fast enough. I soon reached Hoang Su Phi, stopping for a coffee and some banter, before heading on.

A lake created by a dam, Lao Cai Province.

Here is where things became a little more complicated. Rain came in and fog descended, leaving me practically blind on the mountain roads, and for the first time I felt very uneasy. My rear brake had become slightly loose, leading to haphazard braking going into corners, while my forced stops in the mountain village and Coc Pai for mechanical reasons had meant that I was way behind schedule. The sky became darker and darker, while the fog became thicker and thicker, and seeing harder and harder.

Riding in fog with only a dynamo-powered light for assistance is not the most fun, I must say. The difficulty lies in seeing corners and obstacles, not to mention potholes, and caution leads to reduced speed, which in turn results in slower progress and more desperation in the face of the creeping darkness. I was riding like someone who clearly wasn't from around there, and a local sat behind me with his light on full beam for around fifteen miles, obviously trying to help me see, when in fact all that was achieved was my blindness, with light reflecting off the fog, and my ability to draw my own shadow from memory, for I was illuminated in the opaque surroundings. Things were becoming a little dangerous to say the least.

Eventually I descended into a town and, soaked and freezing, I dived into the nearest hotel. The owner obviously realised my desperation, given my condition and the darkness outside, and asked for VND250,000 for a room for the night. I was prepared to pay it, until I saw the tea dregs in a cup on the side and the dribbling, icy shower, so I refused and asked him which town I was in. He said that I was in Viet Quang (this didn't make sense on the map, which suggested that I was in Vinh Ngoc, and made me think that I was perhaps in Viet Quang district...), seventy-six kilometres (fifty or so miles) from Ha Giang city. I decided to go for it, estimating that the road couldn't be that bad.

Around three-quarters of a mile down the road, I stopped for a warming tea, establishing from another local that Ha Giang wasn't too far away, with her estimate being fifty-six kilometres. Regardless, I powered onto the QL2, with the rain stinging my face as it hit it. Fortunately, the QL2 is a fast, largely straight and flat road, with lighting in areas and, at this time of day (around 19:00) little traffic of any threat. I red-lined the bike all the way, stopping once for fuel, overtaking lorries and other motorbikes like a man possessed. I arrived in Ha Giang around an hour later, unable to see much of it due to the dark and unwilling due to my desire to dry out. Tomorrow would see me take on Ha Giang Province, subject to the grant of a permit, and I was filled with mixed feelings: on the one hand feeling pumped given what Mao and I had come through that day, but hesitant in case I was riding into something even worse.