Mike Huber

Three Steps to Ease into Moto Camping

By Mike Huber

I know many people on this page camp and ride, but some have yet to dive into mixing these two great passions. My objective in this article is to help you bridge riding and camping, alleviate any concerns on this topic, and build a foundation of knowledge for those new to motorcycle camping. In doing so you will discover a deeper level of motorcycling that many riders experience.

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Start with Less

With all the social media posts of riders from around the world sharing their epic adventures and providing reviews of the gear they use can cause anxiety. Intimidation from the expense and amount of equipment people use for moto camping can become overwhelming when starting this hobby. I’m not saying any of these riders are wrong in the gear (or the amount) they use, but my philosophy while motorcycle camping is less gear is much more efficient and cheaper. My first time moto camping I had nothing other than a one-person Kelty tent (which I still use), a sleeping bag, and a small personal hygiene kit. I planned to give moto camping a shot and figured I could survive one night out on Washington’s Olympic peninsula even if I was a bit uncomfortable.

I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. In fact, other than adding a 6-pack of beer and a crushed Subway sandwich my gear didn’t grow or change for the next 8 more years (even after “maturing” from a Ducati Monster M1100 to a BMW GS1200). Would I have been more comfortable with a sleeping pad, cooking set up, and maybe even a chair? Yes, but that came years later after learning from others (I am a bit set in my ways even if they force me to be uncomfortable). Starting from such a minimalist perspective and adding gear slowly allowed me to tailor my equipment perfectly. You will find everyone has a “better” way of doing things; you might want to learn what works best for you and expand slowly.

Start in a Familiar Location

Roaring through the dense rainforest of the Olympic Peninsula on my Ducati Monster I was excited to be camping with my motorcycle for the first time. In hindsight this choice was probably a further and more isolated location than I should have started with, but it worked for the most part. I had ridden the road several times, I was comfortable with the distance, and I was aware of the ever-changing weather conditions. Being new to this I didn’t pack rain gear and of course it rained heavily that night (I was forced into my tent by the weather by 7:00 p.m.). You must pack raingear if you want to ensure it never rains on your moto camping trip. But even with the weather not cooperating it was a fun first night and it was enough to get me hooked on the lifestyle.

Looking back, a more comfortable way to experience my first moto camping adventure would have been a more controlled environment. Even for those well-seasoned campers, testing new gear in your home or backyard to learn how to set up, adjust, and break down the equipment makes for a less stressful time in a real-world environment. Purchasing lots of expensive gear, not testing it, and going on a multi-state tour can be a painful way to learn the gear isn’t right for you or the climate. Another way to learn your equipment and build experience is at a state park close to your home or a KOA. Even if you have to retreat to the KOA store or end up back inside your house, don’t be discouraged. That’s what this step is for. Take notes on what worked and what didn’t, and build off that until you are comfortable with the next step, which can be dispersed camping or a longer distance ride. It is better to learn in this semi-controlled environment than to have a horrific night with improper gear in poor weather and become completely deterred from ever moto camping again.

Learn From Experience

Having completed a successful test runs with your gear it is now time to begin learning how to increase your confidence in harsher and more remote environments. This point in your experience level is also the perfect time to make gear adjustments based on your notes. With a few nights camping under your belt you can seek advice and learn from others, including their set up tricks and in what type of climate they moto camp. In doing so you will fine tune your camping outfit so that it is perfect for you, your motorcycle, and the climate.

During this phase it is important to remain open minded. Everyone has a method that works best for them. For some it is a half shelter at a roadside pullout, for others it can be as elaborate as a 6-man tent with copious gear that requires 2 hours to pack. Normally when I travel and moto camp it isn’t for just one night. I’m on the road for two to three months at a time with Airbnbs or hotels as resting points or for working. Even though I am comfortable with my moto camping equipment it’s always fun to chat up other motorcyclists. In most cases, even if their set up is completely different there is usually one or two takeaways I learn from conversing with them.

Conclusions

Moto camping is an easy and inexpensive way to escape the rat race with less effort than many would think. These experiences and the people I meet along the journey are some of the most best I have had. Being so removed from everything as you sit relaxing in the glow of a warm campfire reflecting off your moto is a fulfilling feeling that few venture to achieve.

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Paddleboarding Horseshoe Bend

By Mike Huber

Since my last story was on paddleboarding I thought sticking with the topic would be a great opportunity to share a unique and exciting experience. Camping off a paddleboard at the base of Horseshoe Bend in Page, Arizona. This was to be a 2-day, 15-mile trip down the Colorado River from Glenn Canyon Dam to Lee’s Ferry and would include one night of camping off our paddleboards. As an avid motorcycle camper, I thought camping off a paddleboard would be right up my alley as the amount of gear from a moto to a paddleboard was relatively the same. This adventure would bring us to one of the most hostile environments in the United States, all while living it from a new perspective, being on top of the frigid waters of the Colorado River.

The adventure began with camping near Page, Arizona, and a day of light paddleboarding on Lake Powell to gain more familiarity and confidence on the board. This was more for myself, as the two friends I was traveling with were both very experienced paddlers. My paddling to this date was limited to a couple of 8-mile runs on the Salt River near Phoenix and a horrible windy day off the Colorado River where we launched from Hoover Dam. The Salt River had portions of minor rapids, but the environment was much tamer than we would experience along the Colorado River.

The Colorado River water is extremely cold even during the spring. Contrasting the freezing water was the ambient air temperatures, which reached the high 90s (with no place to find shade or relief from the sun above the golden canyon walls that surrounded us). Adding to the natural environmental threats there can be winds that blow up the river so strongly that you cannot paddle against them, even when going down river. A year prior we were supposed to do a camping trip and ended up having to do an 18-mile paddle in heavy winds; on that trip, we were not able to camp as the winds were forecast to be worse the next day. I didn’t want to put myself through that again. That night we made our way to Horseshoe Bend in our car to watch the sunset and look down over the edge to see where we would camp the next evening.

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The day we were set to launch the winds were calm. At 8:00 a.m. we loaded our watercraft onto a powerboat at Lee’s Ferry that would deliver us to the base of Glen Dam. It was a cold ride in the boat to our drop off location as the sun was still hidden behind the massive walls that went straight up nearly a thousand feet. Every bend we went around I was in constant awe. It was as if every element that you can face in nature was in full view for us to admire, respect, and fear. Once dropped off we unloaded the paddleboards, our gear, and took a few minutes to gain our composure before starting our 15-mile journey down river.

Pushing our boards off the shoreline, it was still cold and between the 40-degree water and 50-degree air none of us wanted to stand up on the boards. Making a small error that could cause us to capsize during this delicate time would result in hypothermia with little hope of warming up until the sun crested above the canyon walls more than two hours later. The winds were absent and with an occasional dam release we just coasted down the river effortlessly. Having no headwinds was so much more pleasant than our previous time on this fully exposed river when we spent the day battling a constant headwind.

When the sun finally glimpsed above the canyon walls they instantly lit up. Just a beautiful golden prison we were trapped in with neon aqua waters so clear you can see fish swimming 20 feet below your board. We had dispersed the weight of our gear between the three boards and then balanced them out as best we could. We even had a bundle of firewood secured with Rok Straps for what we hoped would be a magical night under the stars. Along the way we stopped occasionally for a snack, a beer, or a short hike. There are some hidden petroglyphs along the river where you can disembark from your board and hike in to view them. This made for a perfect slow-paced and enjoyable day that we all fully embraced.

It was still early, yet due to the lack of headwinds and numerous dam releases we were already arriving at our camp at Mile 9. Mile 9 camp is at the turn of Horseshoe Bend. What made this really cool wasn’t the view (it all looked really the same with giant canyon walls on both sides of you). What made this special was that when you looked up the thousand-foot walls you could see hundreds of tourists looking down at you and waving. I felt like we were in a zoo exhibit. We set up camp and spent a relaxing afternoon swimming, chatting with other boaters (mostly kayakers and fellow paddlers), and just enjoying the fact we weren’t battling winds. This was quite a rewarding day.

After a perfect day of mild paddling, relaxing and gazing off into this beautiful yet intimidating environment, the day slowly turned into evening. It wasn’t long before we started a campfire. Sitting around a campfire with new friends, cold beers from our Ice Mule Cooler, and exchanging stories is always the high point in my day. I wandered off to use the bathroom when I noticed flashing from above. At first, I thought it was the stars beginning to peer from above the cliffs, but it wasn’t. The flashes I saw were the tourists above using their phones and flashlights to signal “hello” down to us. As I zipped my pants up, I already had the “It was the cold water that caused shrinkage” or the “You’re 1,000 feet away…of course it looks smaller” thoughts. For some reason my new friends around the campfire didn’t understand my humor and the stories continued until the flashes from the tourists above faded about the same time we did.

Having slept great that night at the base of one of the most iconic photo spots in the United States it was now time to pack up. Winds always seemed to gain intensity as the day wears on, so we wanted an early start to avoid this threat, but there were no winds on this day, either. It was almost as if the river was rewarding us for having passed its initiation from that previous windy trip that didn’t allow camping. The river was so calm we were able to even lay down on our paddleboards and allow the current and dam releases to carry us the remaining 6 miles downriver without any effort. This is how paddleboarding should be, but I knew this was an anomaly on the Colorado River. In my experience tailwinds are like unicorns. They really don’t exist, yet somehow this trip we were surrounded by a herd of unicorns.

It wasn’t long before we could see Lee’s Ferry ahead of us on the right. We made it to shore and began the process of packing our gear up to return to Lake Powell for one more night of camping before returning to southern Arizona. Since paddleboarding Horseshoe Bend, anytime I see pictures of this location I zoom in and can often see paddleboards, kayaks, and tents at the beach when everyone else just is looking at the full view of the photo. I absolutely prefer my new perspective of this part of Glenn Canyon National Recreation Area, that being through the eyes of a paddleboarder.

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Charlie Don’t Paddleboard: A Baja New Year’s Story

By Mike Huber

There was no better way to ring in 2023 than camping off our motorcycles on a beautiful beach in Bahia Conception in Baja, Mexico. The only thing that made the moment more special was sharing cigars, Tecates, and Tequila with our new friends in the palapas to our left and right while sitting around a fire. Somehow, I managed to make it until 10 p.m., which is equal to a Boston New Year, and I surpassed my previous Baja New Year by 1 hour. I was pretty proud of myself.

Groggily awaking the next morning to the sunrise peering over the mountains across the bay was a serene way to start the new year. Once we had a coffee (or three) in us we decided to pack up and make our way back north. The plan was originally to hotel in Guerrero Negro for the night, but we had made such incredible time riding that we arrived in town by 11:30, and it seemed too early to stop for the day. The biggest problem with this is once you leave Guerrero Negro there isn’t much (really anything) until you arrive in Gonzaga Bay, which is another 4+ hours of riding and the possibility of bad winds. We rolled the dice and decided to attempt the ride to Gonzaga confident we would arrive just before sunset, which I had confirmed was at 16:49 PST.

The ride up was rather uneventful and even the winds seemed to be cooperating with us on the last leg of this ride. In pulling up to the Rancho Grande Tienda to reserve our campsite, refuel the bikes, and load up on firewood we were starting to feel the 320 miles we had just completed. One of the cool things about camping in this location is the rather long bundle of firewood they provide. Every time I load the wood on the moto it looks like some type of biplane. What completes the biplane feeling is riding to the palapas on the bay you are parallel with an airstrip, so you actually feel like you are about to take off. Just as we hit the 1-kilometer dirt road the winds began to increase heavily. This was the norm for this part of Baja and wasn’t too alarming for us.

Thankfully the palapa provided us with some protection from the swirling gusts, but not from the roaring freight train sounds that would keep us awake through the night as a demoralizing reminder that we’ll have to ride in them the following day.

After setting up our home for the evening it was time for a cold Tecate beer to unwind and enjoy the gorgeous views of the bay and the mountains that surround it. As I sat in my chair, I noticed a lone paddleboarder in the bay and became a bit alarmed with his lack of movement while he struggled to fight the wind to return to shore. He was quite a ways out and it was obvious the wind was physically and mentally wearing him down from this difficult battle. I could see him stand up to paddle ferociously for a few moments and then he would lay on the board, clearly to rest. This went on for about one more Tecate when I noticed it was 15:45. People were beginning to gather on the shore to watch his valiant yet seemingly unsuccessful attempt to return to his camp, but he wasn’t getting any closer. It was time for me to walk the beach and see who this person was with, gain insight on his experience level, how long he was out for, and determine next steps (if any were needed).

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After a few minutes I found his wife who didn’t seem to be concerned until I mentioned that sunset would be in an hour. At that moment the full weight of the situation set in, and she became frantic. Being one to always travel with a SpotGen 3 GPS emergency beacon I powered it on, gave her a brief tutorial on how to activate the SOS button, handed it to her and said, “If I am not back in 15 minutes you push the SOS button.” I then directed her to drive the bay in search of a fisherman or boater that could possibly assist. While she was working the problem from that angle, I fired up the BMW GS1200 and returned to the tienda to see if I could find a local that could assist in what clearly was becoming a rescue operation.

The locals in the tienda didn’t seem to know anyone that could help. This was not what I expected, and my brain was scrambling for any other ideas to save this person. As I exited the store the man’s wife came flying into the parking lot creating a mini dust storm from her sprinter van. She was even more panicked then earlier. Just as I was about to take the GPS beacon, return to the location of the paddleboarder and press SOS we saw a 1960s VW van with some surfers with their boards on the roof. After explaining the situation, they fully agreed to help, and we all raced back to the beach. We had 40 minutes of sun left before it disappeared over the desert mountains behind us. Once our rescue caravan arrived one of the surfers quickly dawned his wetsuit, grabbed his board, and was off into the cold, windy waters. Fortunately, it didn’t take him very long to reach the distressed paddler, secure his paddleboard to his surfboard and tow him back in. Everyone was safe and back on shore with 10 minutes of sunlight remaining.

The rescue operation was a success. The hero surfers made a hasty exit just as the last rays of light from the sun began to fade into the lonely desert. An hour later the family came over to our palapa to gift us with a couple bottles of wine as a thank you for assisting in the rescue mission. Of course, we invited them to share our campfire. Chatting with the paddleboarder, we learned this was his first paddleboarding experience. Together we relived the moments of the day from each of our perspectives while drinking the wine and enjoying the glow of the fire. What could have been a much worse ending was nothing more then a valuable lesson for him. The true heroes were the surfers, and I never even got their names before they rolled back down the dusty road and into the Baja desert.

Toad Rock Campground, British Columbia

By Mike Huber

When traveling I keep a loose schedule. I talk to people along my journey and gain insight on what is best to see, and just as importantly, what is best to avoid. In 2017 while sitting outside Starbucks somewhere in Washington state a couple asked where I was headed (I ride a GS1200; frequenting Starbucks is an ownership obligation). I didn’t have much of a destination in mind and the couple asked if I had my passport, which I did. They recommended visiting Toad Rock Campground in British Columbia. Just like that, Toad Rock Campground became my weekend destination.

I entered Canada through Idaho. It always seems once crossing the border everything just becomes more magnificent. Trees are larger, there is more wildlife, the mountains are higher, the water is bluer, you get the point. I crossed the Canadian border at Rykerts, B.C. This was a bit out of the way but it was what the couple had recommended. The main reason (besides 3A being a phenomenal road) was that I would take the World’s Longest Free Ferry across Kootenay Lake to Balfour. Once I disembarked the ferry in Balfour it was just a short hop to Toad Rock. It turns out taking the longer route was absolutely the right call.

Arriving at Toad Rock, I dismounted from the GS and went to check in. The lady running the camp stated it was full, but I could find a patch of grass in the back and set up camp. I signed in and paid (I want to say $10 CDN but don’t fully remember). She then looked at me, pointed and said, “If you’re an asshole I will throw your ass OUT!” To which I swiftly replied “Yes, Ma’am.” Later I found out she even makes motorcycle clubs remove their vests and colors to avoid any friction within the camp. This was all fine with me.

I rode to the back forty to find my piece of lawn, which was located well outside the wooded main area. The camp looked really cool with lights hung all through it to include a central gazebo with a stage, bar, and a very large refrigerator which was firmly held closed by a bungy cord. I asked someone what the deal was with this cord. They replied that there was a large pig that wandered the campground to scare the bears away and if you don’t bungy the refrigerator, the pig will open the door and drink all your beer. Interesting indeed.

My camp was set up by 13:00 and I discovered a local loop for an afternoon blast around southern B.C. The loop entailed riding Route.31 around to Route 6. From Route 6 I dropped down into Nelson, B.C. Nelson would make a great stopping point for a late lunch and has a quaint downtown area to walk around and stretch. The roads were in great shape and outside the mountain views being minimized from several wildfires it was a perfect June day to enjoy this part of the province. What made the day even better was stopping twice to jump into an ice-cold mountain stream that hugged the road to cool off. The streams were cold and refreshing, especially after riding in full gear during the peak of the day.

Upon leaving the streams my entire body would be tingling (like I just ate a piece of peppermint gum) from the extreme change in temperature it had just experienced. Having been fully refreshed from my swims it was time to eat. My stomach was growling for a burger just as I entered the town of Nelson. While eating a giant bacon burger and enjoying a cold Kokanee beer I suddenly heard a loud chopping through the air. I recognized that sound from years before. It was a Chinook helicopter coming to refill its water bucket in the lake to continue fighting the wildfires. Once that show was over and my burger was finished it was time to head back to Toad Rock and see what was going on at camp for entertainment. I would not be disappointed.

As I arrived at camp around 17:00 the pavilion in the middle was just getting warmed up and people were piling in serving drinks from the BYOB bar, retrieving beers from the refrigerator (and remembering to secure the beers from the thirsty pig), and talking with others. It wasn’t long before riders were randomly grabbing instruments to play music. Everyone was welcoming as they took turns sharing their motorcycle adventure stories.

At this point I realized we all were in the middle of a great motorcycle story just living in the present here. The festivities continued late into the night. As the night wore on and people slowly began to drift off to their campsites, I decided it was time to return to my tent as well. The only problem was I couldn’t find my campsite. I knew it was in the lawn section but that seemed impossible to find as I went by the same tents a few times as I wearily followed the colored lights strung throughout the trees. I began to worry that I’d have to locate the owner to ground guide me back to my campsite. Does meandering the campground hopelessly lost constitute being an asshole? It was at this moment I saw a familiar landmark that marked my tent location and I haphazardly slid into my home for the evening. This was a day that fully encompassed what being a motorcyclist is all about: Living in the present, embracing each moment, and bonding with fellow riders.

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Racing the Sun

By Mike Huber

Finding myself in Arizona in the winter months has become my norm. Arizona provides one of the better climates for riding and camping, and I can camp there without waking up next to a frozen Gatorade bottle in my tent (which happens way too often to me).

Over the past three years wintering here I had missed one of the more moving Veterans Day memorials, the Anthem Veterans Memorial in Anthem, Arizona. This fascinating tribute to our country’s Soldiers, Airmen, Marines, Sailors, and Coast Guard (no Space Force yet) is located just two minutes off Interstate 17.

I visited the Veterans Memorial on several occasions while stopping at the Starbucks in Anthem (insert BMW GS joke here) before riding to work in Phoenix or Tucson. What makes the Anthem Veterans Memorial so special is that on November 11^th at 11:11, the sun aligns with the Memorial and shines directly through its five pillars (each pillar represents a branch of the military). That lights the Great Seal of the United States of America. The pillar heights correspond with the number of people in each branch (Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard).

This year when I rode my GS to Phoenix for routine maintenance, I saw the sign on I-17 for the Memorial. I looked down and it was 11:08. I had a chance to make it! Pulling in my clutch and clicking down two gears brought me to this new destination. It was exhilarating. I was literally racing the sun to be where I needed to be at 11:11.

I didn’t make it in time. Only five minutes or so had passed, but the eclipse of the Great Seal was not in totality anymore. That is how accurate this modern-day sun dial is. The radiant glow from it was still vibrant and even though it wasn’t in full on totality it was still very impressive.

Many people surrounded the Memorial this day; more than a few rode motorcycles here as a Veterans Day Pilgrimage. It is always a great day whenever I chat with Veterans, especially at such an impressive monument on Veterans Day.

Having been so close to seeing this Memorial at its peak has placed it on my 2023 list. I will join other Veterans riding to the Memorial and the festivities on this special day, and Starbucks will be part of the experience to meet my BMW GS ownership obligations.

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Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 7

By Mike Huber

With Mai Chau being in our rear view mirrors, we just had one challenge left to overcome as riders in Vietnam: The chaotic traffic in the massive capital city of Hanoi. This was something we were both mentally prepared for and we had watched videos to somewhat provide us an idea on what to expect, but it would take more than me honking my little pink horn to navigate through this massive Asian city. As we rolled down the CT08 Highway into Hanoi the road didn’t seem too hectic, although I bounced off a car once or twice due to the limited real estate on the road.

Exiting the highway and entering surface streets the traffic increased exponentially, and we were separated several times. This was exactly why we had brought the Sena headsets, whereas in America we would never have even thought of using these devices. The road was about four American lanes wide, but it was easily fitting 8 to 12 vehicles on average. The vehicles ranged from Terminators, to cars, to little motos like ours, and everyone was cutting in and out constantly.

Another valuable driving lesson we learned was don’t drive defensively, but instead drive with purpose and intent. In doing so you will fit into the chaos and become part of the herd. Any second guessing yourself, braking, or quick acceleration will cause a ripple effect. That action will initiate others to stutter step and will most likely result in an accident; this was something we would rather avoid. Having mounts for our phones was another tip that proved invaluable. We could simply set our directions into it and place the phone in airplane mode to preserve the battery. Google Maps would remain on and guide us through these crowded streets filled with threats and obstacles.

Even with the GPS reliably guiding us through the madness we were rerouted several times due to the amount of traffic, getting split up, or having to focus on the many distractions that came in every form from every angle. Negotiating the rotaries was like entering a swarm of bees and trying to fit into our own little pocket without disrupting thousands of others that were searching for the same sanctuary in the lunacy. Upon arriving safely at our rental moto return point, we dismounted from our reliable steeds. They had been our life preservers over the past three weeks and 1,000+ miles through the concrete and plant jungles of this magnificent country.

Reflections

This journey through Vietnam, as with most journeys, was challenging mentally, physically, and especially emotionally. Vietnam reassured our feelings that the division between cultures and former enemies can be cured. Time provides a buffer between the anger and hatred and former times. One given about traveling is at times it can appear as though you go backward or forward in time. At that moment when Bobbie held the lady’s head and helped her in her final moments that lesson took hold in me. Helping a North Vietnamese would have been considered treason 70 years ago, but now it was not only the right thing to do but it a welcome gesture. Hours after the accident and thinking through it gave me hope that the political division in our country will be repaired. We are one people and our minor differences are indeed that: Minor. We sometimes tend to focus on the differences when we should be focused on the similarities.

Take the Iwo Jima photo above. We were riding by and a lady waved us down. They were planting a tree and were stuck, so I ran over without even taking off my helmet as it started to fall. We fixed it. A tree grows in Vietnam, and we helped.

I hope all of you reading this series enjoyed the read and were able to take something positive away from our experiences in Vietnam. I appreciate your support and you reading my writing. Thank you and be safe.

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Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 6

By Mike Huber

Exposure is one of the greatest thrills when traveling by motorcycle. You feel every drop of rain and every cold or warm front you move through, experiencing each second by second. There is no better way to experience the present, except for maybe exiting an aircraft in flight. Being a motorcyclist and embracing that exposure allows the most beautiful moments. During these moments I sometimes close my eyes for an instant to ensure my mind has a vivid snapshot that can be stored deep within and recalled for the rest of my life. With this beauty at times there comes a price, though, and at times that price can be death.

We were almost wrapping up our journey, having decided not to ride to the Vietnamese North Pole due to time constraints caused by our meandering travels. Instead, I chose local mountain roads I found while planning our trip. This made for relaxed riding and and easy return to our Home Stay in Mai Chau. The roads were incredible, some just dirt half covered by avalanches that barely allowed scooting the little 150cc motorcycles through. Every so often we would enter a village where pigs and water buffalo blocked the roads as children came out to honk the horn prominently taped to my handlebars.

After returning to the main road, just a few mountain passes away from Mai Chau, we decided to break for lunch. There were older locals drinking what looked like a Vietnamese vodka. Being ever curious about local drinks I attempted to order a bottle (or two) to go. This took more than a few minutes. Vietnam has so many dialects that many revert to English as the communication platform, but not here. It took about five minutes and included several charades imitating the drunken locals we had just seen to obtain the right beverage. No question about it: My performance would be the talk of that local watering hole for some time.

As I loaded the vodka bottles carefully into the plastic side panniers, we synced up the headsets and fired up the motos. The narrow two-lane highway was stunning. There were beautiful mountain views and sheer cliffs to our right where we could overlook the vistas and still see lingering fog far below us in a mystical valley. Traffic was light that day, but we were alert for Terminators (oncoming trucks barreling around blind corners) and we were still cautious.

Suddenly, a female with a pink Hello Kitty plastic helmet zinged by me on her scooter. I waved to her as we do to all riders and glanced again to look at the mountain views. I took a deep breath as I knew this would be one of those snapshot moments I wanted to remember forever. I didn’t realize how right I was. In the very next moment, a Terminator was barreling directly at me in my lane, and I had no escape with the cliff on my right. Before I could react to anything I heard plastic crunching and witnessed a body fly into the air 50 meters in front of me. The entire world stopped for a moment as the crescendo of a full orchestra built and screamed in my head. Then it suddenly stopped and the silence became the quiet sound of a gentle wind.

“Rider down!!” I screamed into the headset to Bobbie. I parked the bike and ran over. The female rider was still breathing, but there was nothing that could be done. With traffic stopped I knew that on these mountain roads this scene would just get worse. I attempted to tell the driver to call 911 knowing that most of these countries don’t have emergency services, but also knowing he wouldn’t need to read my charades to know what action to take. I flipped my moto around and drove up a quarter mile to meet Bobbie, and I explained that I would pull road guard detail and for her to go to the accident scene.

Road guard duty was not an easy task on that foggy mountain highway in Vietnam. I remembered I had downloaded the Google Translator after being pulled over and quickly looked up “Stop bad accident ahead,” but even with using Google Translator the trucks continued to ignore me to the point they were jeopardizing Bobbie and others at the scene. They continued to speed toward the horrific situation ahead. Some vehicles were even going off the road to the left to avoid the accident or the cliffs after ignoring my warnings.

Still wearing my helmet and headset I shouted several times to Bobbie that there was an incoming vehicle but to no avail. She was doing what she could to assist the downed female rider, and she didn’t have her helmet on. With no other option I physically walked into the middle of the road using myself as a barrier to force each vehicle to stop (I hoped). I wanted them to realize the accident they were about to encounter. This action ultimately worked and the threat of new vehicles incoming to the accident site stopped.

Sometime between 45 minutes and a lifetime later authorities arrived on the scene, but only in the form of a traffic officer on the back of a civilian moped. At this juncture it was time for us to depart. There was nothing else we could do, the female rider had died, and it was time for us to leave. We slowly continued our ride down the pass and neither of us spoke for the remainder of the ride other than my continued warnings on the lowering mountain switchbacks into the fog of Mai Chau Valley. After 45 minutes of riding an ambulance passed us heading to the accident. Still not saying a word, we knew there was no rush for the ambulance at this point.

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If you missed earlier installments of the Vietnam ride, here they are:

Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 1
Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 2
Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 3
Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 4
Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 5

Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 5

By Mike Huber

We awoke in Khe Sanh and felt well rested, semi warmed up, and ready to ride the 270 kilometers to Phong Nha. Phong Nha is home to an elaborate cave system we planned to spend a few days exploring. As we rode it wasn’t long before the concrete jungle of Khe Sanh morphed into jungle. The road we chose was a narrow two way street for most the ride with no traffic. In fact, on one stretch we didn’t see another car for 100 kilometers. There was nothing but jungle encroaching onto the roads and waterfalls splattering off the pavement, creating little rainbows. As we whizzed past the rainbows their light patterns would change to create a magical view into the dense lush jungle that surrounded us. Although we never saw anyone along this section our rule of having an exit path never stopped in the rare event a Terminator would come barreling at us around a blind corner. Other than being alert for that possible occurrence this stretch of the Hoh Chi Minh Trail was a rider’s dream. It was so isolated and quiet outside the sounds of our motorbikes humming but even that sound was overtaken by the hungry jungle which ate everything it could, including sounds.

The mountain roads provided beautiful switchbacks. We saw patchy rain clouds below us eerily floating by before they were consumed by the jungle. This part of the Trail is so remote we filled up water bottles with gas to ensure our bikes wouldn’t go thirsty since there were no gas stations. Continuing up and down through mountain passes until the sunlight faded, we finally dropped into a beautiful green valley. Water buffalo wandered into our paths as the roads straightened and the jungles were replaced with open rice fields and farmers.

After a short bit we saw beautiful mountains so steep and high they were giant green anthills surrounding us. As we stopped to check and confirm our directions to our Home Stay, we heard Buddhist chanting echoing in the mountains. The chanting reverberated off the mountains and it was impossible to tell where it came from. It fully engulfed us to the point it was vibrating through our motorcycles and even our own bodies. It was incredible.

The beauty of Phong Nha was beyond description so there was really no option but to extend our stay there by a day just to have an opportunity to tour the Buddhist temple during their Moon ceremony. We explored and hiked many caves, including Paradise Cave (one of the largest in the world). The extra day provided a much-needed break from riding. Even 150 miles made for quite a day when you factor in researching the best routes, watching for Terminators, and taking in the culture and sights.

After three days in this magical location, it was time to load the motos and roar (as much as our little 150cc motorcycles could roar) in our northerly direction. With no defined stopping point on this day it was exciting to just see where the day would take us. This is never a bad way to travel and rarely fails to provide excitement. This case was no different as we stumbled on a beautiful eco lodge where we toured island tea fields by boat. At this lodge there were German riders going in the opposite direction. This started a great conversation on where to stay for us going north, and for them going south. They showed a video of a rickety old bridge on which you could see the bamboo flipping up in all directions from the weight of the motorcycle. This bridge would be added to our route north. It also worked as it took us through a more isolated area including Pu Luong National Forest, which had beautiful jungle mountain switchbacks. As a much smaller road, it would have fewer Terminators.

We arrived at the bridge late in the day and zipped across it several times. We laughed as we heard the boards clacking one by one when we crossed. It sounds silly but this may have been our favorite part of the entire adventure to this point. The German riders gave us not only great advice on the bridge, they also recommended a Home Stay next to the nature preserve. It had great food and all you can drink rice wine included. The beers were a bit bland but the rice wine was just the change I needed to unwind, loosen up to chat (maybe too much) with the other guests, and enjoy the evening in a hammock after a fabulous Vietnamese dinner. This wonderful hidden gem of the world led us to extend our stay longer to explore the national forest and its lush waterfalls and our new friends.

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Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 4

By Mike Huber

By Day 3 we were fully acclimated to the roads, food, and culture and it was now time to start taking on more challenging rides. The next day entailed leaving Hoi An to continue north to Hue for a couple days. Along the way we detoured to experience riding across the Hai Van Pass. According to locals this was one of the best motorcycle roads in the country if not all of Asia.

As we entered the Pass there was a police road stop and I was waved over instantly. “Ahhh, I’ve got this” I thought, thinking I would just play the dumb tourist and skate out of any ticket. Well…it half worked. As soon as I began performing my best “sad tourist, I don’t speak Vietnamese” act the officer pulled out his phone with Google Translator. “Shit,” I thought, this isn’t going to turn out too great. Within a couple minutes another officer was called over. “Dammit!” I now thought, this definitely isn’t how it is supposed to go down. It turns out I simply meandered into a lane that wasn’t designated for motos. The other reason was that the officers wanted to honk the pink horn attached to my moto and take some photos with me. That was pretty cool.

Once our introductions to the local authorities were wrapped up we continued to the base of the Hai Van Pass. By this time, we felt very comfortable in our abilities riding in Vietnam. It was just like riding a local road in the US: Leaning, feeling, and embracing each moment while blasting (blasting for a 150cc bike, by the way) into the corners while traversing the mountain passes. As soon as we gained our confidence in riding in this country, we received a big wake up call. This was in the form of trucks passing recklessly on blind corners. I labeled these trucks “Terminators” based on my experience driving Humvees near the DMZ in Korea. It didn’t take long before I took the lead and would shout over our Sena headsets to forewarn what was around the next turn: “Clear,” or in many cases “Get to the side of the road, NOW!”

After completing the Hoi An Pass, we hit a new alertness level. A rule of thumb became that around every corner expect a Terminator to be coming at you head on and always have a sure path of egress when (not if) they did. This stayed with us as our Hondas continued winding north to the Hoh Chi Minh Trail.

These cautionary actions didn’t mean we weren’t having fun. As we entered the city of Hue, I noticed the bike was riding quite rough as if the shock was just gone. It turns out that my showing off for the locals in traffic by performing wheelies and endos had caused the shock to go a bit sooner than anticipated and fluid was leaking out. It was time to find a repair shop as this wasn’t something that would be tolerable for another 900+ miles. Fortunately, Hue is a large city and while working with our rental company, Tigit, they quickly referred us to a local mechanic named Mr. Kim. As I explained the situation to him (I left out the wheelie part) I could hear all the mechanics honking the pink horn on my bike in the back. One thing about Vietnam: They get things done, and fast. Within two hours Mr. Kim had rebuilt the shock and “bike all fixed, Mr. Hooba, no more bouncy bouncy.” Upon arrival to pick up the bike I continued to hear the honking of my horn in the back of the shop prior to them rolling it out. The shock was repaired, and we could continue the ride with a few less wheelies along the way.

With another obstacle (self-induced) behind us we continued to Khe Sanh. Khe Sanh looks as though it hasn’t changed one bit since the war. Gray concrete buildings line the streets, the smell of smoke from trash burning hung in the air, there were very few shops, and there were even fewer people along the main street through the center of town. To add to this gloomy scenario, it was a dark cloudy day, and we were freezing from the ride. The hotel we stayed in even had a chill that refused to leave and stayed with us all evening. I began thinking about the soldiers that fought here 50 years ago and what their opinion of this town was, both then and now. Our night was short and after eating a warm bowl of pho we returned to the hotel. We planned a longer ride the next day, and we wanted to be fully rested as we wandered deeper into this country of never-ending adventure.

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Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 3

By Mike Huber

It was December 2018, and we were in Da Nang, Vietnam. Our steeds for this trip consisted of two Honda Winner 150cc motorcycles and we were ready to begin our adventure. My moto had been fully decked out in a colorful light with bells, horns, and streamers. With our route defined as northernly it was time to fire off this trip. We did this by starting in the wrong direction (south), and the reason for that was Hoi An was close to Da Nang . There was a full moon festival happening there. This was something not to be missed.

Arriving in the bustling town of Hoi An late in the day we noticed that the roads had been closed in a perimeter around our Home Stay (Vietnamese version of Airbnb) due to the Full Moon Festival. The Home Stay was about a quarter mile away from the closest point we could get to. Leaving the bikes outside this perimeter wasn’t an option, nor was walking a quarter mile through the crowds with all our gear. Having lived in Boston for 16 years and with the mindset of a paratrooper, I shouted over the headset loud enough for Bobbie to hear me over the crowds growing for the festival: “Follow me! We’ll make this work.”

I clicked the bike into first geat and drove across the bridge to our Home Stay, on the sidewalk, and on the wrong side of the road while honking my favorite pink horn to alert those in our path that we were coming through. The smile on my face was one that I’ll never forget. This country was one of less rules and more of making it happen. I loved it! We made it to our Home Stay in time to unpack, catch our breath, and have a well-earned cold Saigon beer before heading out to find some chow.

Once properly hydrated from the Saigon beers, we walked the crowded streets of Hoi An as the glowing red sun began to set. We gazed over the beautiful Hoi An River. The river was filled with thousands of lanterns on tiny paper boats with candles paying respects to ancestors. This was a sight to behold. It was beautiful in every way. As the night wore on, our grumbling stomachs reminded us it was time to experiment with the Vietnamese cuisine.

Street vendors lined the alleys. All had interesting dishes ranging from octopus, to frogs that looked like Mr. Olympias (due to their muscles under the vendors’ lights), to the quail that were runner up to the frogs in the bodybuilding contests. Fried octopus seemed like the best choice. We ordered and sat at tables the same size used in preschool, with bright colors and flimsy plastic chair legs. The food was DELICIOUS and just what we needed after a successful first day of riding in this wonderful country.

Hoi An was an easy city to love, so it wasn’t a hard decision to extend our stay. One day entailed a full day of riding to a UNESCO Heritage World Site called My Son Temple. This is a collection of Hindu temples hidden in the mountains 25 miles west of Hoi An. The site was incredible, with temples half overrun by the jungle, yet still in pristine condition even though some of them are 600 years old. This location is deep in the jungle and as soon as we dismounted from our bikes we could feel the humidity. We spent much of the day exploring the ruins, with the overwhelming jungle darkness surrounding us. The ruins were a mystical place that we were fortunate to have stumbled upon.

On our return ride it was time to make food choices again. Choosing to stop at the first crowded place made sense. We soon discovered an establishment and radioed to each other that this looked acceptable. Instantly, all eyes were upon us as we sat down in a three-walled, white-paint-chipped open room. One thing we found in Vietnam wat that when you order food, you don’t always get what you asked for. Often you get what they have, even though they will nod their head to your request while saying “ya ya ya.” In this restaurant we kept it simple and ordered pho.

While waiting for our food we slowly drank a Hanoi beer that was warm (but much needed). We tried to act normal as the locals pointed at us and chuckled. Finally, our food arrived but instead of our requested pho, we received what appeared to be cold water buffalo meat wrapped in a type of Vietnamese lettuce, a dipping sauce of some sort, and a consommé. Eating with finesse isn’t my strong suit, and that became blatantly obvious. I was having issues making a wrap without having the meat spill out of the lettuce.

As all the patrons continued to stare at us an older lady came over to assist me in the proper way to prepare this dish, since I was clearly incapable of doing so myself. She began wrapping it tightly with her hands that were blackened with dirt from working in the rice fields earlier and successfully tightly rolled it for me to eat. While she was performing this task other patrons in the restaurant were walking around me to go on the other side of the wall from which I was sitting to use the “facilities.” With the sound of urine hitting the other side of the wall it was now time to finally eat my lunch. I bit into the wrap and noticed the meat was cold and I instantly thought it was raw and I’d get sick, but I still had to eat it to save face in front of everyone as they watched me chew each bite and swallow it. The many onlookers gazed upon me as I finished about 60% of the meal while washing it down religiously with Hanoi beer, thinking the alcohol might save me from becoming ill. For the next 12 hours I was in full on hypochondriac mode. I had about six false alarms during this time when I would bolt to the bathroom thinking I was about to have an accident. In hindsight this is funny, but at the time the threat of possibly having the runs while riding through Vietnam didn’t seem too humorous to me.

Returning to the Home Stay in Hoi An provided me with a bit of relief from my hypochondria and a chance to unwind. We had ventured out while learning more about the culture, the food, and the people. It was now time to map our next day’s ride, where we would correct our direction and return to moving north towards epic roads. With our gear fully organized and the bikes prepped, we called it an early night so we would be fresh for the next day.