By I came back to Vietnam expecting a motorcycle adventure. That was the plan: rent a bike, disappear into the mountains, chase roads I had only seen through other people’s photos, and hopefully come back with a few good stories.
What I didn’t expect was how quickly Vietnam would remind me that the best parts of traveling usually aren’t the places you plan for. They’re the random conversations, the wrong turns, those who stop to help, and the moments when everything goes sideways.
And of course, the adventure started exactly how every questionable motorcycle adventure should start:
With a questionable motorcycle.
The XR150: A Trusty Little Dumpster Fire
The bike I rented from QT was not exactly what I would call “dream adventure bike” material. It was a well-used XR150. Clapped out would probably be the polite way to describe it. The brakes weren’t exactly confidence-inspiring; rubbing wood together would stop me faster. The suspension had definitely seen some things- fork oil? What is even fork oil? Every time I loaded it up with my bags, I looked at it and thought:
“Buddy… you sure you’re ready for this?”
The answer was probably no. But it’ll have to do.
It carried my luggage, survived the mountains, and became part of the story. I originally worried about attaching all my camera gear via a $10 motorcycle net, but after some rearranging in town I got everything sorted. With about 45-liters worth of pack on this bike, I definitely looked like I was trying to move countries instead of riding the Ha Giang Loop.
The bike felt like it was going to fall over every time I stopped. Still, the little Honda kept going. That’s all I needed.
Welcome to Ha Giang: Mountains, Haze, and a Million Tour Groups
Leaving Ha Giang, the first thing that hit me was the weather.
Hot. Hazy. Gray.
Not exactly the postcard-perfect Vietnam I had imagined. No deep blue skies. No dramatic clouds hanging over endless mountains. But honestly? I would take that over rain any day.
The roads immediately reminded me why people come here. The landscape was incredible, but the roads were exactly what made it special. Gravel sections, potholes big enough to swallow you whole, behemoths of construction equipment around every corner, and narrow mountain passes where one bad move would ruin your entire day.
My first stop was Little Ma Pi Leng Canyon, one of the famous viewpoints along the loop. And it was packed. Absolutely packed.
There were backpackers everywhere, mostly riding through on guided tours. Caravans with matching helmets, bibs, and flag carriers to depict one house from another. The canyon was beautiful, but somehow suffocating with being overcrowded. Also, a little reminder that I was not exactly discovering some untouched corner of the world. A tourist getting mad at tourists doing touristy things, I get it.
This is the tradeoff with famous places. Everyone wants to see the magic. Myself included.
I stopped at a few overlooks, tried to soak it in, grabbed some photos, but the haze and the hordes made it hard to see the dramatic views I was hoping for. After a few minutes, I decided to keep moving.
The road was the destination anyway.
My First Vietnam Police Experience
Then it happened. The classic Vietnam motorcycle experience:
Getting pulled over.
A police officer waved me down as he hopped off of his beach chair- yes, beach chair- and immediately I knew where this was going.
The conversation was interesting, mostly because they didn’t realize I’m Vietnamese until I opened my mouth.
The fine started at 8 million dong. Eventually, after some haggling, it became 5 million dong, or about $200USD. An entire month’s salary in these parts. Would it have been 2 million under different circumstances? Probably. But apparently being a Vietnamese person from overseas — a “Viet Kieu” — came with its own special pricing.
The officers laughed among themselves, and it was pretty clear this was just part of the game. Was I annoyed? Absolutely. Did I feel like I got taken advantage of? Also yes. But I paid, packed up, and kept riding.
They told me I wouldn’t get stopped again on the loop because they uploaded my information into the “system.” Whether that was true or not, I guess I’ll never know.
The funny thing about travel is that these are the moments you’re angry about in the moment, but later become part of the story you laugh about.
Getting Lost Is Part of the Adventure
After that, I continued toward my homestay. Except…I had no idea where my homestay was. I got lost, then lost again. Then somehow even more lost.
Eventually, I ended up at the wrong house. Instead of someone pointing me away, the people there invited me in for tea. No questions. No hesitation. Just: “Come sit.”
That moment would end up being one of many reminders throughout this trip that Vietnamese hospitality is something special.
They called my host to let her know her stray was lost. When she arrived, I was relieved, and so was she; losing a foreigner in these parts comes with bad reviews. I kid.
I chose this homestay because of reviews from travelers opting to get off the beaten path. Getting there was rough, so I would completely agree. Their hospitality through other travelers drew me in, and it was the experience I was looking for. The room was simple but clean. Spacious enough. Comfortable enough. Exactly what I needed after such a grueling first day.
The First Night: Food, Corn Wine, and Feeling Like Family
That evening I flew my drone, took some photos, and relished finally slowing down. My host asked if I wanted dinner. Of course I replied, never one to pass up on local delicacies.
She and her sister cooked a full meal. And I mean a FULL meal. There were ten dishes all for me. I’ve been known to eat my weight in food, but even this was excessive! I waited for them to join me in this feast, and I waited, and waited, but they stayed in the kitchen. Eventually I found them and asked for their company in joining me.
They looked surprised. That look told me all I needed to know: the house staff does not eat with the guests. Unfortunately, they were going against protocol that night. I told them there was no way I was going to put all that food away. Soon enough, we were all sitting together, eating, talking, and laughing.
Even though we spoke different dialects, the communication through gestures, smiles, and food said it all.
Later, neighbors of theirs came over. A grandmother, mother, and a joyous bouncing baby, all decked out in local attire. And then someone brought out homemade corn wine.
And let me tell you: That stuff sneaks up on you. It tastes harmless. It’s not harmless. Every drink we raised for a toast as no one ever drinks alone. I took it easy because I still had a motorcycle and a lot more mountains ahead of me. However, the grandmother did not go down, as expected, nothing but respect.
That night, sitting there with people I had just met, sharing food and drinks in the middle of nowhere, was exactly why I came to Vietnam.
Not just for the roads. Not just for the scenery. For moments like this.
Day Two: Fog, Wrong Turns, and Finding the Best Roads
The next morning started early. Coffee first, obviously, even if it came from a package. I thanked my hosts and loaded up the XR. I met the father, and we exchanged some words, mostly appreciation on my part. They had been incredibly kind, and leaving was harder than I expected.
The plan was simple: Ride toward the viewpoints. Clockwise. Escape crowds.
The reality: Get lost and figure it out.
I headed toward Diem Dam Chan Du Lich viewpoint. The road was cold, miserable, and beautiful all at the same time. You don’t often get to ride windy mountainous roads with zero barriers keeping you from your death.
When I arrived, I was greeted by exactly what I had been fighting against: Fog. No mountain views. No blue skies. Just clouds.
I ordered a hot ginger tea to warm up, sat down, and accepted it.
That’s traveling. Sometimes you don’t get the photo you came for. Sometimes you just get the experience.
Eventually, other tourists arrived. A car full of Vietnamese locals at first, then a couple buses and that was my cue.
Accidentally Entering Another Country’s Cell Service
At some point during the ride, my phone decided Vietnam wasn’t enough. Apparently, I was close enough to China that my phone connected to a Chinese cell tower. A nice little reminder that I was no longer cruising around New England.
The roads became incredible. Twisty mountain passes. Empty stretches of pavement. The kind of roads where you start understanding why riders dream about places like this.
Of course, I also got lost. A lot. I was supposed to head toward Dong Van. Instead, I ended up somewhere completely different. Eventually, after checking my map and getting gas in Yen Minh, I realized I was on DT176, a road I was saving for later, but here we are.
And honestly? That mistake ended up being one of the best things that happened. DT176 was incredible. Fast corners, sweeping turns, mountains everywhere. Underneath my helmet I was grinning ear to ear.
Ma Pi Leng: The View I Came For
Eventually, I made my way toward Ma Pi Leng. Finding my ecolodge was its own adventure. I got lost multiple times, even ended up at a place that’s been shut down for a while. I seldom checked my digital maps, opting instead for a phone-free riding experience. Explains the endless detours I was taking.
The place, when found, was literally on the side of a highway, with a staircase that looked like it was designed to punish travelers carrying luggage. I carried all my gear up those steps completely out of breath. But then I opened the door. And it was worth it.
The room had massive windows overlooking the mountains and the river carving it below. For the first time since arriving, I could just stop. No rushing. No navigating. No figuring things out. Just sitting there and taking it all in.
The People You Meet Along the Way
After dropping off my bags, I immediately went looking for food.
I met two travelers from Belgium, Martin and Finn, who were traveling for four months with their son on my way to the shop. A few words were exchanged, and I ended up giving them directions- who would have thought?
The view was unreal sitting in their cafe overlooking the river gorge. The food was great considering I ate enough this time for two adults. Stir-fried meat, veggies, and soup to fill even the emptiest of stomachs. After spending six-plus hours just riding, seldom stopping, lots of time enjoying the scenery, the food hit so good you know a nap was needed. And that was all she wrote for the afternoon.
That evening, I ran into them again at dinner. Martin approached me asking for route advice, and we ended up diving deep into life conversations. We talked about travel, life, balance, and what we were all searching for.
My food became stone cold as we ended up lost in conversation. The best kind of lost. He apologized for taking up so much of my time, and I said nonsense. How often will you get a masterclass in dialogue?
Those are the conversations you remember. Not because they were planned. Because they weren’t. I was still reeling from lunch anyhow.
The first two days on the loop had already given me everything I was hoping for:
A questionable motorcycle.
Bad roads.
Wrong turns.
Police drama.
Mountain views.
And strangers who treated me like family.
And I was only getting started.
Ha Giang Gives and Takes: Broken Cables, Moonshine, and the Road Back
By this point, I had started settling into the rhythm of the Ha Giang Loop.
Wake up early.
Drink coffee.
Load the bike.
Pick a direction.
Get lost.
Figure it out.
Honestly, it was kind of perfect.
The mountains didn’t care about my itinerary, and Vietnam definitely wasn’t interested in making things easy. But that was part of the charm. Every wrong turn seemed to lead somewhere interesting.
Of course, eventually the XR150 decided it needed to remind me who was really in charge.
Day Three: The Road That Almost Ended the Ride
The morning started with breakfast at Ma Pi Leng Ecolodge. Toasted banh mi. Runny eggs. Coffee. Quintessentially Vietnam. The perfect way to start any day.
The XR150, however, was not quite as excited about starting the day as I was. I had some issues getting it running, but eventually we figured each other out.
At this point, we had a relationship. A dysfunctional one. But a relationship nonetheless.
Chasing the River Before the Crowds Arrived
I wanted to get to Song Nho Que early after seeing it from my ecolodge the day before, I was excited.
The plan was simple:
Beat the crowds.
Naturally, Vietnam had other plans.
Construction stopped me along the way, and by the time I arrived, the tour groups had already started pouring in. The peaceful mountain experience I imagined was now a small migration of helmets and rental scooters. It became the starting line of a supercross race, with two-stroke scooters instead.
I tried getting down toward the marina, but they wouldn’t allow scooters without the proper ticket. I debated it. Then decided it wasn’t worth fighting. I could leave now, beat all the tour groups with a head start.
Sometimes you don’t get the exact experience you planned. Sometimes you get a better one.
DT176: Motorcycle Heaven
Continuing along DT176 was exactly why I came to Vietnam. This road was incredible. Remote. Twisty. Beautiful. The kind of road where you start laughing inside your helmet because you can’t believe you’re actually there.
I stopped multiple times just to take it all in.
Moments where I’d just sit there thinking:
“How is this real?”
The bottom half of DT176 eventually became a different story. The pavement disappeared. The gravel returned. Loose rocks, potholes, and steep mountain sections replaced the smooth riding.
The views stayed incredible though. Vietnam has a funny way of making you suffer and reward you at the same time. Back on the other side I celebrated with a tea-flavored ice cream overlooking rice paddies. Because apparently after surviving sketchy mountain roads, my reward system was ice cream.
The Clutch Cable Incident
Then, somewhere near Lang Khac: Snap. The clutch cable broke.
Of course it did. Why wouldn’t it? There I was, somewhere in a mountain valley, with a motorcycle that was now basically stuck.
I stared at the bike. The bike stared back. Neither of us had answers. Luckily, Vietnam did what Vietnam does: People showed up.
A German couple stopped. One of them, Philippe, helped me push the bike as far as he could. Locals came over to see what happened. No one ignored me. No one just drove past. They immediately wanted to help.
Someone told me there was a garage about a kilometer away. So there I was: Pushing a motorcycle uphill. At altitude with all my luggage. At this point, I was questioning every decision that led me here.
I was sweating. Exhausted. Struggling to breathe. Probably looking like a guy who had made a terrible mistake. Maybe lay off the bread every once in a while, huh, Jason.
Then one of the locals showed up with a scooter and a rope. He tied my bike up and towed me to the repair shop. Legend has it he’s still out there today towing would be stranded travelers.
The Little Garage That Saved the Day
At the shop I waited patiently until it was my turn to anecdotally tell my sob story to the mechanic. All the while next door’s occupants were happily butchering away a pig for that night’s dinner. This isn’t the twilight zone, just another Tuesday afternoon.
The mechanic looked at the bike. Then looked at me. Then shook his head. He didn’t have the part. My heart sank. But he saw how defeated I looked. Instead of turning me away, he improvised. He rigged the cable back together like the MacGyver whisperer I knew he was. He refused my payment, leaving me flabbergasted. This is the good luck I didn’t deserve.
Was it perfect? Absolutely not. Was it safe enough? Probably not. Did it work? Yes. And sometimes that’s all you need.
As they say in show business: The adventure continued.
Du Gia: The Kind of Night You Travel For
I eventually made it to Du Gia Panorama Ecolodge, which was tucked WAY back into the mountains. Realizing I was the first guest there I took the opportunity to explore around. The place was simply beautiful. Magical even. Imagine being plopped right into Middle Earth. Words, superlatives, haikus? All would fail in trying to capture this moment in time.
I sat on my balcony. Read a book. Watched the scenery pass me by. Kids playing in the field. The smoke of roasted ducks permeating the cool evening air. Then everyone else started arriving. One by one the rooms filled up, stories from the road.
That evening, I ended up sitting with four French travelers for dinner. What started as casual conversation turned into almost three hours of eating, drinking, and talking. Moonshine was involved. Of course it is. We asked for seconds, and eventually a third appeared.
The conversations went everywhere. Travel. Life. The what’s and why’s. Police checkpoints. Their own experiences getting stopped. Apparently I wasn’t the only one paying the “welcome to Vietnam” tax. We researched police checkpoints afterward and found all the information online, ha.
We laughed about it. Because what else can you do?
Day Four: Leaving the Mountains
The next morning started brutally early. Roosters at 4:30 AM. The blankets were somehow both incredibly warm and incredibly heavy. Vietnamese blankets are built different, it’s like the never ending best hug. The air outside was freezing, and refreshing to my senses.
I packed up and prepared for the ride back toward Ha Giang, unwillingly. Leaving the mountains was bittersweet. The roads were incredibly still that morning, life hasn’t even begun for my would be travelers. I started the bike, topped off the petrol, and ventured off.
Some sections were smooth and flowing. Others were gravel, dirt, and construction chaos. Tight switchbacks made leaving bearable, a bit of last minute fun with the XR. Classic Vietnam.
Along the way, I saw the little moments that make riding here special. A chicken casually crossing the road. A family of pigs wandering around. A dog waiting patiently for his friend to cross before following. Stalls opening up for the day’s business. Kids off to school, announcements blaring over the PA system. Every day normal life. Tiny things. But those are the things you remember.
Back to Civilization
I arrived back at QT Rentals around 10 AM. The timing was perfect. The cold had been brutal, even with layers. From there, it was all about catching that bus back to Hanoi. I exchanged the XR for my passport and bid adieu to my best traveling partner. I hope whomever was next in line gets even the smallest taste of freedom that I was allowed.
The shuttle to the bus station was packed. My giant backpack, helmet attached, definitely did not help navigating the tiny aisle. I was basically a walking obstacle. A quick glance inside and panicked ensued. Then someone offered me a seat. Relief.
That person was Sophie. Her and her friend Justin were traveling from Vancouver, spending a few weeks exploring Vietnam before heading their separate ways. I happily plopped down beside her.
The sleeper bus ride was exactly what you would expect. A giant vehicle. A questionable driver. A very rude co-pilot. Everyone and everything being thrown around. But somewhere between bouncing around the highway and talking, we became friends.
Travel has a funny way of introducing people.
You’re just sitting somewhere because you need transportation, and suddenly you’re having conversations about life, future plans, and where everyone is headed next.
We exchanged information and decided to grab food later.
That night, I met up with Sophie and Justin.
We grabbed bun bo nam bo and giant beers at the Shark Mouth Building, which was sadly scheduled to be demolished. Another little reminder that places disappear. Moments disappear. You just have to enjoy them while they’re there.
We talked about travel, life, and everything in between. You know, the usual by now. The next morning we would all go separate ways. That’s the strange beauty of traveling. You meet someone for a few hours, share a meal, share stories, and then disappear back into your own adventure.
The Loop Ends, But the Story Doesn’t
The Ha Giang Loop gave me exactly what I came looking for:
The roads.
The mountains.
The motorcycle adventure.
But the things I remembered most weren’t the views. They were the people. The strangers who invited me in. The mechanic who fixed a bike he couldn’t fix. The travelers I met along the way. The conversations over food and drinks.
The lesson was already becoming clear: Vietnam wasn’t going to be remembered because of where I went. It was going to be remembered because of who I met.
