Cycling as an activity can be filled with emotions. From the first push of the pedal to the last on any given day on the bike there can be any number of emotions that run through me, around me, and over me. Some days it is a cascade of differing feelings while others are peaceful and simple days with a single sensation sweeping across it’s entirety. These are the easiest days, the peaceful ones. They are the ones where a century (a 100 km+ ride) feels so easy and is completed so fast as to imbue this rider with a sense of being superhuman. Superman Days. Leaping tall buildings in a single bound. Taking a firm hold of nature and wresting it from it’s exalted places and wresting it to the ground to be trod under foot. Or rode under wheel, as the case may be. But these days are in the minority. It is the days that offer a wide variety of emotions that are more the norm for me. And such was the day I set out for a two day jaunt from A Luoi destined for Da Nang. The first day would take me from A Luoi to Prau. A 105 kilometer trek along the Ho Chi Minh Trail through the longest and most difficult mountain climbs of my cycling life.

The overriding emotions of the early post dawn morn were those of thankfulness, relief, and joy. Thankful for the cool and overcast morning that was such a comforting contrast to the blistering heat of the previous 5 days. Relief was for the said same reason, and joy was for the ease and speed at which I traveled over the rolling hills of the central plateau. I rapidly wheeled my way through the line of small villages that littered the roadside. Even under flat grey skies the scenery that stood as a backdrop to these clusters of simple buildings was tremendously beautiful. I couldn’t help but be struck by the slow pace and simplicity of life here. The majority of people in rural Vietnam live a subsistence lifestyle, possessing little beyond the essentials that sustain them. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, they seem to have a contentment that escapes so many in western society who have so much more. I have never seen people smile so readily.

The easy and rapid kilometers of the morning ride was not to last, however, and by mid-morning I was riding ever closer to the great long mountain pass that would take up the next few hours of my day.

On the apron of the mountains in the last settlement that I would see until the mountain was well conquered I made a stop to replenish my fuel and then began my assault. I had been looking forward to this part of the trip since it began, because every post that I read by travelers that had come this way suggested that this stretch of alpine riding would be some of the best, if not the best, scenery in all the trip. I will have to take their word for it. I never saw shit.

I was barely on the mountain when heavy rains and fog moved in. Sometimes when the rain eased the fog would become so dense that I could barely see past the edge of the road. The center of the isolated and lonely highway was marked by 2-meter-long white lines that were about 8 meters apart from one another. At times I could not see from one line to the next. When the rains fell heavily they pushed the mists back just far enough that veiled trees lurched into partial view from the sides of the road like gnarled and warped grotesqueries. At the best of times visibility cleared enough to tease me and nothing more.

As I climbed higher and higher into the shrouded highlands the trail became less and less traveled and I was more and more alone. At times I went ages without hearing any sound other than my own breathing. The air was still and silent. Soon I had intense feelings of isolation like I had never felt before. They were soon to be surpassed as out of the mists loomed some sort of man made structure. Due to the denseness of the fog, I was initially unsure what it was. I thought that it was a gas station or a toll booth. But as I moved slowly forward I began to realize what it truly was. It was a tunnel. I had no idea there was a tunnel.

The tunnel was lightless. Staring into it’s pitch black and gaping maw was like looking into the infinite dark of the nothing. In the still and disquieting air there was no sound but the faint exhale from the throat of the tunnel of a breath of wind carrying plumes of the dense fog with it like the last frosty, hollow breath of a dying man. Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Welcome to Creepy-ville.

I had a snack and prepared to penetrate the great dark beyond. I had all the misgivings of Frodo Baggins as he entered the tunnel at the top of the Morgul Pass. I did feel very confident that I wasn’t about to encounter a giant spider that would paralyze me with her stinger and wrap me in a web to tenderize me until I was ready to be a good meal, but I did have nightmarish visions of slamming face first into the business end of a buffalo. I reached into my bags and pulled out my Samsung tablet and phone, both of which are equipped with reading lights. I turned them on and pinched them between fingers over the handle bars and set off through the tunnel with my weak and pitiful light sources barely leading the way.

It turned out that the tunnel wasn’t especially long. Soon I could see the light at it’s end. The dense fog on the other end gave the light a nebulous otherworldly appearance. It was as if the last of the dark of the tunnel was being eaten by the penetrating mists and the amorphous edges made it impossible to tell where the one ended and the other began. I kept expecting to hear a voice tell me to “Come to the light, boy. Come to the light.”  The closer I got to it the stranger and more eerie it looked, as if the world beyond the tunnel had somehow been taken away or eaten, leaving behind only a funeral pall sky. It was without a doubt one of the more peculiar sensations I have ever experienced.

I exited the tunnel and was delighted to discover that the world had not in fact been eaten. A short while later I came to a second tunnel of similar length that filled me with all of the same strange sensations of the first. Almost immediately after exiting this second and, it turned out, final cave, I began a long and twisty descent. The fog was now denser than ever and visibility was next to nothing. It made for an uncertain descent, but I eventually dropped below the mists, got off the mountain, and was back to racing over rolling hills as I charged toward Prau under clearing skies in what was turning into a gorgeous afternoon. And then something completely unexpected and cool happened.

As I made my way through the first small villages that I had seen in some hours, the kids were all getting out of school. There were dozens and dozens of them lining the streets of each successive little town that I passed. I had become accustomed to being barraged by hello’s everywhere that I had gone so far, so I was bracing myself for what would certainly be an onslaught of greetings. But they didn’t say hello. Not a one. Instead, they cheered. They actually cheered! And clapped their hands! It would begin with just a few small voices and would grow into a steady, prolonged group cheer. I was speeding through small gaps that separated the children lining both sides of the road. Some would run as fast as they could in a futile attempt to keep up with me, cheering and clapping all the while, while others would reach out a little hand for a high five that I did my best to deliver. And it happened in town after town after town. I felt like a racer in the Tour de France. It was surreal! And it is without a doubt, one of the single coolest things that I have ever experienced in my life. Thank you Vietnam for yet another memory that I will treasure forever.

The last kilometers from the mountains were pretty straightforward and easy with the exception of a couple of short but extremely steep climbs. I arrived in Prau and sought out the same guesthouse I stayed in when I passed through here 3 years ago. I washed, changed into fresh clothes, and had a fabulous meal of rice, vegetables, beef, and deer. The second to last day of my tour was complete. There was only 85 kilometers to go to Da Nang. With the sun setting on a challenging but great day of cycling I began to feel a little retrospective, but I felt it wasn’t the right time for that yet. That would come tomorrow.

And sure enough, almost from the moment I first touched the pedals in the morning of that last day I was heavily retrospective and filled with a vast array of emotions. The riding was largely free and easy with the worst of the climbs being only moderate in both length and difficulty. I wheeled up and down rolling hills on small narrow roads in tight farming valleys lined almost every step of the way with small villages composed largely of ramshackle buildings of rudimentary construction. The children must have been in school because the roadsides were almost morbidly quiet compared to the raucous cheering of yesterday afternoon. And with little to distract me, I thought. And I thought about a great many different things.

I thought a great deal about how privileged I felt to have had the great opportunity to ride a 600 kilometer journey through this beautiful country. And I thought of all the beautiful and friendly people I had been blessed to meet along the way. I also spent considerable time wondering if it would be feasible to move here and if so when? Questions that as of yet remain largely unanswered.

But mostly, I just thought about riding and how much I love seeing the world in this way. I thought about how I feel like I am a much better and more dynamic person when I am riding the highways of the world, and how sadness and depression are emotions that never seem to travel with me, as if the act of riding itself were a tonic of light into which no dark can penetrate. Riding is that which casts off shadows of woe and self doubt. It is the breaker of chains, chains that I sometimes feel are clasped tight to my wrists and ankles and threaten to hold me tight to a world and lifestyle in which I may be horribly ill equipped to find any lasting contentment.  And there it is. The greatest thing I feel, my truest and purest emotion. Contentment. It is that simple yet so often elusive quality that I find so easily when I ride. All of life is filled with a vast array of emotions and feelings, and cycling is no different. But it is when I ride that I feel the better ones more readily, as if I own them instead of merely borrowing.

Thanks for riding along. Until next time.

The ride from Da Nang to Khe Sanh had been an incredibly satisfying journey, but the most anticipated part of my tour was still to come: The Ho Chi Minh Trail. My plan for the Trail would cover three days and carry me more than 240 kilometers before turning off onto a different highway for the final 85 kilometers back to Da Nang. Not quite the 2000 kilometers that I would like, but we take what we can get, don’t we?

The first day out of Khe Sanh was a 95 kilometer trek to A Rong Tren, a small crossroads town in the mountains a few kilometers from the Laos border. The sky was cloudless and temperatures were pushing well into the 20’s by breakfast time so I knew that, like yesterday, it was going to be a hot day. Hot sunny days are the most challenging days because they tend to drain your energy. Proper hydration and regular rest stops are key to conserving energy, but no matter what you do, 30+ degree days under the glaring sun are going to suck a lot of life out of you. This difficulty was compounded by the residue of an unexpectedly long and alcohol filled evening the previous night in Khe Sanh wherein myself and others were kidnapped and dragged smiling into a street side karaoke party by some horribly friendly Vietnamese people celebrating the Tet holiday and forced by the twisting of our rubber arms to drink large quantities of beer! Anyway, the results of that long and wonderful night were going to make for an even more difficult day. But as the folks I worked with on pipeline in Alberta used to say, don’t stay out late with the boys if you can’t get up with the men. Onward I trudge!

After a quick stop at the morning market for supplies I hit the road. The first 8 kilometers were the same 8 kilometers that I climbed at the end of the previous day and were straight down hill. This easy cruise provided a more relaxing opportunity to soak in the scenery of deep river valleys coursing around the tall jungle coated mountains than the strenuous ride up the hill the previous day had provided. At the 8 k mark I took a sharp right turn and came to a bridge. I was on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. I stopped for a moment to check my gear and equipment and take a moment to reflect and then struck out south bound along the Trail. It struck me as odd, but after that hundred meters or so of bridge, it felt like I had arrived in a different world, and in some ways I had. Life here was a quieter life, a simpler life. The further down the road I got the less heavy vehicles passed and the slower and easier the pace of life seemed to become. There were times when I went long stretches without hearing any motorized vehicle at all, not even a scooter or small motorbike. It was so peaceful that often the only sounds I could hear were my bike, my breath, and the wind in my ears. The lush green canopy of the jungle shimmered in the tropical sun. It was so dense that it looked impossible for water to penetrate it. At times, the song of countless cicadas was the only sound I heard as it washed over the jungle from left to right and back again, volume rising in the middle and falling off to a whisper at either end of the production, like a gentle wave whooshing up a sandy beach and falling away again, pulling whispering sand in it’s wake.

I arrived in A Rong Tren late in the afternoon after a beautiful 92 kilometer ride up and down the rolling hills of central Vietnam. I checked into the one motel in town with it’s windowless rooms, washed and found some delicious dinner. I was the only one at the restaurant and when I inquired if they were serving dinner the young man took me into the kitchen at the back where I chose my food right off the stove as his mother plated it for me. The food was delicious and I savored every bite as I watched the sun set below the high mountains to the west marking the border with Laos. After dinner I topped up my supplies, did a little reading, and went to bed early. It was a great ride but I was worn out from the hot temperatures. The next day was promising to hotter again.

I got an early start the next day and before long I was zipping down the highway fully refreshed by some great food and a great night’s sleep. As I worked my way down the Trail I made a few stops here and there to say hello to some friendly mountain people and take a few photos. One young village girl that I met spoke some basic English and got so excited by speaking that she would jump up and down, squeal, clap her hands, and spin in circles. She was such a joy. It was easy to tell that she was taking great pride in being able to conduct a basic conversation with me as others from the village looked on. The people seemed quite happy to have me there in their midst except the English speaking girls’ younger sister who stared at me intently with two of the most intensely beautiful eyes I have ever seen the entire time I was there. She never as much as cracked a smile. Like the others, she did wave goodbye as I left that little village with precious memories that will last me a lifetime. Or at least until senility steals them.        And then came a big hill.   Well, mountain, actually.

The temperature was already pushing into the high 20’s on it’s way to a high of 38 and it wasn’t long before I was drenched in sweat as I pushed up the mountain. For much of the climb fortune shone upon me as the mountain cast it’s shadow over me, helping me to conserve some energy and making the hot and difficult climb somewhat less onerous. As I neared the top, however, the shade dropped by the way side and I was soon baking in the most intense heat I had felt since the last time I stuck my head too far into the oven to check on a roast. I couldn’t believe it was possible to sweat so much! I carried 6 litres of water in my pack that morning as I left A Rong Tren, but if I had put water into me nearly as fast as it was coming out I would have exhausted my supply in no time. I wasn’t sweating. I was leaking! I think my fingernails were sweating! As my dear departed grandmother and grandfather Ryan would say, it was as hot as the hobs of hell.

About the same time I thought I must be running out of sweat to donate to the searing hot pavement, I reached the acme of the sweltering beast of a mountain. The next 12 to 15 kilometers of the trail were swift and twisty as I barreled down the mountain and onto the flat plain that would bring me to A Luoi. The high speeds of the descent coupled with a minimum of humidity had me pretty well dried off by the time I reached the bottom of the mountain, but it didn’t take long for the cruel late morning sun to bathe me in sweat again. The temperature was a wicked 38 as I pulled into town about noon time. I had only traveled 40 kilometers for the day but the next room was in Prau, 105 kilometers away. There was no way I was attempting to make it to Prau through the most difficult and mountainous part of my journey in this heat. So, I soon found a beautiful hotel for the night with a massive room that cost me $10. My room had a doorway to a semi private balcony. I immediately imagined an afternoon of lounging on the chairs there and reading my book under the comfortable shade in the cooling breeze. And that is exactly what I did… for about 20 minutes. And then I fell asleep for over 2 hours. After shaking the cobwebs, I went and had a look around town and soon bumped into a couple of high school students who turned the rest of my afternoon into an impromptu photo shoot. I took a few photos of them but I have no idea how many they took of me and with me. I can tell you it was a hell of a lot but it would be difficult to be more precise. We drank some tea and chatted for a while as they excitedly took advantage of the opportunity to practice the little English they had learned in school.

After tea we said our goodbye’s and I went in search of dinner, supplies, and a cold drink to enjoy while reading on the balcony before bed. Today was a short day kilometer wise, but plenty long enough given the heat. The forecast for the next day was once again sunny. I remember thinking that it wouldn’t break my heart if tomorrow were overcast. In the morning I was soon reminded to be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.