As I am loading up my bike this morning, I discover a flat tire on the back wheel. Partly padding myself on the back for having bike trouble only now, I flip the bike over and start to replace the punctured tube with a spare. Chris walks up and tells me that he is going to take the bus to Saigon.
This is the last riding day of my trip. I have to ride to Saigon. I know there is not going to be any scenery to speak of, but at this point, the ride is about finishing the trip. I make plans to meet up with Chris in Saigon in the afternoon and, for the last time, get on my bike and ride into the distance.
This section of Highway 1 is like the vena cava that returns blood to the heart of southern Vietnam – Saigon. The relatively thin traffic going out of Gia Ray is gradually joined by more and more pouring in from small veins draining the Mekong Delta. By the time I get to Bien Hoa, a satellite city thirty kilometers outside of Saigon, the flow is somewhat hampered by bumper-to-bumper clots built up here and there. Motorbike traffic spills onto the shoulder lane and swallows me up.
While the heavy traffic makes the ride into Saigon a challenge, it is by no means the death-defying circus act that some people have made it out to be. Sure, going around traffic circles is always an exercise in balance, reflex, peripheral vision, coordination, and assertion. But amidst the madness, there IS a pattern. From a month of riding in Vietnam, I have learned the dance. My tentative and clumsy steps in Hanoi has transformed into confident strides, carving out arcs while I take part in the choreography.
After riding in the traffic for a while, I stop to ask for directions and suddenly realize that I have just reached the middle of Saigon, Quan 1. Getting my bearings, I head to the train station and get myself a hard sleeper ticket for tonight to get back to Hanoi. I find Chris at his hotel and we sit down for dinner. Afterwards, we take a walk to transfer ownership of my bike.
My bike is old. I don’t know how old, but old. I picked it up at a used bike shop in Brisbane last year and rode it around Brisbane for almost two years before taking it to Vietnam. It is not worth the hassle to take it back to Australia. So while in Hoi An, I mentioned to my tailor Lan my plan to leave my bike in Vietnam. Without seeing the bike, Lan proposed to exchange my bike for two pairs of tailor-made pants. I was to deliver the bike to her friend in Saigon at the end of my trip.
Chris and I find Lan’s friend and drop off the bike with a little note to Lan. In the note, I ask Lan to enjoy and take care of the bike. Leaving the bike is almost like saying good bye to an old friend. My humble but reliable bike has served me well. It has propelled me through blistering heat and drenching rain, up mountain passes and through bumpy country roads, all without any complaints. I have never attached any sentimental values to any of my material possessions, but this bike may have to be the exception.
With that taken care of, Chris and I sit down and share a jug of Bia Hoi to celebrate the completion of a trip. At ten o’clock, we part ways and I head to the train station for the 2300h train to Hanoi.
Stats:
Distance: 105.3 km
Time: 4h 45m
Average speed: 22.1 kmph
Maximum speed: 50.0 kmph
Odometer: 1695.4 km
Showing posts with label traffic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label traffic. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Navigation in Hanoi Traffic
Just keep walking slowly and deliberately, I remind myself as I stand in front of a five-way intersection. Target: Hoan Kiem Lake at the other side of the intersection. Obstacles: a sea of moving buses, cars, motorbikes, and bicycles. Goal: get across the street and stay alive.
Waiting for the light to change is out - there's no traffic light. Instead, I would just have to step into traffic like everyone else. I take a deep breath, get a lungful of exhaust, cough, and step off the curb. Walking at a steady pace, I watch as all the traffic goes around me: cars, motorbikes, and bicycles all gauge my walking speed and either swerve left or right. Everyone is honking their horns, not at pedestrians, but to annouce their presence or their intention to overtake. I am immersed in a cacophonous mix of airhorn noise of every type: the terse high note beep, the drawn out bass punch, the cheerful musical ditty, the polyphonic echo toot, there are too many to count. Before long, I am at the other side of the street without even a scratch. Yes! The skills I developed previously in all the Asian cities are starting to come back. And this is the art of crossing the street in Asia.
While a steady pace can generally keep me safe as a pedestrian, it's a different story as soon as I get on a bike. When my two legs are replaced by two wheels, I have just joined the rest of the rolling traffic. I now have to dodge pedestrians and negotiate with all the motorbikes, cars, and buses for space and priorities. From riding around Hanoi these last two days, I've developed a heightened sense of hearing and peripheral vision. At an intersection, I'd have to look straight ahead for any oncoming turning traffic and motorbikes coming down the wrong way, but at the same time use my peripheral vision to scan for any buses or cars coming from either side, on top of that, always watch out for pedestrians and listen for honking horns. A little swerve here, a bit of braking there, turn a wheel a few degrees to keep balance, step on the pedals when all parties have selected their paths, and the intersection is safely crossed. On I go until the next intersection, then it starts again.
Such is the rhythm of life in Hanoi. The traffic flow is best described as controlled chaos. It's a dance, an impromtu choreography. Every Hanoian participates in this dance on a daily basis. Everyone is aware of his surroundings and constantly plans his next step. No one insists on his right of way. As a result, very few collisions happen and everyone gets home safe.
Waiting for the light to change is out - there's no traffic light. Instead, I would just have to step into traffic like everyone else. I take a deep breath, get a lungful of exhaust, cough, and step off the curb. Walking at a steady pace, I watch as all the traffic goes around me: cars, motorbikes, and bicycles all gauge my walking speed and either swerve left or right. Everyone is honking their horns, not at pedestrians, but to annouce their presence or their intention to overtake. I am immersed in a cacophonous mix of airhorn noise of every type: the terse high note beep, the drawn out bass punch, the cheerful musical ditty, the polyphonic echo toot, there are too many to count. Before long, I am at the other side of the street without even a scratch. Yes! The skills I developed previously in all the Asian cities are starting to come back. And this is the art of crossing the street in Asia.
While a steady pace can generally keep me safe as a pedestrian, it's a different story as soon as I get on a bike. When my two legs are replaced by two wheels, I have just joined the rest of the rolling traffic. I now have to dodge pedestrians and negotiate with all the motorbikes, cars, and buses for space and priorities. From riding around Hanoi these last two days, I've developed a heightened sense of hearing and peripheral vision. At an intersection, I'd have to look straight ahead for any oncoming turning traffic and motorbikes coming down the wrong way, but at the same time use my peripheral vision to scan for any buses or cars coming from either side, on top of that, always watch out for pedestrians and listen for honking horns. A little swerve here, a bit of braking there, turn a wheel a few degrees to keep balance, step on the pedals when all parties have selected their paths, and the intersection is safely crossed. On I go until the next intersection, then it starts again.
Such is the rhythm of life in Hanoi. The traffic flow is best described as controlled chaos. It's a dance, an impromtu choreography. Every Hanoian participates in this dance on a daily basis. Everyone is aware of his surroundings and constantly plans his next step. No one insists on his right of way. As a result, very few collisions happen and everyone gets home safe.
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