Spooked - Saved by Two Jokers

The day before, returning to my guest house, I found two Jokers from a pack of cards, those to be played at any time, on the road. I picked them up and kept them.

Later the following day, after visiting the cave, I took a ride to Nuoc Mooc Spring, more of a river in fact, similar to that of the cave. A few kilometers on, I turned the Minsk into the road to the spring. It was eerie. This was the road I had decided not to take just before my clutch chain broke for the second time a few days earlier. But that wasn't what spooked me. It was the resonance from those tall closely packed karst mountains, the heavy overcast sky did nothing to brighten the atmosphere. This was one section of the Ho Chi Minh Trail I didn't want to go down. But I did, for a bit any way, to get to the spring.

After a kilometer walk through the relaxing green scenary, back to the Trail to complete a round trip to the village. Again I felt spooked as I made my way down the Trail. In over 30 years of living and travelling around the world, up vast African rivers in 'pyrogues', days into the forests hunting jungle meat with only what I wore plus trust in my new friend, before guide books and internet were invented, before bus timetables, I have never been spooked like that.

Significantly, I approached the crossroads where I should turn off. To my great relief I heard the sound of a motorbike approaching from the west. It was Tien on another Minsk. Never having met him before, he stopped as a fellow Minsk rider to share stories as country folks do everywhere. He came from close to the Lao border and found only Minsks hardy enough for the terrain, they never die he said.

Within minutes the crossroads was jammed with bikes as the two Frenchmen I'd met the evening before, Ludivec and Alain, appeared on their Hondas. I thanked them all for turning up just then when I was feeling vulnerable for the first time on this ride. A cross roads indeed.

The swollen group of Project Pineapple riders joined together to weave our way down the more than undulating Trail, Tien on his Minsk ahead, us following.

Back home, I could only compare to Tolkien's Mordor, the gloomy land where dark forces reign. Had I been sensing the dark days gone by, the many troubled spirits that lay within and down that section of the Trail?

Later that evening, I again thanked those two Jokers for playing their hand at a most opportune moment.