Laos: Dien Bien Phu to Muang Khua
by Dave Hill
The made road had snaked up steeply past a dusty cement works then passing pristine forest to the sparkling new border post at Tay Trang. We sat waiting in hot sunshine where starched uniforms entered our details by hand into the ledger. Ushered from one desk to the next, then a final check of the visa stamp and we were out of Vietnam. 7km of sun baked track later, we approached the chicanes of the Laos border post, all rather decrepit. We had been warned not to short cut across the tarmac, nor to pass beyond the stop line or we would end up in jail.
Documents presented to a darkened window, the wait was for an hour while the official stamped, crossed out and restamped passports and visas (he had entered the wrong date first time round). The riding was allegedly challenging from here with 45 mile of off road ahead and the day already flying past and we could not afford any further delay.
A worrying incident happened after 10km that still gives me a shiver down my back when I think of it. I had pulled close up behind a 4x4 truck to allow a tanker to crawl by in the opposite direction. Suddenly the vehicle in front was moving backwards with the tail gate rolling up and over my wheel and mudguard. With nowhere to go I screamed and thumped the truck but already the damage was done – the car drove off to leave me with a crumpled mudguard and forks off centre. Thankfully no damage to me or the frame.
The track was steep downhill and rideable but brake fingers soon became tired as the road swung crazily around rolling hillsides. A few woodsmen watched in fascination as bikers tumbled past in a cloud of dust. "Sabadee" was the greeting rather than previously Vietnamese utterances.
At the bottom of one slope, a ford and bamboo bridge with lowered barrier greeted us. The cooling stream buzzing with scarlet dragonflies was used to wash rider and wheels before a picnic lunch of bread, Laughing Cow cheese and tuna. The first of many climbs followed, initially past small stands of teak with large, crisp dry leaves on the ground. Deep river valleys flanked the road revealing mountain villages inhabited by hill tribes – likely to be Black Hmong who rarely saw western travellers. It struck me how inhospitable the terrain was here, no flat land, impenetrable ranks of bamboo and virgin forest. Incredible that the Viet Minh had hauled field guns across these hills using bicycles and sheer manpower in order to defeat the entrenched French forces at Dien Bien Phu many miles across the mountains.
The track was fairly well made but rather loosely surfaced in places. The topography enforcing a steady 10% incline for a 100m or so, then a bend to reveal a further 100m of climb, etc etc. Little was revealed through the curtain of forest for an hour or so until suddenly a bend turned into the broad strip of a village perched on the shoulder of a ridge. Pigs and chickens scurried under wheel and snotty nosed kids in rags were summoned at a shout and thronged in the dust – "sabadee" they shouted in unison. Smiling faces everywhere, no sign of hostility or begging, just sheer pleasure – we were in Laos after all!
A short downhill was swiftly followed by more stepwise climbing, with occasional views back to a sea of green, verdant forest and the small patches of slash and burn agriculture on a few of the serrated ridges. The afternoon sun was hot and my throat croaked with dryness – 2 litres of water would only just last me the afternoon. Stubby bananas and packets of biscuits would however sustain me for the rest of the day.
By late afternoon, a descent was in order, mostly on loose gravel but occasionally the luxury of compacted mud to lure the rider into a false sense of security. I pondered that it was just as the rider approached exhaustion, that he would take more and more risks, braking later into curves, hoping nothing would be on the track just round the corner. At least there had been no traffic for a couple of hours. That said, I wondered if my forks had been weakened and if my rather too lightweight rims could take another 2 weeks of grinding with coarse dust. My progress slowed.
The 12 km of descent seemed endless, to reach a knee deep ford, good to rinse off the dust once more. Sandals again proved very practical. The sting in the tail was another undulating 12km of 3 inch deep dust where the road was being 'improved'. Dust enters bearings, bags and worse of all, lungs and aggravates already sore eyes. It was hell. I was tired and parched and dusk was about to fall as I approached town.
The vehicle ferry at Muang Khua had long since stopped for the evening so bike and rider were carried across the river by long tailed boat as the tropical darkness fell remarkably swiftly. The village was a real frontier town, with basic digs, rather too may bugs, exotic food, not all edible, and intermittent electricity supply. Cold beer was however plentiful – Beer Laos is worth all that effort, dust and sweat. It had been a long day off road but one adventure that I wouldn't have missed for anything. The following day would involve a 6 hour boat trip down the spectacular Nam Ou river – a much more civilized way of travelling!
44 miles with 1056m of climbing– from Vietnam into Laos