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#71
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 07, 2026, 11:53 PMLao children like these are a world away from our mollycoddled urban offspring. Smart as bobcats, by the time they're eight they can hunt, fish and look after each other, roaming the jungle in feral packs. This raggle-taggle bunch of Mowglis may have only come up to my waist but they were tougher than most British adults would ever be. Small as they were, I had to trust them. I jokingly made strongman gestures with my arms, at which they giggled and bounded off through the trees, naked bottoms glinting in the sun. By the time I caught up with them they were swarming around Panther, the leader hacking at lengths of bamboo with a machete, marshalling his tiny troops. It was a scene straight out of The Lord of the Flies. Removing my luggage, I watched as they thrust two long poles through the spokes and hoisted my precious Panther over their heads.
The leader barked his orders and in they all dived, five or six children on either side. I stood on the bank with the smallest ones, clapping and whooping with encouragement. The bamboo buckled. Brown water lapped at the wheels, but slowly they wobbled across. Triumphant, they put Panther down on the far bank and hurtled back for their money. The leader took my fistful of notes and sat on a rock, divvying out the booty with the professionalism of an Irish bookie. When it had all been snatched away he looked at me with imploring eyes and said, "Dollar, dollar." I knew then I wasn't the first foreign biker to come this way.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p238-9
The leader barked his orders and in they all dived, five or six children on either side. I stood on the bank with the smallest ones, clapping and whooping with encouragement. The bamboo buckled. Brown water lapped at the wheels, but slowly they wobbled across. Triumphant, they put Panther down on the far bank and hurtled back for their money. The leader took my fistful of notes and sat on a rock, divvying out the booty with the professionalism of an Irish bookie. When it had all been snatched away he looked at me with imploring eyes and said, "Dollar, dollar." I knew then I wasn't the first foreign biker to come this way.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p238-9
#72
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 07, 2026, 12:02 AMRacing the storm and time, I leant forward over Panther and twisted the throttle, nearly jumping out of my skin as a deafening thunderclap cracked over my head.
Something at that moment made me remember it was Easter Sunday. It was 3 p.m. About now, back in England, my parents would be belting out hymns in Church and my nephew and niece would be tearing open Easter eggs, their faces smudged in chocolate. How Far And Away that all seemed from my present situation - not enough food and water, no idea where I would sleep tonight and about to get drenched by a tropical thunderstorm. But I was happy; happy to be alone, happy to be pushed like this, enlivened by the adventure. Easter eggs could wait until next year.
It was on days like today that I really revelled in the solitude. I was engaged, focused, determined. On my own, there was no one to help me and no one to complain to. If I was with Marley I probably would have grumbled about my leg hurting, the thunder, being tired. But so what? So what if my leg hurt?
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p229
Something at that moment made me remember it was Easter Sunday. It was 3 p.m. About now, back in England, my parents would be belting out hymns in Church and my nephew and niece would be tearing open Easter eggs, their faces smudged in chocolate. How Far And Away that all seemed from my present situation - not enough food and water, no idea where I would sleep tonight and about to get drenched by a tropical thunderstorm. But I was happy; happy to be alone, happy to be pushed like this, enlivened by the adventure. Easter eggs could wait until next year.
It was on days like today that I really revelled in the solitude. I was engaged, focused, determined. On my own, there was no one to help me and no one to complain to. If I was with Marley I probably would have grumbled about my leg hurting, the thunder, being tired. But so what? So what if my leg hurt?
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p229
#73
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 06, 2026, 02:14 AMI took a few photos and kicked Panther into action. But the lever slipped uselessly between first, second and third. The gear mechanism had gone. Without gears I couldn't move an inch. Flicking to 'Chapter-1: Engine and Gearbox' in the Haynes Manual, I was confronted with a terrifying-looking exploded diagram of the inner workings of a C90 gear system. Since the geary bits are inside the enginey bits, it meant taking apart the whole engine to see what the problem was. I'd become pretty good at basic tweaking but I feared this was beyond me.
Crouching in the dust, I fiddled with my spanner set and peered at the diagrams. Several overloaded pick-up trucks rattled by, the drivers and passengers all hanging out to shout, "Pai Sai?"
"Attapeu!" I shouted back hopefully, not wanting to ask for help yet.
They laughed and burnt past without taking their feet off the gas, engulfing me in a storm of dust. So much for chivalry in Laos.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p225
Crouching in the dust, I fiddled with my spanner set and peered at the diagrams. Several overloaded pick-up trucks rattled by, the drivers and passengers all hanging out to shout, "Pai Sai?"
"Attapeu!" I shouted back hopefully, not wanting to ask for help yet.
They laughed and burnt past without taking their feet off the gas, engulfing me in a storm of dust. So much for chivalry in Laos.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p225
#74
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 05, 2026, 03:29 AMPanther, it seemed, was less keen. Numerous attempts at her kick-start produced no more than a loud pop, then ominous silence. I had seemingly done the impossible; I'd killed my C90. Dialling Cuong's number, I explained her symptoms and asked his advice.
"It sounds like the cam chain," he diagnosed. "You'll never find decent mechanic in Kaleum- get the bike on a truck to Sekong and find a Vietnamese mechanic there. Whatever you do, find a Vietnamese mechanic, Lao ones no good."
Sekong was the provincial capital, about fifty miles from here. Getting a truck would be expensive. Digby called back a few minutes later.
"Look, if the worst comes to the worst we can always send you a new engine. There are worse places to be holed up for a few days than Sekong."
Strangely, instead of worry, I felt a frisson of excitement. Seemingly disastrous situations like this often lead to memorable incidents. Or as motorcycling legend Ted Simon was fond of saying: "The interruptions ARE the journey." Whatever my immediate future, it would likely be interesting.
Watched by the one-eyed cook and the transvestite from the hotel, I pondered my predicament beside the stricken Panther. Almost instantaneously, a man walked up to me and said in faltering English, "You need mechanic? I'm Vietnam. There's Vietnam mechanic just up the road."
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p192
"It sounds like the cam chain," he diagnosed. "You'll never find decent mechanic in Kaleum- get the bike on a truck to Sekong and find a Vietnamese mechanic there. Whatever you do, find a Vietnamese mechanic, Lao ones no good."
Sekong was the provincial capital, about fifty miles from here. Getting a truck would be expensive. Digby called back a few minutes later.
"Look, if the worst comes to the worst we can always send you a new engine. There are worse places to be holed up for a few days than Sekong."
Strangely, instead of worry, I felt a frisson of excitement. Seemingly disastrous situations like this often lead to memorable incidents. Or as motorcycling legend Ted Simon was fond of saying: "The interruptions ARE the journey." Whatever my immediate future, it would likely be interesting.
Watched by the one-eyed cook and the transvestite from the hotel, I pondered my predicament beside the stricken Panther. Almost instantaneously, a man walked up to me and said in faltering English, "You need mechanic? I'm Vietnam. There's Vietnam mechanic just up the road."
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p192
#75
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 04, 2026, 02:48 AMThe farther I went, the harder it became: steep hills, horizontal slabs of slate-grey rock, deep ruts and that nefarious orange mud. We bumped and slid down, revved and clanked up. Panther's poor little engine strained and wheezed and her tyres spun in the mud, struggling for hold. Several slopes were so steep and rocky I paused at the top, wondering how on earth I would do it. Resting Panther on her side stand I walked ahead, picking out the best path, usually a narrow strip of harder mud right at the edge. Wedging my right boot on the back brake, holding the front one on with my right hand and dragging my left boot in the mud for extra braking and stability, we would jolt down. Go too slowly and I'd lose balance, too fast and I'd lose control and risk going over the edge.
On the hardest, rockiest inclines I put both feet down, took weight off the seat and heaved her up with all my strength, the engine struggling in first gear.
It was the toughest riding I had done yet. Keep buggering on, I told myself, and metre by metre, mile by mile we nosed forwards. All I could think about was that moment, those rocks, that deep rut, which gear I was in - nothing else mattered except that place and that instant in time. As hard as it was I felt fully engaged, spurred on by the same fire of determination that had ignited in me on the road from Ban Laboy.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p172-3
On the hardest, rockiest inclines I put both feet down, took weight off the seat and heaved her up with all my strength, the engine struggling in first gear.
It was the toughest riding I had done yet. Keep buggering on, I told myself, and metre by metre, mile by mile we nosed forwards. All I could think about was that moment, those rocks, that deep rut, which gear I was in - nothing else mattered except that place and that instant in time. As hard as it was I felt fully engaged, spurred on by the same fire of determination that had ignited in me on the road from Ban Laboy.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p172-3
#76
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 03, 2026, 02:12 AMAt Ban Dong I stopped for a Vietnamese coffee- rocket fuel laced with viscous condensed milk. As I drank it, a small Vietnamese woman pulled up beside Panther on a moped. Or at least I think it was a moped, for it was piled with such a peculiar paraphernalia of objects you could barely see the wheels. The woman was perched on an inch of seat in front of a muddle of fishing nets, cooking pans and pink plastic bonsai trees. Either side of her, panniers made of chicken wire and wood bulged with flip flops, sandals, packets of instant noodles and more cooking utensils. Another basket attached to the handlebars contained plastic helicopters, spotted headbands, T-shirts and tracksuits. Somewhere in there she probably had an inflatable shark, a kitchen sink and an antique hatstand.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p156
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p156
#77
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 02, 2026, 03:16 AMPanther lay on her side in a large puddle, her front basket bent and caked in mud. Shards of glass from the smashed left wing mirror glinted in the dirt. Hauling her upright, I saw her left foot peg was bent backwards and a section of paint had been scraped off. She no longer looked like the pristine pink city girl that had left Hanoi ten days earlier.
That'll teach me to go around waving at everyone like an imbecile, not looking where I'm going, I thought.
By now about ten people had gathered around, watching intently as I opened the top box and extracted the toolkit. No one spoke a single syllable of English, but it's amazing how far you can get with sign language and a smile. A young man in dirty blue overalls took my hammer, kneeling down to knock the basket and foot peg back in to shape while I unscrewed the useless wing mirror. To explain that I was from Ang – England - I handed out postcards of the Queen, Buckingham Palace and Big Ben. A little girl in a ripped, dirty orange dress poked Queen's face and said "Mama" delightedly, as if recognising her. I doubt they had ever heard of England, let alone ever seen Her Maj. An old man then pointed to the mountains, made thundery noises and shook his head sympathetically, as if saying "Don't worry, it's not your fault, it's the rain."
With a cheery wave and a throbbing shin I set off, leaving them to puzzle over their unexpected morning interlude. The incident reminded me that an adventure isn't an adventure until things go wrong. Falling in that puddle had forced me into a pleasant interaction with the villagers, which I hope had brightened their morning as well as mine. If I ever pass again, I hope to find the Queen's face still adorning several of the huts.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p124-5
That'll teach me to go around waving at everyone like an imbecile, not looking where I'm going, I thought.
By now about ten people had gathered around, watching intently as I opened the top box and extracted the toolkit. No one spoke a single syllable of English, but it's amazing how far you can get with sign language and a smile. A young man in dirty blue overalls took my hammer, kneeling down to knock the basket and foot peg back in to shape while I unscrewed the useless wing mirror. To explain that I was from Ang – England - I handed out postcards of the Queen, Buckingham Palace and Big Ben. A little girl in a ripped, dirty orange dress poked Queen's face and said "Mama" delightedly, as if recognising her. I doubt they had ever heard of England, let alone ever seen Her Maj. An old man then pointed to the mountains, made thundery noises and shook his head sympathetically, as if saying "Don't worry, it's not your fault, it's the rain."
With a cheery wave and a throbbing shin I set off, leaving them to puzzle over their unexpected morning interlude. The incident reminded me that an adventure isn't an adventure until things go wrong. Falling in that puddle had forced me into a pleasant interaction with the villagers, which I hope had brightened their morning as well as mine. If I ever pass again, I hope to find the Queen's face still adorning several of the huts.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p124-5
#78
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 01, 2026, 12:11 AMI watched the jeeps rumble across then rode down a steep sandy bank towards the waiting canoe. The old man held the meagre vessel steady as I crept Panther forward to the bow, walking my legs along the foot-high sides for balance, only a few inches spare either side of my tyres. I heard two extra passengers squat down behind me and with a thrust and a wobble the aged pilot pushed us slowly off the bank. Thrust, wobble, thrust, wobble - I gritted my teeth and swore quietly as we lurched forward, my passengers laughing at my outburst.
"Think yogic, think yogic," I muttered to myself. "Just look straight ahead, balance and don't move." I knew if I panicked and moved, all of us would be in the water.
Gripping the handlebars, hardly daring to breathe, I watched the opposite bank inch closer noticing, out of the corner of my eye, a large green lizard paddle past, eyeing me with a beady yellow eye. Sweat and suncream ran down my face, stinging my eyes and collecting in small pools at the base of my neck.
Finally the canoe slid onto the opposite bank and I paid the toothless man 6,000 kip - about eighty pence - pulled the throttle and rode shakily away, Digby cackling as he filmed my escape. That definitely counted as a significant small victory.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p115-6
"Think yogic, think yogic," I muttered to myself. "Just look straight ahead, balance and don't move." I knew if I panicked and moved, all of us would be in the water.
Gripping the handlebars, hardly daring to breathe, I watched the opposite bank inch closer noticing, out of the corner of my eye, a large green lizard paddle past, eyeing me with a beady yellow eye. Sweat and suncream ran down my face, stinging my eyes and collecting in small pools at the base of my neck.
Finally the canoe slid onto the opposite bank and I paid the toothless man 6,000 kip - about eighty pence - pulled the throttle and rode shakily away, Digby cackling as he filmed my escape. That definitely counted as a significant small victory.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p115-6
#79
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Dec 31, 2025, 06:54 AMDressing in my floral shirt and best underwear for luck, I crept down the dark stairs. No one else was up and I quietly packed Panther and rode through the gates into the bracing dawn air. I'm not a morning person, but there's something magical about riding a motorbike at dawn as the world is just waking; the ghostly grey light suggestive of Other Worlds and Unseen Beings. Heading north west through the fairy tale landscape of Phong Nha Khe Ban National Park, I barely saw another human - unusual for Vietnam. High peaks of limestone karst rose imperiously out of the paddies, floating above a sea of mist, and to my far left were the sheer ramparts of the mountainous border.
At 7 a.m. I stopped to buy some bread - banh mi, pronounced bang me - from two women. They held up one finger, asking was I alone; laughing when I said yes.
Urging Panther on, I reached a record speed of 35 miles per hour along the stretch of an old MiG runway before starting the slow climb into the mountains. A silvery vapour hung in the valleys and swirled around the jungle-clad slopes, occasional rays of sun flooding the scene with an ethereal light. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and again I felt that rush of exhilaration, that purity of solitude. I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p91-2
At 7 a.m. I stopped to buy some bread - banh mi, pronounced bang me - from two women. They held up one finger, asking was I alone; laughing when I said yes.
Urging Panther on, I reached a record speed of 35 miles per hour along the stretch of an old MiG runway before starting the slow climb into the mountains. A silvery vapour hung in the valleys and swirled around the jungle-clad slopes, occasional rays of sun flooding the scene with an ethereal light. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and again I felt that rush of exhilaration, that purity of solitude. I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p91-2
#80
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Dec 30, 2025, 01:52 PMThat morning, among the pomp and thrill of religious fervour, my anxiety about the journey fell away. This was what it was all about, being immersed in the unpredictable ebb and flow of life on the other side of the world. Every day was going to be a dive into the unknown; every moment unpredictable.
How glorious.
Riding away from the church, I felt my shoulders drop and my face split into a smile. It was the kind of elation you only get from the freedom of the open road, meditation or drugs; a certain liberation of the mind. The kind of elation that makes you want to do a wheelie, whoop excitedly and wave at everyone you pass. I couldn't wait for whatever the Trail was going to throw at me. As if echoing my happiness, the first bit of sunshine I had seen all week elbowed its way through the clouds.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p68
How glorious.
Riding away from the church, I felt my shoulders drop and my face split into a smile. It was the kind of elation you only get from the freedom of the open road, meditation or drugs; a certain liberation of the mind. The kind of elation that makes you want to do a wheelie, whoop excitedly and wave at everyone you pass. I couldn't wait for whatever the Trail was going to throw at me. As if echoing my happiness, the first bit of sunshine I had seen all week elbowed its way through the clouds.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p68