Drawbar break – Elephant waterfall
N 11°56'29.9'' E 108°25'58.1''
Date:
25.02.2017
Day: 606
Country:
Vietnam
Province:
Da Lat
Location:
Da Lat
Latitude N:
11°56’29.9”
Longitude E:
108°25’58.1”
Daily kilometers:
80 km
Total kilometers:
22,487 km
As the crow flies:
32 km
Average speed:
17.7 km/h
Maximum speed:
46.3 km/h
Travel time:
4:23 hrs.
Soil condition:
Asphalt / gravel
Maximum height:
1.500 m
Total altitude meters:
67.529 m
Altitude meters for the day:
1.273 m
Sunrise:
06:03 am
Sunset:
5:54 pm
Temperature day max:
28°C
Departure:
08.10 a.m.
Arrival time:
6:00 pm
(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).
The road is a construction site. One hole follows the next. Stones, dust, grit and gravel stress our bike technology in the worst possible way. What’s more, it’s mostly uphill. At around 44 to 48 degrees in the sun, it’s hot as hell. After months of rain, we are still getting used to the sudden warmth. From time to time, fresh bitumen spreads out in front of us and gives us and the bikes a breather. Kraaack!, a sound rips through the air as Tanja overtakes a stationary truck. I immediately slam on my brakes. “No harm done, but I think the drawbar has just broken,” she says, pushing her bike to the side of the road. We are at the end of a long stretch of road. The traffic rattles and dusts past. I take a look at the drawbar. “I’d have been surprised if the last 20 km of road hadn’t taken its toll.” “Then the search for an aluminum welder in Da Lat is over,” says Tanja dryly. “Yes.” “So, do you have any idea how we’re going to get out of here now?” she asks. “None. This thing is fucked. As things stand at the moment, we can’t go another meter,” I think, frantically searching for a solution. “Let’s push the bikes and trailers over there to the restaurant. Maybe we’ll think of something over soup,” I suggest. No sooner said than done, we roll our bikes to the roadside restaurant, order a soup and settle down in the pleasant shade of the concrete shed. “We should call a cab and take the trailer to the hotel in Da Lat,” Tanja suggests. “And where can we get a cab here?” I ask tiredly. “Hm, maybe we can stop one of the passing vehicles?” “The trailer won’t fit in such a small car. We’d need one with a very large trunk. Preferably a minibus,” I say, pointing to one that is just coughing past. “It’s stopping!” shouts Tanja, jumping up and sprinting to the vehicle. I look after her skeptically. Five minutes later she comes back and says: “I wanted to go to Da Lat. “Maybe you should call the guesthouse where we pre-booked a room yesterday. The girl at reception spoke quite good English. You can tell her to ask the landlady of this shed to order us a cab,” I suggest. “Good idea,” Tanja agrees and immediately dials the number. Our plan is for Tanja to take the trailer to Da Lat, about 40 km away, while I look after the bikes. When she has dropped off the trailer at the guest house, she will come back and we can ride to town together with the bikes and Ajaci.
“I have an idea,” I interrupt Tanja’s phone call. “Get back to me in a minute,” she tells Jenny, whereupon I tell her about my brainwave. “We still have the bent drawbar of the dog trailer that we replaced in Mongolia. It doesn’t fit into the mount on your trailer, but with two holes and screws I could fit it provisionally. If that works, we can easily get as far as Da Lat.” “And where are you going to have the holes drilled?” “I’m looking for a workshop. There are workshops everywhere in Vietnam,” I say confidently. “Good luck then,” says Tanja as I set off in the heat. Just 100 meters down the road I actually find a kind of locksmith’s shop. I turn around immediately, grab the trailer and roll it to the workshop. “Here, you see? I need two holes,” I try to explain to the mechanic. At first he doesn’t understand, shakes his head constantly and says: “Không đi, không đi.” (doesn’t work, doesn’t work) “Yes, yes, it works”, I try to convince the man. A sudden smile lights up his face. He jumps up, grabs a drill and drills the two holes. Then he swings onto his moped and appears minutes later with two new, matching bolts. When I ask him how much the repair will cost, he wants 20,000 dong (US$1). I’m happy and give him double. At first he doesn’t want to accept, but after I make it clear to him how important his job was to me, he pockets the money, laughs and hugs me.
My chest heaving with pride, I return to Tanja and show her the provisionally repaired trailer. “Fantastic, then we can go and see the elephant waterfalls on the way to Da Lat.” “Sure, why not.” 30 minutes after leaving the restaurant behind us, we reach the elephant waterfall. We take our time to climb around the area and enjoy the natural spectacle. Then we drive on to Da Lat. Fortunately, the mountain road here is fantastically well maintained, so that the climb up to 1,500 meters is not too strenuous. On the contrary, we feel fit and exhilarated. Perhaps because of the unexpected repair. In the hilly outskirts of the city, two men are standing by the roadside on their racing bikes. When they see us ride past, they jump into their saddles and speed off after us. I’ll show you, it goes through my head, hammering the pedals. The road meanwhile winds its way up again. I pedal my heavy steed upwards at 19 km/h. In the rear-view mirror I can see the two cyclists groaning as they try to catch up with me but have no chance. Ha, ha, ha, I’m as happy as a little boy. The road bends into a dip. The racing cyclists hurtle down, getting closer and closer. I brake at 50 km/h because I don’t want to take any risks, then it suddenly goes up again. Once again, I hang out with the athletes in their colorful cycling gear. In order not to lose the distance to Tanja, I stop at the top and pretend to study the map. The racing cyclists stop next to me, panting loudly and ready to go, looking at me with wide eyes and stretching their ladies upwards. Again and again they shake their heads and simply cannot believe that they have been so cruelly displaced by such a road train. “I love you,” says one Vietnamese man in broken English. “I love you, then,” I say with a smile and continue to pretend that I’m completely rested and that the climb hasn’t bothered me in the slightest. The men get off their race bikes, walk around my bike several times, still shaking their heads. Then they shrug their shoulders, shake my hand and dash off. Since I didn’t tell them that I had been assisted by a great electric motor and they obviously don’t know the bike technology yet, they will surely tell me about this experience for the rest of their lives.
As soon as Tanja comes around the corner, we drive on. When I see the puzzled faces of the two racing cyclists in my mind’s eye, I have to laugh out loud. Then we are hit by the city’s terrible moped traffic. In flow mode, we glide through the wasp-like speeding motorcycles and find our place to stay in the middle of the hectic, noisy city center. The owner of the mini-hotel is extremely friendly and helps us carry all our equipment into the small anteroom. Together we move the heavy wooden furniture to create the necessary space for the bikes and trailers. Then, fortunately, we take the bike bags to the 5th floor via an elevator. “Phew, what a day,” I puff out, settling onto the clean bed. “Yes, a good day. I was lucky I wasn’t going fast when the drawbar broke and you got us here with your great idea.” “Not to mention that I left two professional cyclists behind on my e-bike,” I reply with a laugh…
If you would like to find out more about our adventures, you can find our books under this link.
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