Into the Clouds

Two taxis and over a thousand dollars later, I find myself on the outskirts of Hà Nội looking at a pre-loved Honda XR 400 which I am hoping will carry me through the mountains northwest of the city.

After filling up with petrol, I remind myself how to ride a motorbike on the hectic streets of northern Hà Nội. Surviving, just, I scale the entrance ramp to the motorway and the lesson steps up a gear. It is the quickest way out of the urban jungle.

Soon I am heading into the mountains towards Hòa Bình and Mai Châu, joining National Route 6 and climbing Thung Khe Pass. The road has been carved into steep-sided limestone karst mountains, but low-hanging clouds obscure the views. Applying the old adage, the descent proves to be more challenging and nerve-wracking than the ascent. The smell and sound of hardworking brakes shroud the mountainside in a similar way to the low-hanging clouds.

Beyond Mai Châu the roads become the type I came here to ride: light on trucks and heavy on wiggles. I cross the river at Bến Phà on a little ferry, stop for a random roadside phở and follow the Sông Tấc River through a patchwork of paddy fields towards Bắc Yên.

From here I follow the Cloud Hunters into the Tà Xùa Nature Reserve. Eventually I pop out of the clouds and see what all the Instagrammers have come for. Honestly, it is spectacular. What catches my attention more is that in places they are still building the road. I tentatively follow the locals through the construction site, balanced on the edge of a huge precipice.

It is at some point on the climb that I notice both my speedometer and odometer have stopped working. Since the bike has no fuel gauge, I now have no way of knowing how much fuel I have in the tank.

The problem becomes more pressing the next morning when the engine refuses to start. Mr Huy takes one look and essentially tells me to push it. He and I push the 125 kg bike up the hill before I freewheel down the other side to the town mechanic. At 10:22 the engine first splutters back into life. By 11:13 I am ready to go.

Well, except the speedometer and odometer are still not working.

For the next few days I weave through farming villages and lush mountainous terrain, crossing from valley to valley between Yên Bái Province, Sơn La Province and Lai Châu Province. I buy petrol in 500 ml plastic bottles from roadside shops and fill my head with numbers as I try to guesstimate how far I can go before needing to fill up.

The final reward is Sa Pa, perched dramatically at around 1600 metres on the western edge of a high plateau, facing the hazy blue peak of Mount Fansipan, Vietnam's highest mountain, across the Mường Hoa Valley. The motorbike finally goes back to the garage to fix the odometer, giving me a few hours to think about how great the ride has been.

After a day off hiking in the Sa Pa countryside, I set off for Hà Nội. My little navigation system gets confused by the steep-sided valleys and, like an idiot, I follow it mindlessly up into a village perched high on the mountainside. I retrace my tyre tracks down a 17% gradient and eventually find the right road.

Then I see the first sign to Hà Nội.

I get giddy, but as I turn onto the motorway a woman jumps in front of me and shrieks. A few moments later a guy bumbles over and explains in broken English that motorbikes are now prohibited.

I take a few moments to replan my route.

The news is not good. There was only one thing for it...

Little did I know, Mother Nature had already prepared her response.