We've heard Hue is beautiful. Ancient capital city, splendid imperial tombs, stunning pagodas and particularly beautiful women. Not that we can confirm any of these things - it rained all night, and we left at the earliest a.m. we could muster before it started again. All we saw of the city was a quick survey of its Khao Sarn Road and a couple of its bars.

Fortunately the road was dry, though freezing. We made it to the northern extent of south vietnam within a couple of hours. The Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). This 10 km wide stretch divided the northern Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRV) and southern Republic of Vietnam (RVN), and saw a lot of action and a high military presence during the war.

We looked for a few sites through the DMZ, however most on our list were either too difficult to locate or simply unimpressive once found. We passed the Khe Sahn Firebase, where the NVA sent thousands of soldiers to die in an immense diversion before the Tet offensive began in the South. We did stop at Doc Mieu base, part of a line of bases installed to prevent infiltration from the north across the DMZ, but all we found was some brutalized terrain repurposed into farmland and a couple of scrap-diggers. (Since 1975, 5000 people have found themselves exploded while digging for metal to sell as scraps.)

A few kilometers further north and we came to the Ben Hai River, the official line of demarcation. For all the rivers crisscrossing the country, it was surprisingly narrow - three small bridges span its width, one destroyed in the French-Indochina war, another destroyed in the American. Crossing the third found us, if only symbolically, passing into the North.

From the backs of our Bonus bikes, the most immediately observable distinction was the fashion. Green NVA pith-helmets accessorizing almost every man, and the lovely Ao-Dais sported by the girls of the south vanished entirely. Remnants of an entire population for so long raised on militancy - while I enjoyed the fashion sense it reminded adam of the redneck culture back home.

Just north of the Ben Hai river we veered off of Highway One for 14 kilometers to find the Vin Moc Tunnels. A major NVA supply and staging area for supporting the VC in the south, the entire peninsula of village and forest were transformed into lunar desolation by some generous bombing. Instead of cutting their losses, the residents/soldiers opted to burrow underground and continue living and operating in an elaborate system of tunnels deep below the surface.

It was true...we were no longer at a tropical latitude. The thick coniferous forest offered a rocky mountain/pacific northwest illusion.

we were told we would have to wait before somebody could show us into the tunnels, we stopped for a snack overlooking the Gulf of Tonkin.

a nice stack of naval artillery from the heavy shelling of the tunnel entrances

these war remnants near the bathroom looked arranged with intent

unconcerned with our anxiousness to get it on and be on our way before the rain, our guide (his name was Minh appropriately enough) required us to endure the full tour. Minh seemed to take some delight in his speech. He smiled sheepishly while repeatedly referring to " 'the enemy,' the Americans" brutal behavior. He thus smiled at us while belaboring the point of how the enemy totally annihilated the hell out of the simple mud/thatch village once occupying the area. I managed with some limited success to get him to break character and admit that, putting aside greater judgement, the 'innocents' he was lamenting were actively providing material support to VC in the south, and were thus, at least within the context of the insane surreal joke of the war, legitimate military targets. That established we went back to enjoying his soft-gloved american-bashing lite that certainly titillates the western tourists. Almost what i wanted to see, but a little too contrived.

Minh led us down into the depths...

we skipped level one, Minh insisted seeing the kitchen was not worth the trip. the tunnels were designed with Minh's stature in mind...fortunately it was some soft clay we repeatedly slammed our heads into.

the big "family room"

one of the exits facing the sea

the little crevice led to the deepest area of the complex, a reinforced bomb shelter. no fatties allowed.

the wells still held water

We exited onto the beach and after finally convincing Minh that he should sing us a traditional viet song in his sweet boy-voice, we left the Vin Moc tunnels and continued north for a couple of hours. We stopped for lunch at some family's farm along the road, strategically occupying their mud-floored living room while they tried to satisfy my monk like culinary requirements. Another hour or so found us stopping in Dong Hoi and realizing that Minh had been right, it was -not- going to rain. The steadily declining ambient temperatures dictated that we retain our raingear for it's wind-breaking properties.

After three days of high speed riding, our shredded ponchos were failing. we were the blue plastic jedi of vietnam.

More mountains, valleys, and paddies. Evening approached and thermal conditions continued to degenerate to below tolerance. Our hopes to make Vinh were abandoned when the sun dove out of sight behind a small mountain range to our west. When darkness had fully accumulated we were stuck well between anyplace of significance, let alone a hotel. At the next village we learned that it would take another 50 kilometers into the next province to find accomodation.

We had avoided any night-riding thus far and for good reason. My fickle headlight came and went and even at its best was entirely useless. Nevermind the multiple layers of mosquito kamikazes caked to our visors - our fellow travelers; the tractors, bicycles, and motos, buses, trucks, and oxen attained a new degree of hazard in the unlit dark. These stressors aggravated by the bitter cold made for a non-fun experience.

We found salvation in one of the public bus drivers auditioning for Deathrace 2000. Everything gets the hell out of their way. Placing ourselves two meters behind the bumper, we were able to hurtle on through the darkness, the wake turbulence of the choking diesel exhaust embracing us in its warmth. After almost an hour of this, the bus pulled over and the handler (every bus has a man who leans out the door screaming their destination to potential passengers) came out to talk to us. He offered to hoist our cycles onto the roof and take us all the way to Hanoi. Pantomiming, he gestured that it would be much cheaper than the amount we would spend putting xang in the tank. We thanked his generous offer but trying to explain how that would sort of invalidate our entire mission was lost on him.

Awhile later and we rolled into Ha Tinh and disengaged ourselves from our host. Ha Tinh was distinguished by the dozens of stands lining the highway offering "CU DO", a sweet chewy peanut brittle disc that made for excellent snacking.

The only hotel available was quite a lavish affair by our standards. A two-star endeavor built sometime in the 80's to satisfy some perceived demand that never materialized.

instead of necking in the breast of Queen-Dreams, we were kept awake by the KARAOKE spectacular occuring across from us all night.

Our nordic thunder stormed 250 kilometers Day Five

Early morning day six found us prowling through the alleys of Ha Tinh on our bikes looking for some cold weather gear. Our appreciation for the local aesthetic drove us to acquire some winter uniforms.

We continued into the north towards Hanoi incognito as NVA regulars.

finally saw a train on the tracks we had been following for the past thousand kilometers

we had planned to ride hard and cover serious ground, perhaps even make Hanoi. adam's flight was in two days and time was no longer a luxury. instead, with our hearts in the depths of apocalyptic darkness, we stopped in vinh and wandered for hours, lost in the central market.

they had everything here. at the wedding shops, where they sell photocopied $100 bills as ghost money, they also sell the cardboard Honda Dream cutouts i referred to previously. (my photo was underexposed) we bought jasmin tea, peanut snacks, and outfits for our girls back home.

it was three in the afternoon before we finally tore ourselves away and rejoined the road

three little pigs

There was nothing particularly remarkable along the road, we had fallen into a cycle of fast riding punctuated by brief stops and interesting encounters with eccentric viets. Since we had crossed the DMZ, none of these encounters involved salacious solicitation. It was dark by the time we arrived in Ninh Binh, the first semi-happening place in awhile.

This anti-drug billboard across the street from our guesthouse seemed placed for our benefit. Actually heroine use among children has become a serious problem with the introduction of income.

At 110 kilometers, day six was more pleasant than productive.

It was not a long drive to the city. Along the way we started seeing some dramatic geological features such as these limestone rock towers in the middle of the verdant flatland.

as we came in on final approach the already wide beautiful highway expanded further into a veritable supahighway.

we rolled into the city in tight formation

This was it. The big day. After a week of riding, we were at the cusp of realizing our destination. Hanoi. In search of the Heart of Darkness. You see, when I came to vietnam a year ago i only saw saigon for a week. I was immensely disappointed. The RED I had come to see was already mostly supplanted by the GREEN. A product of the cold war with an infatuation with extremism, i always yearned to see these bastions of evil empiredom. Witness firsthand [allegedly] totalitarian freedom-hating money-burning american-detesting speech-silencing oppression. Maybe I just want to be hated. To have somebody feel and express sincere strong emotion outside the pallid spectrum of insincerity we perpetually absorb 'back home.' A beige world of contemptibly timid expression, operating within acceptable parameters of the slightly rude or slightly polite. The muslims of Afghanistan and Pakistan were nothing but inordinetly hospitable and welcoming. Even the Taliban fed and sheltered us. Will nobody offer us the loathing we expect?!

"AMERICA IS BRUTALIZING EXPLOITING AND SUBJUGATING THE MAJORITY OF THE WORLD. YOUR WORLD. I AM AMERICAN. SOMEBODY HATE ME! PLEASE?!?"

So you see, Vietnam is really my last hope. A black spot on the collective unconsciousness of my nation. A vertical hairline scar on uncle sam's pasty face. Oh yes, in Hanoi we hoped to come face to face with The Abyss. To stare unblinkingly into the very Heart of Darkness itself, and understand.