Hawk Attack

Motorbiking in Vietnam is the best way to get around. It’s definitely not the most safe, and maybe I’ll tell that story one day, but for now let me spare my mother’s heart. [What. Am I kidding? My first gen Chinese mom isn’t going to read her son’s personal blog. Does it make ad money? No? Then why waste your time?!] [[Also. Hindsight. I guess I got some of the payback in my recent accident from my closecall. Karmic balance??]]

The beauty of that country can’t be understated. The North especially, as an under-developed space, means houses made from bamboo, raw wood, and aluminum siding make up little villages that dot the untouched, untamed wild jungles of South East Asia.

Each of those villages are, I would say tiny, but clearly have seen a boom of tourists. Many have multiple locations to stay, all of them have gas stations and repair shops. There are a million places to stop and get a bowl of pho. Or rice wraps from a young father and mother, grandpa serves the plate and dipping sauce. Or coffee from a warm lady business owner, someone working the blender in the back for fruit shakes.

Tea is served everywhere. Thuoc Lao pipes hits after a few hundred kilometers on a bike really hits the spot. Both of those are free with a polite ask.

The limestone mountains are worn into dramatic displays of beautiful faces, jagged mountain tops and exposed sheared faces of layers and colors.

The roads are windy and fierce through the terrain, climbing mountains in tight consecutive curves or easing straight slopes. The jungles are alive and fractious, riots of plant life and the chatter of birds and insects.

I am riding, about my 5th day in total, when it happens. We’re driving down the roads between Phong Nha and Hue, a swooping turn over the mountains, past a gas station carved into the valley. I’m wearing a go pro strapped to my helmet, enjoying the views.

Now I’ve eaten plenty of food during my trips abroad, yes. But I’ve never been mistaken for it before. Until now. From my right, I spot a hawk swooping low. Its beautiful wings are spread wide, slipstreaming through the wind, speeding along and towards me. Amazing. I check the road, aware that I am on 110ccs of exploding ancient algae, two wheels, the spit and prayers of at least 4 separate mechanics, and not much else. A helmet. I want another look at that hawk though, it’s really close. I look again. Wow even closer. I admire its long flight feathers, swoop of it’s wings, the large brown eyes and grey sharp beak. Black large talons on strong gripping toes.

Woo that things is close.

Quick road check. Back to the hawk.  I see the bird slightly turn its wings, splay its legs and bare its talons.

Wait a second.

I duck. The predator sweeps past my head. It caws, recovering in two big beats of its wings, and takes off, speeding up and to the left. Did I just get hunted by a bird? I look around to my friend, driving behind me. His eyes are wide with astonishment. He mouths, did that just happen? And I nod and shrug and refocus on the road.

Holy fuck.

That was awesome. I hope I recorded that! [I did not. The GoPro was not recording at that time.]

But fuck that was amazing.

I don’t think I can promise that if you too motorbike in Vietnam, you will be fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to see the same last frames of a field mouse’s life. But I can assure you this. You will be most rewarded for all your kilometers traveled on those windy roads.

Sure. Construction. Sure. Traffic. Sure. Crazy truck drivers try to run you off the road.

But you are gifted the beautiful landscapes ahead of you. The fantastic roads are fun to drive. The adventure of leaning into a tight turn over the mountainside, kicking the bike into the next gear, feeling the engine go from purr to roar, and ripping through the mysterious fog that soars among the intricate limestone mountains, rising from the living jungle, reveling in the coils of the Vietnam Dragon.