Prao to Dong Ha: by car, bus and train

The last episode ended with a wistful piano track, me, head in hands, stranded with a broken chain in the small mountain top town of Prao.

(Great TV!)

At this stage a few things were clear:

1. The Ho Chi Minh Road was only going to get hillier and more remote. I needed to rely on the bike.

2. Chains don’t just snap. Something else was wrong – maybe my cassette (or even my chain rings) were damaged – I decided to replace them both

3. This might not be all that simple

Things started off pretty well – I negotiated a lift down to the port city of Da Nang, home to over a million people (surely some of them cyclists).

When I arrived though, (shaken after some wild driving), I hit a few dead ends. The main bike shops couldn’t help and in the end my best (and last) hope was a Google listing for a place with no sign, not much stock and nobody around.

The owner, it turned out, could be summoned through his dad, a veteran once stationed with the Australian Air Force, now running a laid back coffee operation next door.

Eventually his son, Dat, rolled up on a classic Honda Dream (very Vietnam 🙂 )

Despite appearances, Dat’s shop seemed the place to go for serious cyclists in Da Nang. Serious cyclists though favour dainty lightweight equipment and snazzy overpriced jerseys. He didn’t have the gear ratios that I wanted or the heavy duty parts (he hardly had any parts, if I’m honest).

Still, he went above and beyond to help.

Over a stressful couple of hours, he called contacts, scoured the web, opened dusty drawers and mysterious packets, disappeared across town (returning with dodgy half-used Chinese parts), and IM’d people on Facebook and What’s App, (sometimes on multiple phones), all whilst I sat outside sipping nervous cups of his dad’s strong coffee.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two of us were sealing some kind of huge property deal or undercover drugs bust.

More than once he came out wiping his brow and shaking his head to say: “It’s just not possible, there’s nothing more I can do” (*the parts I wanted were all pretty run of the mill)

Eventually he found something that would suffice, I gave him a deposit and he made the final call.

“Your things will be here in two days”, he said, “…But, I don’t have a mechanic”

My eyes narrowed.

“…But I know a guy…”, he ventured, “a good guy, he can probably help…”

Wonderful. I guess.

I packed myself off to nearby Hoi An whilst I waited, a highly atmospheric and well preserved port town just down the coast. Its crumbly yellow walls, car-free streets (lit by lanterns), stunning colonial architecture and riverside setting are all a pretty big draw.

It’s also famous for its tailors.

If you can dodge the tailors, and if you can dodge the weird faux market vendors that try and and get you to pose with their fruit and conical hats ($1 a go), then you might have some strength left to keep smiling when the convoy of tour buses arrives at midday.

Sorry – I liked it really! – I just couldn’t quite relax there, waiting for the bike was like waiting for someone to come out of theatre.

I enjoyed the historic houses at least, and spent maybe half an hour interrogating some poor teenage attendant about the ins and outs of family shrines. History was a bit of a side note in this historic town, nobody came to her rescue.

Eventually I got message from Dat. The gear was here and it was time to meet the mechanic.

Back in Da Nang, I followed his Honda Dream down a series of tiny alleys, to meet the big man.

His bristly, prickly, no-nonsense demeanour boded very well. He liked to shout a lot and even Dat seemed a bit scared of him.

“He speaks very hot”, he apologised when we left, “but he is a good man”. I didn’t care. The grumpier the mechanic, I reasoned, the better the job.

I returned the next day at the appointed time to find the ‘good man’ sat in a chair with his feet up, watching a soap opera and smoking a cigarette. “Come back tomorrow”, he scowled, barely looking at me, “5:00pm”.

The next day, (after perhaps five days in all), it was done and I was finally ready to go.

The bike looked in great shape and maybe these few days had been a repair for me too. I appreciated the independence of the bike more after the sanitised charms of Hoi An and was ready for another big slice of the Ho Chi Minh Road.