Grandpa's Gone Again?

Thought I would share an article I wrote about a race in Vietnam in 2002. I wrote this just days after returning home. It is raw and unedited. I hope you enjoy it.

Raid Gauloises – Viet Nam – 2002

Nelson Snyder – Portland, OR

Joann Grether — Modesto, CA

Brien Crothers — Cobb Mt., CA

Charlie Kharsa — Davis, CA 

Neal Radford — Atlanta, GA 

Dana Haynes — Modesto, CA 

Steve Branch — Modesto, CA

TEAM KARMA

It’s about two in the morning and I’m lying on the floor of the medical tent at Assistance Point #2 (AP#2) midway through the race. Though my feet aren’t near as bad as some, I have decided to have them looked at and bandaged before the next trek — another 61 .5km hike to the caving section. The young French medical intern (named Summer) said my worst blisters were infected. She drained them and injected some kind of iodine into them. We decided the injections and the antibiotic she gave me for my stomach ills would keep my wheels under me for a while longer. Three of Karma’s competitors and one crewmember are suffering intestinal troubles and blisters are common though not a major problem. After a short discussion about the hour and the team’s mental state, we decide to sleep a couple hours then head out. As it worked out that was a good call; our next trek is the hardest on feet, traveling over rocks at the bottom of a cliff for what seemed to be miles.

We started this journey some 18 months ago; hard to believe the amount of time and effort to make this all happen. I think it fortunate that the race date was moved out six months (because Mark Burnett scheduled the Eco-Challenge to conflict with the Raid’s original date), otherwise we would have had trouble making it all happen. Though sponsorship was difficult, given the state of the world today, many other issues were settled in due course. Joann got the team together and managed all the details of travel packages, flights and schedules. She even made a new friend in Fabrice by making fun of all the questions we had about gear and such. Fabrice is the logistics guy with the Raid organization in Paris. Everyone did some part of putting this together — I think that is half the fun of such an adventure. I also thought that once we got to the start line all the hard stuff was done. Well, that is part true: no more thinking about money and did we bring the right gear and all that. We just had to race now, that’s all — sure sounded easy. 

We had been in Viet Nam for nearly a week before we actually started to race. There had been little time to relax or act like tourists. Most of the time was spent with gear checks, skills testing, working on maps and laying out our course. There were a million details, and none could be missed. Many teams were struggling to get everything together, especially the double lead. A piece of climbing equipment the French were familiar with, but we were not. We had the material to make them and managed to get through all the checks with little trouble — not bad for a rookie team. Teamwork pays.

The day before the race start, we were bused nine hours to the village of Bac Ha — 15 miles from the Chinese border. We met up with our crew and began readying for the start. As part of the Raid coming to town there was a tourist festival going on. There were singers and dancers at the amphitheater, a carnival of sorts and hundreds of people from the surrounding area. Many were in their traditional garb, which was in contrast to Hanoi where most wear conservative but western style clothing. That evening Nelson, Neal, Charlie and I went out on our bikes to check out town and all the festivities. That adventure was worth the price of admission all by itself! We played pool with some local young men (pool is quite popular and the table is usually on the front porch(?)), we shopped a bit, let some young women ride our bikes (the Vietnamese were fascinated by our bikes, with all their high-tech components and probably weighting in at half the weight of a Vietnamese bike). Next, we saw the lights of the carnival. Upon arriving we saw the central attraction: a bamboo swing, about 20 feet high at the pivot. Charlie had to try it and the locals were more than happy to let us. Charlie and I got it going high enough that I wanted off, then Nelson came along, and he and Charlie got it nearly parallel with the ground when the organizer asked Neal to stop them. After recovering our bikes from the locals, we rode on.

The next morning saw more festivities and gift giving before a 1:00 PM start. As with other places in the world. l:00 PM is in the heat of the day. None of us complained about the race not starting at some ridiculous time like 1:00 AM, but the heat of the day — whew! After checking in at the starting Check Point (C P#l) we settled into a starting position near the front (high hopes). To start a 1000km race, why not start with a 120+km trek (that’s about 75 miles) and throw in some serious elevation gain/loss then a monsoon style ram’ storm with flash flooding and all the trimmings. We started off planning to speed walk and run the down hills. That ended quickly in the heat though we did not suffer the worst. Team Spie, having lost a member to an accident in Hanoi, ran their newfound member into the dirt. He looked quite bad when we caught them at the top of the worst hill. Team Spie is one of the best in the world and were winners of the last Raid Gauloises. They later dropped completely. We trekked on.

CP#2 was in a village and everyone had stopped work to come see the crazy racers. I’m sure most of these hill tribe people had not seen outsiders in their lifetime. From CP#2 we continued into the night and into a rainstorm of Vietnamese style. This was not your average rain, but rather a deluge. It rained so hard it hurt bare skin. We ducked into a farmhouse just long enough to put on ponchos and raincoats. There was another team there drying out and I’m sure they thought us nuts for going back out, but hey, it was cooler, and we could move faster then in the heat. We pressed on to CP#3, where Neal suddenly became violently ill, probably from bad water. We moved on slowly, route finding our way to CP#4 where Neal found little medical help; the CP worker saying there would be more help at CP#S. But five was at the highest point in the race at 1225 meters (about 4040 feet). We pressed on, seeing our first snake. I was leading as we crossed a streambed and the little brown rascal slithered among the rocks. Charlie was behind me (Charlie does not like snakes) and I told him to stop — then told him why. After letting it pass, we moved on.

After slogging through the jungle, a few miles of trekking up a stream and a few leaches later we arrived at CP#S where Neal got some relief from vomiting and some meds for the road. Joann soon discovered she was favored by leaches — having five on her before anyone else got one. Somewhere during all this fun Nelson saw his first fire fly, probably a first for all of us. He was trying to find a trail at the top of a pass and was busting brush when he found the trail. Calling us to his location he asked if anyone else saw the lights or was he hallucinating. I think he was concerned by the later possibility, so early in the race. We confirmed that we saw them too and moved on. We saw fireflies nearly every night after that — hundreds of them.

CP#6 was to hell and gone and another night and half the next morning away. We lost elevation to a river crossing at 310 meters then started another climb. The climb would have been easy if not for the hundreds of trails crisscrossing every which way. We worked our way in the general direction we were to head, busting brush and slogging through more rain, but never really finding the best route. It was, I’m guessing, two in the morning when we came across a cat. The cat seemed to beckon us in a certain direction, and then we saw a light flashing from the night on a hillside not far from us. I worked my way to the light to find a farmer who said “bonjour” when I approached him. That was good enough for me and I said we should follow him. Nelson wasn’t too sure about this but I figured the farmer was going to show us the way, take us to his home or kill us — at that point I didn’t care which. We came to a farmhouse and the old farmer beckoned us in. There was another team there and we settled down to dry our selves. There must have been three or four generations living in the house. They fed us rice and pork then gave us a mat to sleep on. Next morning the farmer showed us the way and off we went, after paying him the amount suggested by the Raid (about $20US for the team). 

Finally, CP#6 and a transition to something different – our bikes. This is where we were panelized for liquid in our drop bags — along with 43 other teams. Drop bags are duffels with specific gear for sections of the race. The Raid or our crew dropped them at certain places along the course. The maddening thing was, at the meeting when the question came up, the ruling was no water in the drop bags. We promptly skirted that one by putting juice, cokes, fruit cups and other goodies in the bag. We had given the drop bags to the Raid in Hanoi by 6:00 PM the night before leaving for Bac Ha. Next morning, we read a new ruling, put out at 9:00 PM the night before, that said “no liquids in drop bags”. Oh well, what can you do — enjoy. We rode an uneventful 95km to another trek of only 12km to the start of a canoeing section of about 70km. The transition to trekking was in a very pretty little village in a valley that was ruined by the evening Party radio broadcast blaring from loudspeakers nearby. I’m assuming these broadcasts are their way of keeping in touch with the masses. Rang of “1984” to me. In Bac Ha, the business owners are concerned these broadcasts will harm the tourist trade.

The canoe trip was on class I and II water and was fairly uneventful, only snagging on a rock once. Along the lower section of this part of the river there was a lot of dredging and even some drilling in the middle of the river. Never did find out what it was all for, but they were serious about it. At the end of the canoe section was a 2km hike with all our gear, less the canoes, to Assistance Point One (AP#1) in the village of Thac Mo (pronounced “tack mo”). It was mid day and very hot. We dropped everything and Steve (crew papa) led us to a stream for bathing and cooling off — it worked wonders on both accounts. Dana (crew mama) cooked up some pasta and potatoes for us and we ate and organized gear for the next section and more drop bags. The AP’s carried a mandatory three-hour rest. After dealing with gear, some of us tried to sleep under a house near Team Karma’s camp. There were many teams there and sleeping was a joke. Steve came to get me at the appropriate time and asked if I had slept: Sleep hell, those French never shut up!

Adrian Crane and Team Stray Dogs were still at AP#1 when we were there. That news really lifted my spirits until I heard why: One of their members was quite sick, having intestinal problems and a high fever. The Raid doctors finally pulled him, and Marshal, their captain, not feeling well either, dropped at that point. Adrian and his other teammates continued on to finish two or three hours ahead of us. We were five.

From Thac M0 the next mode was mountain biking to the Tyrolean Traverse and a cable bridge. The Tyrolean and the cable bridge were no big deal, actually being a let down to me, but oh well, caving was coming soon. The bike ride was great, never being too hard, but it was hot, damn hot, and long. During the single track we saw a red snake crossing our path. Not big but menacing. When we stopped to check the map or something, we suffered from heat rash. What I called prickly heat. It was fine while we moved but stopping was a new adventure every time. Joann thought it was bugs biting her. We started on a road then crossed a river on a bamboo ferry at CP#15 then continued up a single track paralleling the river to a village much larger than indicated on the map.

We found sodas and a cafe’, which served us rice and the toughest chicken ever cooked and boiled greens. This was the normal fare when we ate in cafes. The village was amid a celebration of some sort and we drew large crowds where we stopped. There must have been 60-70 people, mostly kids, crowded into the small restaurant to watch us eat. The restaurant owner tried to chase them away, but they quickly returned — what fun. We had left our bikes and gear on the street while we ate. Everything was still there on our return. The Vietnamese are the friendliest, most honest, and happiest people I have ever met. While waiting for dinner I walked toward a large building stuffed with people listening to singers and presumably watching dancers. I tried to enter at the end opposite from the stage, but when I stuck my head in the people reacted surprised and I was obviously a distraction. They would most certainly have made way for me, but I decided not to bother their festivities. I’d say it was like a Martian walking into a concert in the US. only no body was upset by it.

We continued up some more single track to CP#16 where the Tyrolean was and a transition to trekking. Near CP#16 we camped out in a home on the trail planning to catch a couple hours sleep and head out before the other teams that huddled in the same area. At 4:00 AM we woke to a nasty storm (sounded like a freight train coming through) and decided quickly that doing an unfamiliar flying fox (Tyrolean), in the dark and in a storm was not for us. With the storm gone as quickly as it came, we were up with the other teams and headed to the Tyrolean and cable bridge crossing by first light. After the cable bridge we continued our trek up a nasty rocky bastard of a climb. Though it was beautiful in that jungle it was a bit of work to the top. Most of the trails we hiked were not like in a national park or a typical climb back home — hell no – they went straight up.

This latest trek ended at a rafting section — rafting on Vietnamese built bamboo rafts. They were about 6 meters long with a small deck to put our gear, which sat about two inches above water line. We rafted down river several miles passing through a huge cave the river had cut long ago. Though the sun had recently gone down. the cave was still quite spectacular. As this river met another the course indicated we must pole and paddle upstream in the new river into a lake then paddle its length to a transition to yet another trek. During our efforts to pole upstream, Stray Dogs caught up to us. We had hiked with Stray Dogs for a while, but at the transition to raft, we left them and other teams, hoping to beat sundown and squash any high hopes the other teams had. At the transition at the end of the bamboo raft the organization assessed the penalty noted earlier. It was two hours and since we had planned to dry out and sleep a bit at this point it all worked to our advantage.

Up before light and trekking again. This time an 87km hike to bikes and only rising to 950 meters. The first half of this trek was along a road passing through little villages here and there. One such village was a bit different then most, even a bit ugly and dry and parched looking, not sure why. Nelson bought some breakfast burritos from a lady selling them from her street side kitchen. They were made with delicate rice noodle wraps and some type of meat inside, actually more like a soggy wet spring roll. Not sure of the meat’s history, most of us passed on the experience. Nelson did not get sick after eating them but now he barks more then usual – read into it what you will. As we neared the end of the valley the road led across a river and we decided to use the ferry; a local guy with a bamboo raft. When we asked the price, he suggested 5000d, we got aboard and with dry feet met the other side. Joann paid him the 5000d, but that was not enough. It was clear that he wanted 25,000d. So, was it 5000 each to begin with or were we being fleeced? I think not, but what does it matter it totaled $1.60 — a small price for dry feet when you must hike another 40 miles that day. The 1r’ony is that in a few miles we had to cross the river again, this time, no ferry.

As we hiked into the night, we grew tired and the trek was rather boring. We hiked on hoping to make the bike transition before sleeping. Though I did not have any hallucinations or even any good visions, I did struggle with the sleep monster — I think we all did at times on that one. We stopped at a village to eat at a home along the road. Neal found that they would cook for us and Joann really liked the idea. I was so intent on finishing this hike that I didn’t want to stop; later I told Joann that it had been a great idea. We would have suffered even more with out the rice and veggies we enjoyed that night. Our hostess was quite young, and she tried very hard to provide for us. The food was hot and very welcome. When we got up to go, we offered money for the meal and our hostess and the rest of the family said no. We left them an appropriate amount and said our goodbyes. Trekking on we began to sleepwalk, and I asked Neal to tell me how he came to the US. and about his independent business. Neal is from New Zealand and gives every detail in his stories — God bless. Neal talked on and I hung on every word to keep me going. It worked and we made the TA in the wee morning hours. Charlie was quite ill, shivering and doubling over with stomach cramps. I too was suffering from an intestinal ailment and we cuddled with Joann under a space blanket to get through the night. Next morning was a bit better but still seeking a handy bush and the TP at a moments notice.

We cycled into a rather busy village, already hard at it at 6:30 AM. We stopped at a restaurant and talked them into taking US. dollars for breakfast. It was wonderful: rice noodles, eggs and such. A short piece down the road we turned onto a single-track trail leading through farms and little villages. At CP#25 I started to pump up a low tire. My wimpy little pump was slow, and a local cycle owner (everyone owns a bike) brought out his floor pump and pumped up my tire while I watched. It took no time at all and was typical of the Vietnamese people. We continued on coming out at another village and taking the highway to the transition to canoe/catamaran. Along the way the heat was really zapping me. We stopped for a quick break and Neal found a well at a farmhouse and asked if he could use some of the water. He brought a bucket over and asked if I wanted to cool off. The first blast over my head was a real shock but the rest of the bucket was a great help. Everyone enjoyed this before we moved on.

At Cha Mel we transitioned to canoes that had to be lashed together with bamboo poles to make a catamaran and a deck that our bikes sat on during the trip. While everyone else worked on the boat I set in the shade and ate and drank everything I could, trying to get ahead of the ailments working in my intestines. We paddled down river in the heat of the day and into early evening before winding our way through dredge piles to find AP#2 and Steve. As we pulled to shore Steve took our picture, I’m sure we looked like hell.

After refueling. getting medical attention and sleeping a bit we headed out on the next trek. This trek molt us up into some more beautiful but seriously rugged country then down into a valley where they grew tobacco (yuck). We ate dinner at a cafe’, drawing another crowd. This time Neal entertained the kids, and I found a wonderful treasure: a bathroom suitable for fine restaurants and a whole lot cleaner then most. On my return. I shared the news and Team Karma inspected the facilities one-by-one. After another grand meal we headed for the nearby checkpoint and headed up over another ridge to CP#32. At 32 Nelson decided on a different route that would cut some time to CP#33 and the caving section. The locals were adamant we were going the wrong way, but we continued on and found the main road where Nelson said it would be shaving 45 minutes off the time of other teams.

At CP#33/34 we ate and slept for a bit before rising at about 2:00 AM and heading into the cave. The Raid official gave us a sheet with instructions to follow on our way to a check sheet in the cave then a return to 33/34. The cave had huge rooms and tiny little passages we had to go through on the flagged and roped path. Though the cave was impressive, there was little adventure. At times the course took us on high ledges, which had ropes anchored for us to secure our harnesses. The final test, if you will, was a wire ladder we had to climb to return to the first chamber we had entered. The ladder was maybe 15 feet high with rope backup incase you fell. If that had been 100+ feet it might have been something to remember, but alas the rope work m’ this year’s Raid was a bit disappointing (for me anyway). In the large chambers there were hundreds of bats all in knots of about 100 each. They were dozens of feet above us. The only annoyance was from the smell of guano on the floor. The main room near the entrance had a lot of heavy cement and brickwork. Someone told us it had been a hospital during the war, yeah right.

From 34 we mountain biked along roads and paths to our last assistance point. Most of this bike section was on decent road, but a long stretch in the middle was on a muddy slippery thing they might consider a road – Joann would disagree. Our bikes and most of our bodies were covered in mud by the time we got back on good roads. We had to stop at a creek crossing to wash the worst of it off, so our bikes could work again. Again, cycling during the heat of the day (it was hot all day; we came to appreciate cloud cover and sundown) we stopped often for cold sodas and ice cream. On to AP#3, at this point running dangerously low on TP. Just before the Assistance Point, I had to stop and take care of business and was chased off by an angry farmer. I had no choice and ducking behind a small building on his property served my purpose, not his.

AP#3 was a bit of a pit and it started raining just after our arrival. It may not have been so bad, but Steve and Dana had had enough of it and were ready to move on. Some of us showered in the communal shower room set up by the Raid. At this point, I think day eight, all inhibitions were gone and bathing in public was the least of concerns (that is quite a change for me). After cleaning up and starting to work on gear for the next section of the race, Steve came to me quietly as I was getting something in the van. He asked how I was fairing, and I said I was dealing with it. He asked if I could use a pick-me-up (I’m starting to weep just writing this). I said sure and he reached into his bag and pulled out an envelope with my name on it. It was in ‘Kathey’s handwriting and said, “part way through the race or when he needs a pick me up”. I opened it, already weeping, and it contained the most generous, loving and timely words ever written. The words from my wife and best friend were so appropriate to how I felt at that time that I instantly cried the hardest I ever have and at the same time fell in love with her all over again. Because of the mental state I was in at the time, the emotion was immense. Those words picked me up indeed and they helped me to finish this course. One designed to wear you down, chew you up and spit you out.

Saying our goodbyes and longing to see Steve and Dana at the finish line we headed out on a short trek to a lake paddle. Originally this section was to be on sampans, but the first team to use them sank their sampan and the race officials changed it to the inflatable canoes we had used on other sections of the course. The paddle was only 16km and only a short break before starting to mountain bike again. This section started easily enough but by midnight, or so, it was kicking our butts. We pressed on hoping to make the next Transition Area (TA) before sleeping. Maybe 10km from the TA we gave it up and lay down to sleep a couple hours. The short rest helped, and we continued on to make the TA before sunrise. We ate and stored our bikes and hiking gear before heading out on the last trek, a gnarly 60km hike over mount Yen Tu.

Finding the route up the backside of Yen Tu, we gained elevation rapidly to the summit at 1068 meters, coming out of the jungle at a tourist destination and Buddhist holy place. There were many shrines, and the usual tourist traps all the way down the mountain. The path to the bottom passed over 4000 stone steps, more or less straight down. At the exit an old woman berated me: Though I did not understand a word she said, it was obvious she was upset by my appearance. I was bare legged, in shorts, filthy dirty and bloodied by leaches and slippery rocks. She was not happy with me, or any of us, for looking as we did – in such a holy place. I tried best I could to show my apologies and went on.

After eating in a restaurant in the little village outside the Yen Tu main gate, we continued onto a trail heading toward CP#43 and the start of the kayaking section. After crossing a couple more ridgelines we came to CP#42 where we could see the Gulf of Tonkin and the limestone towers in route to Ha Long Bay. From 42 we dropped down through an area of mines and what looked to be oil shale. This wasn’t the prettiest area we had passed through. Nelson did some more navigational magic, and we passed a team that was at 42 just before our arrival. Our route continued down to a lake where some teenagers were swimming and hanging out. We made the observation that we could have been in southern California for all we knew.

I was really looking forward to the beauty of Ha Long Bay and the kayaking section. One, because I had dreamt of this possibility for over a year and two, because we wouldn’t need to trek anymore. My feet, and everyone’s I’m sure, were really pissed at this point. You know how it is when you near the end of something and everything starts to fall apart? My feet were well into that. It felt like I was walking on pillows of blood and very angry nerve endings. Although we were happy to end that trek, CP#43 was no garden spot and we decided to get everything together and go before dark and deal with resting when we had to. A few hours later we couldn’t go on and we found a barge to sleep on. We asked for permission from the owner who lived in a house where the barge was moored. They were very welcoming and even brought out a mat for us to sleep on. The owner would not take any money, so Charlie managed to get permission to give it to the kids. As we settled in, Grandpa came aboard and started talking to Charlie and laughing up a storm. He was quite drunk and very loud. Finally, Charlie got the message across that we wanted to sleep, and he left.

Two or three hours later we got up and started paddling again. As sunup approached, we headed to CP#44, which was at a major hub of activity. The boat Joann and I were in was taking on water in the rear hold and we demanded the Raid official do something about it. They could get it repaired or replaced in three or four hours, but we quickly said no way as we wanted to finish by nightfall. They made some quick repairs with duct tape and we were on our way (isn’t that stuff great; good for everything from boat repairs to blister coverage). We entered Ha Long Bay proper at CP#46 and it was everything I had imagined, worthy of its World Heritage Site designation. The only problem with the kayak trip was the kayak. Other than leaking, it was impossible for me to get comfortable in it. Sore, stiff muscles were part of it but I simple did not fit in it. We continued on, picking up CPS and being encouraged by other teams that had already finished and were now out on tour boats to see more of the bay. CP#47 was at a tourist destination on a little island that had a Buddhist shine on top and a small beach and harbor complete with tourist goodies and snacks. We of course enjoyed some more ice cream.

On to the finish through seas that were getting rough and white capping. We never needed spray skirts, but it was getting close before we rounded the bend and paddled into Cat Ba Harbor. As we moved through the harbor and the hundreds of fishing boats, sampans and houseboats we followed the Raid banners leading us to the finish line. I had the strangest feeling as we paddled through the bay: I had this sense that we were paddling downhill, in a flat bay mind you. I can’t explain the feeling; maybe it was just being tired or maybe wishful thinking — go figure.

Awe, the finish! We were met by a rather large crowd of Raid officials, other teams, locals and Steve and Dana. We had done it! Completing this race as a ranked team was our goal and we met it. After ten days and five hours we were within 45 minutes of four other teams, some ranked, some not. 1000kms! What else is there to say? The toughest race on Earth? Who am I to say? All I know is it was, and will probably remain, the hardest thing I have ever done. Some ask why. If you don’t find the answer above, I am sorry.

Top ten outside of the race:

Elina (Team Nokia) next door at the Hanoi Hotel

Spie trying to get their bikes through the lobby

Taipei’s drug trafficking warning sign (bet they don’t have a drug czar) 

Guy on bike with load of cement sacks — laying patch

The flow of traffic in Hanoi

The dried squid — NOT

The people of Viet Nam

EMA girls (the ladies from Brazil, and their energy)

The Chinese buffet (while learning Vietnamese)

The night in Bac Ha cycling about town