Part 1 – The Gathering of the Wins

There had been a conspiracy.

After days of discussing how and how soon the motorbikes would be purchased, the deed was done.

Arriving back from a morning of crepes and OJ from their favourite breakfast spot in Hoi An, Jared found Jamie and Anthony – severe of face – dealing with two animated Vietnamese gentlemen and a handful of chinese-copy Honda Wins.

One of them, a skinny bloke in skinnier jeans, saw Jared approach and received his stare in a grinning embrace that instantly made Jared’s wallet feel 2 kg’s lighter.

Ant glanced up from proceedings.

“Yoza, Jared. Try this bike brother. We’re doing it!” his eyes gleaming with mirth, he jerked his head in the direction of a black bike with a maroon seat, set apart from the others.

Jared smiled hesitantly; his tongue caught between his teeth.

As he approached his steed-to-be, Mr Skinny Jeans apparated at his side and narrated the bike’s features in a stream-of-consciousness sales pitch that left Jared, in spite of himself, sure that this one was the pick of the crop.

“Wow, sounds too good to be true!” he grinned at the salesman, who took it all in his stride, his silky-smooth English matched only by his certainty he was about to make bank.

The gang knew he was going to as well.

Having mmed and ahhed for a couple of days in Hoi An, about a third of the way up the spine of Vietnam, it seemed a spontaneous decision had now been made. There was a hum in the air, an electric thrill that he could feel and see in the faces of his comrades as they too eyed the machines Anthony was steadily bartering the locals down on.

“Too much sir, too much! Look at this! The engine’s falling out the bottom of the chassis. Nawww don’t give me that mate. This one’s worth 150! Tops. We might as well buy some legit ones from the dealer downtown!”

By the grandeur of Mr Skinny Jean’s response, you would have been forgiven for presuming a lifetime’s worth of theatre classes. He let out an animal-low groan, head shaking as his fingers expertly rid the cigarette of ash at his side. Drawing breath through his teeth, he gave the group a watery-eyed grimace at the proposal.

“You are killing us sir! Killing us! These are the best bikes in town. Don’t go to dealer. They only charge you 500 US minimum and for dirt bike. It’s nothing. It’s dangerous sir. You take our word for it, sir. These Honda Win legitimate Japanese version. Keep you safe. Very fast” he added for luck, as Anthony marched around the bike to continue his inspection.

Jared thought he could see the barest hints of a smile threatening to burst across his hardened features as he examined the burnt-out exhaust.

“Do you use this one for cooking?”

Gripping the handlebars and rocking his new ride back and forth, Jared swung his head round to where Jamie was helping Matt and sister Jonelle onto a Honda Win which looked like it had borne several Viet Kong heroes through the war. A lone black star adorned the neon orange petrol tank, in the same place red and golden ones branded Jared and Jamie’s bikes.

“Jamie, reckon I could have a quick tutorial bruv? I’ve never ridden one”

“Never?” Jamie had the dignity not to crack up, but his eyes betrayed giddy disbelief. There were nigh on 800 kilometres of Vietnamese countryside between Hoi An and their northern destination Hanoi, with 10 days left on their visas to cover it. The roads, as they were about to find out, were potholed and narrow, with a flood of bikes, trucks and tourist-eating “sleeper” buses that passed other vehicles around corners with abandon.

“First time for everything right?”

“We’ll get ya sussed, boy” Jaimie swung himself onto the bike and clicked it into neutral before kick-kick-kicking the motor into life after the third swing.

VROOOOM! It roared, and – to Jared’s surprise – didn’t cut out but continued to swell in volume before simmering into a gentle pitter-patter.

Their new friend – now counting the wad of US dollars Ant had placed in his palm – grinned full-beam in their direction “Great bike sir, the best bike, I am going to starve when I sell to your hard-ass friend sir, my wife kill me three times over then ride this bike to hell to kill me once more sir”

Jared checked himself and glanced over the weatherworn dashboard. Everything seemed to be in order except for the speed dial which seemed to have frozen in place at 88miles per hour…

He eyed a passing throng of motorbikes as a young woman with a child pulled expertly up onto the sidewalk to pass.

Where we’re going Marty, we don’t need roads!

All of the online advice he’d read had cautioned him with the same warnings: Ride at your own risk. Make sure you get a license, which you can’t. Make sure you stop when police wave you down, which you can’t without a license and, never – license or not – should you ever ride after dark…

“People seem to remember the Top Gear episode” one blogger intoned, virtual finger waggling “but no one’s going to count the 7,500 people who die on Vietnam’s roads every year. It’s a bit of a downer to start your trip out on but think on that before you roll the dice” he had signed off.

Jamie disembarked and after seating him on the chugging machine, began walking a now sweating Jared through the position of the brakes and clutch. After a spell he glanced up. Jamie was the only member of the gang with extensive riding experience. Locking eyes with Jared, he seemed to intuit where his mind was at.

“Just like riding a bike brother. Shall we take ‘em for a test spin?” he encouraged.

Eyeing the busy traffic and masking his fear which now grumbled like the 100cc’s of engine beneath him, Jared raised his eyebrows and revved the throttle in reply, the bike kicking forward and stalling suddenly in a fashion that reminded him he had balls.

The sound of Matt’s laughter goaded him as he rounded Jared’s bike and eased out into the busy street, the conspicuous exhaust coughing and spluttering.

“Eah shot, gee!”

Jonelle smiled encouragingly at him from her spot on the seat behind her brother as they sped away.

“Let’s go J-dog!” she beamed.

“Fuck it” he muttered and pulled out in fits and starts, before he managed to click the bike into second gear and enjoy a 20-metre reprieve of normal motoring.

This isn’t so bad, he thought, the wind beginning to catch his hair…

…Before stalling again at the intersection.

Clunk.

“Jaimie, all good if you start me up at each traffic light?” he called as his friend swung up beside him, revving his bike with gusto and grinning back at Anthony and Cordelle as she deliberated between purchasing a scooter or motorbike.

He turned around and glanced over Jared’s bike as he sat in it. “Nah bo, you got this. Just build a bit of throttle to get out onto the road, then click it into the next gear before you start accelerating again.”

Nervously eyeing the lanes of traffic, which served as loose guidelines only for the mass of bikes now careening past, Jared took a deep breath then puttered painful-slow out onto the street, drawing toots – of appreciation or anger, he didn’t wait to wonder – from the flood of bikes which, like racing cells in the bloodstream, parted effortlessly and swallowed him up in the throng…

…Part 2 to follow