Not knowing anything about motorcycles, we decide to purchase our bikes off two backpackers who've just done a similar trip ( the reverse route). My guy is a twenty year old dutch guy who looks about twelve. Under normal circumstances he'd look way underage driving around on a motorbike, but in a country where kids start driving at 10, he looks like a seasoned veteran. I inspect the bike thoroughly for a few minutes (or pretend to anyway), attempting to convince him that I'm a mechanic in Australia and to push the price down. "Ohhh that chain looks a bit loose...the ignition sounds a bit dodgy, that's a big job to replace...you're going to need new spark plugs", at which point he looks at me with a confused look and squeaks with his unbroken voice, "That's the fuel cable man". Unsure of what to say I just nod my head and mutter, "Yeh of course it's the reverse in Australia". I hand over the agreed $230 (down from his original request of $300...win!) and wait for him to turn the corner.
I look down at my new toy, a black and red paint job with an immaculately polished motor and can't help but laugh at the predicament I've just landed myself in. I've bought a manual motorbike that I don't know how to drive and I'm in a city of 2.5 million motorbikes. Plus, pretty sure travel insurance doesn't cover unlicensed motorbike accidents.
I sort of feel like a kid from the "Make A Wish Foundation", my last wish being to ride a motorbike. We're both sick a lot of the time, feel like we could die at any minute and dream of better days. The big difference being they've actually got a deadly illness and I've just got a hangover. Plus, they'd probably feel pretty cheated if they're last wish was to sit on a rusty, oil leaking, flat battery, unreliable $230 motorbike (I found this out a few days later).
Stuck in a daydream about the potential repercussions of this impulse buy, I don't even notice the truck, speeding towards me blasting its horn. It's began. The chaos of Vietnamese roads has been unleashed, and I haven't even started the bike yet.
Picturing myself as a tough biker with a blonde bimbo on the back of my bike, I launch the key into the ignition and try to recall the five minute lesson the Dutch guy had just given me. "Let the clutch out slowly and accelerate slowly". I give it a shot. Stalled. Ok, how about letting the clutch out slowly and accelerating quickly? Deafening revving of the engine and a potentially blown engine, then stalled. Alright that didn't work. Let's try letting the clutch out slowly and accelerating quickly. Stalled. I try another three times before I concede defeat in front of a crowd of 30 backpackers. I'm definitely not getting any tonight. With no other way to move the bike I hop onto the bike and begin pushing it down the street like a kid testing out his push scooter on Christmas day at a speed of around 1kmph (and that's being generous). Only 99 kmph slower than I thought I'd be going at that point. The image of the tough biker disappears and reality kicks in. And then a spark of positivity takes light. I'm 50 metres closer to my destination of southern Vietnam. Yes! Then I look at the map and realise I've went in the wrong direction and am 50 metres further away from my endpoint. This isn't a good day.
Being too economically sensitive to pay for parking, we opt to park the bikes on the side of the footpath. This is where the Karma begins. Little did I know, that in a few days my balls would be writhing from it's kick.
A young mentally disabled guy runs out of the shop waving his arms, and muttering some unintelligible bunch of words. You think Vietnamese is difficult to understand normally, try understanding a guy with one cross eye whose dribbling all over your shoes and spraying torrential spit in your face. Piece of spring roll (they don't have cake in Vietnam). The mentally disabled man looks at us with a lopsided grin and holds four fingers up. Like a good game of charades we attempt to interpret his message. Does he have four children? Unlikely. Is he four years old. Definitely not. Is it 4 o'clock? No it's 6pm. Dylan and myself, despite having played charades with Asians for the past three months are totally stumped thanks to this new added element of difficulty.
I'm telling you right now, don't try play charades with a mentally disabled Vietnamese person. It won't go past round 1.
On the brink of conceding defeat for the second time in ten minutes, the man tries another hand action in a last ditch attempt to salvage the game. Rubbing his fingers together, we realise he's trying to do the international sign for money. "I think he wants money for the parking", Dylan groans. We look at each other and see we are both thinking the same thing. Are we about to try rip off a mentally disabled person? The moral, ethical, and humanitarian reasons to give him money start pouring through my head. But the tightass leprechaun on my shoulder wins the battle. "We'll pay you in three days when we come back from our boat cruise", knowing perfectly well that he hadn't understood a word.
3 days later...
High on life after a majestic three day boat cruise through Halong Bay, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, we decide to wake up at 3am the following morning to start the epic motorbike trip. With a fraction of the 2.5 million motorbikes on the road and no-one watching, we agree it'd be the perfect time to get some practice in before hitting the stress of peak hour traffic. The mentally disabled man (with his lopsided grin), and our promise to him is the last thing on our mind.
3am...
We wake up, groggy from lack of sleep and work our way through the returning drunks to our beloved bikes. In the distance we see out sexy beasts ready to be straddled. As we approach, I suddenly remember our promise to the mentally retarded man and feel bad that we won't be able to pay for the parking. In fact I feel ashamed. We've just ripped off a retard. Two seconds pass of guilt pass and and the tight-ass leprechaun on my shoulder takes over. "Yehhhhh budddddy, we're going to save $2 each", I shout to Dylan, excited about the prospect of putting another point on the tourist scoreboard. "Alright let's get out of here", Dylan hits back.
We hop on our bikes, testosterone and red bull pumping through our bodies and put the key in the ignition to start up the bike. Nothing. We try the ignition button again. Nothing. "I knew we were going to be bad at riding these things but not this bad", I joke to Dylan. Hopping off the bikes, I quickly check the various cables, looking for nothing in particular but doing so anyway just because that's what they do in the movies. I see a cable blowing around in the smelly Hanoi wind, and notice it's been cut in half. "Arghhhh", I shout. My eyes continue gliding over the bike realising that if one part of the bike has been sabotaged there will be something else. The back tyre comes into view, and its' deflation is immediately evident. "That retard has slashed our tyres", I scream to Dylan. "Which one?", Dylan replies with confusion. "The retarded retard", I answer back with frustration.
We look at each other and let out a small laugh. We've underestimated the mentally disabled man and Karma has knocked the tight-ass leprechaun off my shoulder right onto his ass. Although not intentionally trying to be dishonest, we've been served a valuable in lesson to treat your fellow man with respect, even under strange circumstances. This was a lesson that two bratpackers needed.
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