25th August

After the deliriousness of the previous day I decided that more practice on the bike wouldn't go amiss. This turned out to be a fantastic idea. We needed a few provisions for our big ride north, and compiled a list - tools, spare parts, and most importantly some maps.

We headed off down the always busy streets in search of some local markets that would sell us the tools we needed, just so happened to leave right in the middle of morning rush hour. You can tell not by the amount of traffic, but by what the various drivers are wearing. I saw a few suits, a few ladies in smart skirts (they ride sidesaddle!), but mostly just short sleeved blue cotton shirts, or some brownish-green military looking uniform. I felt rather conspicuous and slowed down for these...

We must have ridden across almost the entire city looking for parts, and by lunchtime our list was still mostly unchecked. We bought bike-locks (try explaining that without a picture), but due to some fairly insurmountable language issues, that was about it. Hungry, and now with a mode of transportation, we decided to head for the legendary "Pho 2000" cafe. We consulted a guide book, pointed ourselves down the correct labyrinth of side streets, and hummed forward. A left, right, left, U-turn (one way systems, who knew...), left and left again and we opened out from the thin, leafy, enclosed streets into a vast tarmacked platform of typically un-Vietnamese proportions. This is where all the traffic in the city must originate from. It was as if every vehicle in the universe was trying to jam itself around the biggest roundabout system I've ever seen, the only semblance of order being that everyone was obeying the clockwise rule. The method of choice for navigating your way around seems to be to bunny hop forwards, honk constantly, and swivel the handlebars excessively to keep yourself from falling over. I don't think my eyes have even been so permanently open in a state of "must-not-blink-or-I'll-crash" fear.

But it works! I didn't crash, or fall over, or even have to burn my leg on the exhaust pipe the entire trip around the roundabout. And the reward for surviving was a meal. We stopped at the nearest bike-park, where (we hoped) a wizened old man with a fistful of dong offered to watch our bikes for the low low price of 4,000d. With no real options, we accepted, and after some quizzical looks and a shrug or two, handed over the keys as well.

All thoughts that I might never see the bike again were quashed instantly when we swung through the doors of Pho 2000. Pictures of Bill Clinton posing with staff (some of whom were still there) on every wall provided some odd comfort, and a diet coke to wash down the slivers of beef with absolutely hit the spot.

We had no problems reclaiming the bikes, but as soon as we got back on the road... it started to rain.

Oh crap.

This is not ordinary rain. It's monsoon rain. I knew there would be monsoons before I set off (obviously.... er?), but it still comes as, well, a shock. Just beforehand, the air temperature drops rapidly, which feels like a wonderful relief from the incessant heat until you realise what's happening. Then the first drops start to fall. Smatterings at first, but no lulls anywhere, and the water is quite fine, like a mist. Then the drops start to fall, heavily, and within a few minutes it is as if someone is consistently pouring a bucket of water over your head, although in compensation it is at least tepidly lukewarm. With our t-shirts and shorts soaked through we had to stop riding, and parked on a side street while we waited for the rain to pass. How long would that take? Another quick conversation later and we discovered that seasonal tropical monsoon rain duration and consistency was a topic that neither of us was too well versed on, so armed with nothing more than a soggy money belt, we sloshed off in search of a bike-poncho that every single Vietnamese rider had somehow acquired, unzipped and was wearing with grim determination as they went about their daily routine.

We parted with 100,000d (each! captive market...) for the luxury of our new ponchos - blue... and lighter blue! - but by this stage it was fairly pointless wearing them as I physically could not possibly be any wetter. After about half an hour, the worst of the rain subsided and we thought it best to head back to the hotel. The route we had planned back to the hotel was etched into a piece of paper in Tris' pocket. Or, at least, used to be. It was now a piece of uniformly coloured mulch, ink running down the folds and rendering it completely useless. So, we decided to guess instead.

What a great plan... The worst of the rain had not subsided. We were humming down one of the main streets in about 3 inches of water, which splashed and sloshed everywhere as various modes of transportation forced their way through it. At least when a car screamed past you you were splashed with warm water though! The streets were crowded - it seems a little rain is not enough to deter the hardy citizens from their appointed tasks - and the traffic was as busy as ever. The rain still kept falling, and by now I was getting a little worried. The hotel was miles (sorry, kilometres) away, and the roads were now, officially, flooded. But still it rained. The water got 6 inches deep, 9 inches, a foot deep and my feet on the pedals began to trail in the water. It kept raining and the water kept rising, and as I passed various poncho'd bike riders by the side of the road, the water level rose above my exhaust pipe and I realised I had no idea where the air intake was? Was I going to flood the engine? What does that actually mean? How the hell do you fix that?

The water rose to about a foot and a half deep, but instead of giving up and coughing itself to death my plucky little machine screamed on. A woman on a bike loaded up with bags upon bags of goods started wobbling, stalled, and then crashed, and all her possessions started floating away carried by the torrent of flowing water and churning wheels. Second gear, full revs, a willful determination and approximately 20 minutes later and we must have climbed a hill, the water level subsided and I started to relax.

This is the way to see Saigon!

Later, we took a detour round the back streets behind the back streets of District 1 and found the most poverty stricken chop-shop imaginable. A team of malnourished, but brilliant, mechanics spent a good few hours scouring the bikes, looking over them and replacing parts, including a new wheel for Tris' bike, though we only asked for spares (no point trying to argue, as he'd already removed the back wheel, brake mechanism, and chain shaft!). An oil change, quick check, and new wing mirrors (important!) later, we headed home, ready for anything.

A quick trip to the (recommended) map shop was, however, rather disappointing. Ordinance Survey have some work to do over here... However, a hardback atlas must be good enough for the Vietnamese, so it's good enough for us.

We are now ready for the ride north.

Almost...