In which I predictably crash the bike

So how to write a blog post about crashing my motorbike in such a way that it won’t cause my poor mother further worry?

Tricky.

How about if I venture that a bit of elbow skin is a small price to pay for a reminder that I should, and will, be more careful?

In truth – as you’ve probably already gathered – it was nothing serious.  The biggest loss was undoubtedly face as it happened right out the front of my house and ended with me hitting the pavement across the road – right next to a packed coffee and sarnie place.

How did it happen?  Well I sailed down the ramp from my building, checked right and left, then started  kangarooing a bit due to the jumpy first gear.

Then: Panic. Breaks. Control lost. Pavement. Fall.  Lying under a tree. Arm hurting.  Lots of people pointing.

I had been due to meet someone in town so I rang them to say I wouldn’t be coming.  I went back and cleaned up assorted wounds and then realised that it might be now or never to get back on a bike so I remounted and headed out.  However, a little  shock set in later and the shakiness was enough to make me head for home.  I shall be hiding and attending my wounds indoors for the rest of Sunday.

Typically, this episode comes along just as I was planning to write a piece on riding in Hanoi.  I was going to smugly point out that it wasn’t so hard.  That the crowds of bikes may make it look daunting but really there was a system.

I was going to share with you the single best piece of advice I was given about riding here: You get a bike.  You grow a pair. You ride.

My further breakdown was to be: worry only about what’s in front of you and leave the people behind to look after themselves.

I was going to say don’t think you can stay out of trouble on the road sides. People turning will cut across in front of you. Paradoxically being in the middle of the crowd is the safest place.

Now, I realise I should add – first get the hang of starting the thing without the Skippy routine.

It does reinforce though what I was going to say is the hardest part.

It isn’t riding on open roads, however busy they are.  It’s riding up and down pavements before and after parking.   It’s knowing how to manoeuvre your bike when you’re not sitting astride it.  It’s knowing about the little things like how to fill it up with petrol.  Or how it works with the parking guy at a shop or restaurant.

Don’t do what I did and ride up to a petrol station and think…hang on, petrol cap has to be around here somewhere.

Turns out it’s under the seat, but if you don’t know that then it’s the last place you look.

Motorbikes can be a very large source of embarrassment for westerners.  From the trying-too-hard Tay, kicking his beautiful but unreliable Vespa at the side or the road, to big lumps like me looking clumsy beyond belief while locals weave gracefully past.

How come I struggle to change gears smoothly in sensible work shoes while stilletoed Vietnamese women shift effortlessly between them?

While I’ve already tutted at plenty of young idiots jumping lights and slaloming at too high speeds – I’ve never seen a Vietnamese person stall their bike, or struggle to start it, or fail to walk and park it without effortless grace.

This week I’ve conversed with two westerners who’ve lost their nerve when it comes to motorbikes.  That was at the fore front of my mind when I got straight back on mine – especially as the rental bike goes back soon and my already-paid-for new one is to be delivered.

But I *will* be a little more careful in future.

And that elbow skin already does seems like a very sound investment.