Soldiers in Hanoi	War Damage	Hard Labor Unloading Coal

Consistent in the 1,200 miles, covered in fourteen days, were the people and the scenery. Each time I stopped, I was immediately swamped by a group of locals who were extremely curious about every aspect I represented - my size, my color, the hair on my arms, my language, my bright cycling clothes, and my state-of-the-art cycle with its many gears, bar end shifters, break levers, aero-bar, and high-pressure tires. Constantly under examination, even when riding, I found the people easily won over with a direct look and a smile. There was no feeling of distrust, only, at times, uncertainty. And those that could help in any way were immediately willing to do so. They were generally puzzled at our travel plans, and often suggested better means of transportation in order to reach Ho Chi Minh.

It became apparent early on that we would be in the spotlight on this trip. We were accompanied and supported by VietnamTourism, an element of the government focusing on bringing tourism to Vietnam. The finest vehicle in the country was our new tour bus, which served as sag wagon to pick up riders wanting or needing to ride. Two women with VietnamTourism were with us around the clock, working with advance hotel arrangements, meals, and catering to the whims of 55 spoiled Westerners. Others were in attendance, too. Bus drivers (in addition to the luxury tour bus were two Vietnam-standard buses used to transport food, water, luggage, and bikes) and the Blues Brothers, so named because of the old black sedan they drove. The Blues Brothers were never positively identified, but the indications and rumors were that these guys were secret service / police, running interference. This very well could be, as we were never hassled or confronted by the police at any time; the hotels were mysteriously void of the prostitutes we had heard would be in many hotels (one rider had a conversation with one of the local girls who told him they had been warned away from our hotel for the night). The Blues Brothers were cleaning up the road right in front of us. Another bit of evidence, circumstantial as it may be, was the night we couldn't camp at Ba Don and had to travel down the road to accommodations made that day; the girls were there in full force, knocking on doors and walking into rooms. It seems that the last minute re-arrangements didn't give our boys in black the opportunity to sweep the porch.

The second evening after our arrival we were entertained by the Ministry of Tourism at a reception on a floating restaurant, complete with video coverage, welcome speeches, and plenty to eat. On the day we departed Hanoi there was a photographer from AP - I later found out that an article with photo showed up in numerous U.S. newspapers the next day! One of the veterans on our trip was later filmed running the Saigon marathon and was featured the following evening nation-wide on the CBS Evening News. Twice we ran into expatriates living in Vietnam who knew who we were, as they had been following our progress on Voice of America radio.

We were truly famous, at some level. Phil, a rider currently living in Taiwan, accurately referred to our ride as the "1200 Mile Parade Route." It was. Everywhere we went we were mobbed by crowds of curious onlookers. It was incessant and required, later on, serious concentration to maintain a proper ambassadorial attitude. As much as I liked this sort of thing, I reached a point where I had tired of saying hello and of smiling to everyone and of people demanding attention (which included an occasional friendly rock thrown at us).

We really enjoyed Hanoi; it was complete sensory overload to bike among hundreds of other people on bicycles. One had to be careful not to make radical maneuvers while flowing along with all the bicyclists. Intersections were what could only be called 'managed chaos.' I was unable to determine how the Vietnamese manage without frequent collisions. We toured the capital area, got to see "Uncle Ho" in his mausoleum, and saw the house where he lived while ruling North Vietnam. It was a very pleasant little house, so simple and functional - we all wished for a place such as this to go to. The lower floor was completely open, with a bench seat around the perimeter and a table for six where Ho received visitors. Supported on posts above this breezeway were his living quarters, simply an office and a bedroom. All in beautiful dark hardwoods.

Another interesting site was a very old university that taught Confucianism and graduated one person every three years. A Masters Degree carried some weight in those days.

We were also taken to a Water Puppet show, theater borne of the monsoon season when everything is flooded. Vietnamese in origin, the puppet masters were behind a screen, thigh deep in water, operating figures with sticks under the water. Even without the knowledge of the language, the show and accompanying band was interesting, mostly humorous. Twice on the trip we were entertained with live Vietnamese music, and I was very impressed. The unique instruments and talents of the players were unforgettable. The music was upbeat and happy. After a speech by the Minister of Tourism extolling Vietnamese-American reconciliation, we departed Hanoi and quickly got a taste of what the trip was going to be like. Frequent looks of disbelief and friendly waves from every direction.

The country's landscape was fantastic. The northern portion of the journey was generally flat, and the hills were in the distance, leaving us with less to break up the view. But it may have been the most interesting because it was here, at the start of the trip, that we first saw the people, the paddies, the brick kilns, the pig and chicken farms, the vegetable plots, the cemeteries, the oxen and Brahma and carts, kids working and going to school, the women carrying huge loads suspended across their shoulders, the trucks and buses and motorcycles and bicycles; the sites of Highway One.

As we traveled south, the hills began to close in on us, pushing us to the coast and the beaches and serving up the occasional climb. For some reason I hadn't expected the country to be so mountainous. It was here that the northeasterly trade winds became apparent, at first showing up at the top of the inclines, later blowing us down the road like crazy. And with the hills came deep heavy jungle greenery, filled with amazing growth and wonderful bird sounds; such a visual distraction that made cycling up the hills enjoyable.

I rode with Jay most of the time, and there were six or eight of us that liked to leave early (between 6 & 7 a.m.) to beat the midday heat, and ride faster, because we like to ride fast, I guess. Over time Jay and I learned that, even though it was nice to ride with a larger group, it was safest and most efficient to travel as a pair. We drafted each other when the conditions allowed, and had more access to the locals when we stopped - larger groups caused huge crowds and little chance of sitting in someone's front porch for a snack, and a chat, and a drink. In fact, my best run-ins with the Vietnamese were when I was riding like this, ahead of everyone.

Hue, called the Emerald City, is a very beautiful and comfortable city, and the destination of choice for many residing foreigners. The Citadel is here, home of a notable battle in the Vietnam war and of the Forbidden City, where the rulers of old lived and frolicked with their concubines. We all came away with our own theories about why many of these leaders had died so young. It was here that Jay got sick and consequently missed a day of biking. I put him on a boiled potatoes and eggs diet that set him quickly back on track.

The South China Sea was fantastic. In Nha Trang the waves were enormous, and although exhausting and a bit dangerous, provided plenty of swimming entertainment. Later as we rode from Phan Rang, on the coast, to Dalat, Vietnam's honeymoon capital in the hills, we climbed 5,500 feet over 19 kilometers of jungle filled switchbacks. The views were spectacular.

At lunch in Dalat the bus drivers offered me a drink. It was a small glass of amber liquor, and since I had established a good rapport with the group, I trusted their judgment and respectfully accepted. After downing the substance with moderate poise, they pointed to a three gallon glass container full of dead snakes and an amber colored liquid. The worm in the bottle of mescal no longer impresses me.