Xe May!

Well it finally happened. After 9 trips and over 15 months total spent in Viet Nam I finally got a motorbike, well, scooter really. The terribly retro chic, Honda Super Cub (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Honda_Super_Cub) It's only got a 50 cc engine, so I really can't call it a motorbike, but it's a mechanized vehicle, so it's a big step forward for me. Last Friday Huyen excitedly called me, exclaiming that our new bike would be ready that evening. Three days ahead of schedule. I was really excited too, ever since we had talked about me getting a bike during my previous trip in May I had been looking forward to finally making the leap from taxi's, xe om's ("Honda Hugs" guys on the street corner who you pay to take you places,) and most "manly" of all, having Huyen drive me around on her motorbike (a proper motorbike, fast, solid, silver Japanese engineering. ) However, faced with the reality of getting an actual motorbike in a mere 6-7 hours, I was also more than a bit nervous. Having been mentally scarred by my first experience with motorbikes back in 1993 (A classmate of mine, Kerry, had borrowed a friend's bike and had it parked in front of our 4 story classroom building. During on of our regular breaks she offered to let me try it out. "Sure, why not? How hard could it be. . . In font of all the other students, Americans, Japanese, Korean, English, etc. I quickly mounted the bike, hit the electric starter, took it out of neutral, and accelerated forward. Just a bit faster than I liked, but instead of grabbing the break lever I managed to twist my wrist and the bike shot out from under me and I fell flat on my face. The riderless back crashed down on it's side about ten feet in front of me destroying the driver's side mirror and scratching up the side of the bike a bit. Needless to say, Kerry was a bit upset, not only because I damaged her friends bike, but also because she was quite attracted to this particular friend. Well, the mirror was replaced and all was forgiven [though no love connection was made. . . ] but the memory remained.) I was really worried that I might hurt myself, or worse, Huyen or some other innocent Vietnamese person who happened to cross the path of my 50 cc's of moving metal and plastic.
My phone rang again, about an hour earlier than I had expected. Huyen says Kim Anh (the vitamin lady's) husband has my bike and is waiting for me over by the Fivimart (one of Ha Noi's more popular supermarkets,) so get over there as soon as possible and she'll meet me there. I throw my shirt on and head downstairs, out the street and to the corner where I grab Thien, one of the friendly xe om guys who hangs out on our corner, and were off in the middle of rush hour to see a man about a bike. Turns out he's not at the Fivimart, but at Huyen's former, and Kim Anh's current workplace, Regus. So I walk the two blocks back to the office building, but no Super Cub or husband in site. Then a man on an old Vespa pulls up asks if waiting for a someone with a Honda Super Cub (Luckily, there are still few enough Westerns around that we still stick out.) "Yes. I am that guy!" The man informs me that he is Kim Anh's husbands brother and that his brother has gone to "fill 'er up" and should be back momentarily. Which he is, about 5 minutes later. Out of the traffic, in the falling evening light, my Super Cub appears. It looks completely new (they repainted it and rebuilt the engine.) Retro and beautiful. Exactly what I had in mind. In faltering English (his) and faltering Vietnamese (mine) he goes over all the of the bike's basic operations. Front brake lever on the right along with the turn signals. Rear brake at my right foot along with the old fashioned kick starter. The foot lever on the left shifts the three gears up and down. Horn and lights on the left side of the handlebar. And in the center of the steering column is a simple speed-o-meter, odometer, one green light (to left me know I'm in neutral,) and one orangish light to indicate I have one of the turn signals selected. The one thing I notice is missing is a fuel tank gauge. He smiles and lefts the hinged seat revealing a small gas cap, which he quickly unscrews. "No problem, just look in" he says gesturing to the petrol sloshing around inside. Seems easy enough. Huyen has not shown up yet so I ask him a few questions about his vintage Vespa and then dig out the 500,000 VND ($30.21 USD) that Huyen had negotiated for the monthly rental. He smiles and refuses saying that he can't accept the money because of the vitamins I had brought over for his children. Just then I see a tiny Van Xuan taxi coming through the intersection and know that it must be Huyen. She's adamant about taking Van Xuan, they are the cheapest and most reliable in Ha Noi. . . Not sure if he was unsure about his English or my Vietnamese (or maybe I just look like completely clueless,) but he goes over the entire bike again with Huyen, who of course, ask some more insightful questions. Huyen jumps on the bike and takes it off the sidewalk in a tight circle on the street and then back. Confident everything is in working order Kim Anh's husband jumps on the back of his brother's Vespa and they zip off to dinner.
The moment of truth. Huyen asks if I can take us home. Well. . . .this is not what I had had in mind. It's dark now. There are still a ton of people on the street. And we are a good 10 minutes from home. The week before we had scoped out a place right in front of Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum that is wide, smooth, and most importantly, not busy. We saw some people practicing driving there and I leaned forward over Huyen's shoulder and said to Huyen that I thought that might be a good spot for my maiden voyage. She agreed then, but here in front of the Regus office on a dark rush hour street she may have forgotten my idea from the week earlier. The challenge has been thrown down, however unintentionally, and as much as I'd like to, I gotta step up. I step over to the bike and lean it upright off it's kick-stand. Straddling the beast I lean down over to the left of the steering column and turn the key in the very inconveniently placed ignition switch. The green light indicating neutral blinks on which means I'm good to go. Huyen has jumped on the back of the bike on the metal rack behind the seat which she swears she doesn't mind riding on (she used to ride in the same place on her father's super cub, but I don't think I'll ever try the passenger "seat" since I still want to have kids.) I place my foot on the kick-start and kick down. Naturally my foot slips off the first few times, and then when I finally manage to keep my foot on the kick-start nothing is starting except the perspiration on my fore-head. Huyen gently reminds me that I need to give it a little gas at the same time I kick the start. Of course. The next kick and the engine roars, like a over powered lawn-mower, to life. Grabbing the brake lever firmly, in order to avoid repeating my past mistakes, I shift the bike into first gear and non intuitively, the green light goes off meaning we are good to go. I angle the bike off the sidewalk and onto the street using the entire width of the street in order to turn the bike 180 degrees and in the wrong direction. It's not that I did not know where to go, it's just that the big traffic circle (described in my early blog entry) just looked too intimidating. So, it's down the distinctly less busy street puttering away from our apartment as other motorbikes and bicycles going flying past for a few blocks until Huyen encourages me to turn right. We roll over a few of Ha Noi's infrequent speed bumps and then another right onto the very large street that runs parallel to the Red River. I hug the sidewalk as huge trucks and buses roar past and finally another turn and we are back on track heading towards the traffic circle. "Slowly, slowly" Huyen yells from behind me though I don't think I can go any slower without falling over. I enter the circle as a bunch of bikes race toward me from the left and a few more merging in from the right. A bunch of the traffic is trying to cut across my path and I slow down even further to give them clear passage. Luckily, as with pedestrians, the other vehicles just find their way around me and as quickly as they enter the intersection they are gone and I have a clear path. I awkwardly shift the bike into second gear and we lurch forward to Trang Tien street. I pass the crowds of locals spilling out onto street in front of the ever popular Kem Trang Tien (Ice cream shop) and just like that I'm at the bottom Ha Noi's central Lake. A slow left turn on to Ba Trieu and I'm on a busy but mercifully one way street. The good thing about me driving so slow is that I manage to not have to stop at any of the lights, so while the locals race from one intersection to the next, I putter smoothly through each of them far behind the pack. One more harrowing turn to the left off of Ba Trieu and all that's left is a right turn on to our small street, Trieu Viet Vuong. I avoid a few pedestrians and just like that we are home. As I swerve towards the narrow ramp that will take us up onto the sidewalk Huyen wisely slips off the still moving bike. I quickly realize I'm going a bit too fast so I grab the breaks and jerk to a halting stop in front of the ramp. Huyen walks up and reaches down to turn off the bike and then tells me to downshift into neutral. Of course she's gotta help me (basically do it herself) woman-handle the bike the two ramps down our apartments hallway to our parking spot. All in all an thoroughly ugly and shameful display, but in the words of Sean Connery in the "Untouchables." I have fulfilled the first rule of police work (and motorbike riding.) I made it home alive at the end of the day. . .