A great
English philosopher once said ‘Life is about discovering our passion, only then
can we find a way to make that passion profitable’ A great guide to pursuing
happiness but everything is up to interpretation. What I did manage to do
however was combine my passion for travel with a passion (borderline obsession)
of motorcycles and spend money doing it. But hey, another great inspiration Chris
Guillebeau who just finished visiting every country in the world by his 35th
birthday also says ‘If you have air miles, or money, or the most valuable asset
of all -- time -- put it to good use. Spend it!’ and that’s exactly what happened.
Motorcycling around Vietnam / the world has been a dream of mine ever since I
bought my first motorcycle at sixteen years old. It may not be the most
challenging or heroic adventure I’ve ever done but it was definitely one of the
coolest things I’ve ever accomplished. Never the less it was a dream of mine that
started out like any other, a crazy idea that grew into something possible. 3
months, 3 accidents, 3500 kilometres later, here I am writing about a journey
once only dreamt, now accomplished. 
Before beginning
to explain the adventures and obstacles overcome in the past few months there
are a few things readers need to know about Vietnam and especially motorcycles
in Vietnam. First of all there are no rules or laws. Red lights are decoration
only. Yellow lines are for seeing how many times you can cross them. Driving on
the designated side of the road is for the suckers getting home later than you.
Driving is a massive game of mechanical frogger. The only rule being the bigger
car wins. Bicycles yield to motorbikes, motorbikes yield to cars, cars yield to
trucks, and for the love of god everything yields to the kamikaze bus drivers. Incredibly
though it all seems to work, the tangle of cars, bikes, motorbikes, donkey
driven karts, buses, trucks, and trains weave into a massive brawl of
methodical madness. It defies all logic and physics but it simply works. As if
driving isn’t dangerous enough on its own, despite the 100,000 motorcycle
deaths annually, my driver’s license is void in Vietnam. It’s illegal for me to
drive a motorcycle because I don’t hold a Vietnamese license ‘which are nearly
impossible to acquire’. Not only can I be arrested, thrown in jail, and have my
motorbike confiscated, doing something illegal also means that in the case of
an accident my health insurance is void. So I’m in a third world country,
participating in the most dangerous and fatal means of transportation, doing it
illegally, and doing it with no insurance. If I were to hit my head the
bandages will only wrap my head as far as my wallet will allow. Where do we
draw the line between crazy and stupidity? In Vietnam, is the reward worth the
risk?
Meeting
my brother was huge incentive to get over to Vietnam and despite the fact we
fight like cats and dogs and generally despise each others presence, I love
that guy to death. It’s always a great feeling reuniting with a family member
and my dear brother sacrifices a month of his life and responsibilities once a
year to meet me in some exotic country to tear up the turf on dirt bikes. Privileged
lifestyle I admit but I spend enough time living in the jungle, sleeping in the
dirt, and starving myself to death so I can treat myself once in a while to
something luxurious. Being both more than experienced capable motorcyclists
mixed with older brother competition, this meant many more self-inflicted near
death instances occurred than required. Despite the dangers and consequences if
a bad accident did happen, we still drove our little motorbikes at top speed
around mountain top roads as if it was the Vietnam Moto GP Championship
tempting fate around every corner and spitting in the face of danger while the
cocky invincible young man exposed himself. As the saying goes, if you play
with fire, you will get burnt and burnt I got.
At first sight in the mayhem of
Vietnam’s capital city Hanoi, it seems impossible not to get in an accident. In
fact, it seems impossible to even cross the street as motorbikes wiz from left
and right, some of them blaring their horn at you to move while they bust it
down the sidewalk to avoid a slow labor driven rubbish kart being handled by an
old crippled woman. Nobody stops to help, nobody slows down to make her life
easier, the horn is held on until the opposite side of the red light is
reached. This certainly isn’t Kansas anymore and if I want to survive I must
adapt. Close your eyes and step into the street. It takes the same amount of
confidence to step off a bridge while bungee jumping. You’re going to be
alright, in theory, but everything our lives have taught us up to this moment
tell us not to do it. Close your eyes and walk as the horns blare loudly into
both side of your face, flashes of light illuminate the dull pink of the
backside of the eyelid. The smell of petrol, boiled bone marrow and rotting
fish waft into your nose with every gust of air that’s broken from the
motorcycle zooming past you, so close you can feel their loose clothing
brushing against your own. Be confident and be predictable. Never stop and don’t
run. You will be safe. This is how to cross a street in Vietnam, if you can
cross a Vietnamese street, you can drive to every corner of the country if you
want, and I did.
After nearly three weeks of driving like a
maniac on these suicidal roads it was only a matter of time until the fire
burnt the hand playing with the flames. In only three weeks I had seen it all,
trucks upside down on a mountainsides, blood stained pavement surrounded by
angry bystanders, scooters lying helpless on their sides at the end of long
path of fresh scars in the pavement. Avoiding head on collisions, nearly losing
control on hairpin dirt roads, it all seemed too surreal and never dampened my
need for speed and competitive spirit towards my brother. We had already had an
incredible day descending from the tallest mountain in Indo-China when we came
across the mightiest traffic jam I have ever seen. Tractor trailers took up
both sides of the road for a total of 10 kilometres. Most drivers had already
abandoned their vehicles and were cooking dinner and setting up camp for the
night as the traffic jam was only getting worse by the minute. It could be
hours or even days before this mess would be sorted out and my brother and I
only had two hours of sunlight to make it the extra 60 km into town. No
explanation needed as my brother saw me click the GoPro Camera stuck on the
side of my helmet to record, it was on. First one to the other side wins and
the looser suffers a night of shame and harassment for being a pussy.
Vietnamese body’s dove to the ground and screamed in horror as they have never
in their lives seen a white man on a motorbike drive with such uncontrollable insanity
(go pro footage to prove this). I was in the gutter, in between buses and
trucks; scratching paint from fenders, forgot the brakes hold on the horn. I
drove like my life depended on it and I’m glad I did because I beat my brother
to the other side and I would never be able to live with the embarrassment of
losing to him. 
The day was wearing on, I had hardly a thing to eat all day,
and I was suffering from Asia tummy and a stomach ulcer causing the worst
stomach cramps I’ve ever had. I was eager to find a bed before the night was
upon us as driving in the night is immediate suicide on these roads. My brother
took my eagerness and concern as a good time to start fiddling with rhetorical
nuts and bolts on his motorbike at the mechanic shop across the street. In my
delusional tired frustration I had no more patients as my head throbbed with
pain and pleaded for a pillow. Anger grew inside of me. I hadn’t felt like this
in years, I had forgotten what anger felt like and it felt like a poison
infecting my judgment and skewing any rational thought. The anger took control
of my body and a rage I’ve only felt a few times in my life woke from its awful
sleep to control me. I left my brother behind as I rode off alone into the
darkening hour of the evening. I rode full throttle in top gear, passing buses
and trucks on blind corners not thinking of anything but the hatred inside my
head. I was so delusional and mad I couldn’t concentrate on a thing I was doing
and drove blindly into the night. As I came around one sharp corner I noticed
that an entire dump truck load of dirt had been dropped on the road in the
opposing lane. Nothing too ordinary in Vietnam but then again, it was Vietnam after all
and for that split second I forgot I wasn’t in a civilized country anymore, I
was on a collision course to disaster. A
black sedan was approaching the mound of dirt on his side of the road at an
equally fast speed. In my blind rage Vietnamese rules were forgotten as the car
swerved directly into my lane to avoid the pile of dirt and set a collision
course with me. I swerved hard and hit the muddy shoulder of the road giving me
one a meter birth between the guard rail and the kamikaze sedan. I hit the soft
muddy shoulder at 90km/h, landing me in a deep slippery rut. Riding a rut on a
motorbike is like riding a bull in a paddock, do your best to hold on but
you’re at the mercy of the beast. I did my best to hang on and managed to slow
down a little bit before I hit a rut I couldn’t fight, bucked from my seat, I’ve
felt this before, all was black and quiet. 
The time
following this accident has been some of the scariest moments of my life. I
remember small segments of waking up and not being able to move my body, when I
realized I could move my arms, I checked my legs, one of which was pinned under
my bike. I pushed myself free and someone was helping me off the ground. I felt
fine and everything seemed to be okay but it was only shock and adrenaline
setting in. My brother caught up to me and realized I had just been in an
accident. He sat me down on set of steps and asked me what happened, I began to
explaining the accident but strange enough I couldn’t remember. I felt my
memory fading away and looking up into my brother’s eyes like an infant who’s
just been slapped and doesn’t understand why. I tried to remember why my head
hurt but I couldn’t. I didn’t know where I was or why I was there. I recognized
my brother and held his hand and knew I was in trouble ‘whatever happens in the
next little while, I want you to help me’ I’ve been in a coma and had
concussions before and what I was experiencing was the beginning of a familiar
nightmare. I looked down at my body and my arms and legs were covered in blood,
the entire right side of my body was streak of mud. Even the shock and
adrenaline running through my body wasn’t enough to subdue the panic rising in
my chest. There I was at least 2 hours from a basic hospital, at night, with no
health insurance. If I had a concussion my brain was already starting to swell
and treatment would be limited and very basic granted I would even be able to
make it there. Luckily enough the shitty little army helmet I had stopped enough
of the impact and as my heart rate slowed, my memory returned. The line between
crazy and stupid had been crossed. The decision was made to return to Hanoi and
buy real helmets that would actually make a difference in the next accident.
Other
incidences include the time I was t-boned by a young guy on scooter in the
middle of the street. He landed pretty hard breaking his cell phone and leaving
a wrist to elbow bloody road rash along his arm. He had been driving down the
wrong side of the road at high speeds talking on a cell phone with no helmet
when he hit me but because its Vietnam and I’m a white guy without a license,
it was my fault for simply being there. Doing what’s morally wrong but
practically right, I shifted into gear and took off before the angry mob that
was circulating got ahold of me or worse, for the police to show up. Police are
uneducated and under paid so it’s not surprise to the amount of corruption and
bribes that need to be paid. Most of them have orders from their superiors not
to bother tourists and that’s got me through over two dozen road blocks without
needing to provide documents until the time I tried to drive across a bridge
for cars only. Both my brother and I were pulled over by policemen yielding batons
clearly cocked back to use them. Honest mistake we tried to turn around and
retreat but one insistent officer reached his hand over and turned off both of
our bikes instructing us to follow him to his superior where bribes were
certainly going to be paid. Playing stupid we pretended to abide to his request
before giving him a good baton distances buffer and ride away in a third world
getaway. 
Strangely
it all added to the adventure and daring circumstances, all until I was the
first one to come across a head on collision between a truck and a motorcycle.
(read about that bellow – Vietnamese death certificate) I love Asia and I love
motorcycles and both need to be respected. I might not have any tattoos on my
skin but beneath the surface are scars and memories reminding me of how lucky I
am to be alive and how fortunate I am to be wealthy and educated enough to
drive motorcycles all around the world. I’ll continue riding for the rest of my
life but I feel like it’s time to count my blessing and get back to something
less suicidal and reunite with the people in my life who inspire me to live
beyond the boundaries and pursue my dreams.
Discover your passion, pursue happiness, and start living
your dreams.
