Not Enough Dong in Vietnam - A 9 Day Motorbike Tour of Northern Vietnam - Part 1

Before the trip even started, Kalen, Julie, and I were already fighting for respect. We were asked twice whether the women would be riding two-up with the men. The first time, I thought it was a joke, so I replied, we don't ride bitch, just trying to be funny. Spoiler, it wasn't a joke. This prompted a full negotiation just to confirm that yes, we can in fact ride and rip motorcycles. The next day, we showed up to five Honda 300s that had clearly lived full and adventurous lives. It was raining, so we slabbed pavement for a few hours. We then sweet-talked our guide into taking us off-road, where slick, wild clay put our skills to the test in the most exhilarating way possible. We then rolled into our first homestay completely vindicated and just in time for happy hour. Vietnam had begun. What do you got there? I don't know. How is it? Let's see. I think it's probably king cobra juice. I don't know. It's delicious. Wow, it's delicious. Yeah, Pat. You okay? Easy peasy. I took your line. Yeah. Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh. You all right? I'm hungry. Slippery. Oh, the breakers broke? The rear wheels. Oh, no. Oops, sorry. Mother Nature had opinions about our morning plans. Specifically, she felt that we needed a power wash after yesterday's mud. Our guide looked at the sky, looked at us, looked back at the sky, and said, yeah, we're staying on pavement. So we saddled up, pointed our bikes down the road, and embraced the wet tarmac life. Gear on, green and palumpas, ponchos in hand, and dignity mostly intact. But then lunch happened, and with it, a miracle. The clouds parted, the dirt called our names, and suddenly we were riding through tea plantation, trying to avoid the local workers. Then, just when we thought the day was done, a ferry, an actual ferry boat to cross the Da River, because apparently Vietnam wasn't done being cinematic. One last slab of pavement into town, and just like that, day two was in the books. Our green poncho's on, because it's pouring down rain. It looks like a bunch of leprechaun limpa-limpas. It's pretty funny. You got to ride on the side, like in it. Definitely slippy. Go around? Really? After a night in a hotel that was so humble, and made a cardboard box look aspirational, we wasted absolutely no time and launched straight onto the trail from the parking lot, like we were fleeing the place, because we were. The rice fields were our warm-up act, easing us gently into what would become one of the best riding days of the trip. As we climbed into the mountains, the trails delivered, and so did the locals. We exchanged pleasantries with the resident wildlife, a cast of free-range chickens, bewildered water buffalo, friendly cows, and terrified horses, as well as villagers who greeted us with friendly and excited hellos. A couple of the bikes, bless their hearts, started showing a few signs of personality. The kind of quirks you laugh off in the moment, and absolutely do not think about again. Spoiler, we thought about them again. But none of that mattered when we rolled into our homestay, perched high on a mountain ridge, as the sun dipped low. The view is the kind that makes you forget about dodgy hotels, sketchy bikes, and every questionable decision that led you there. Worth every bit. Traffic jam. Too big trucks.