Preparing for the Long Ride

Preparing for the Long Ride

"A bicycle carries your body, but your mind carries you through the journey."

Thirty years earlier, the dream had felt almost impossible.

When I was a university student, cycling across Vietnam wasn't something people talked about. In fact, hardly anyone around me rode bicycles for recreation at all. Motorbikes were becoming more common, and long-distance bicycle touring was almost unheard of.

I never told anyone about my dream.

Honestly, I thought people might laugh.

Or worse, think I was crazy.

In Vietnam there's a famous psychiatric hospital called Châu Quỳ. I used to joke with myself that if I told people I wanted to cycle the entire length of the country, they might send me there.

So the dream stayed locked away inside me.

Years passed.

I graduated, became a tour guide, and spent my career introducing Vietnam to travelers from around the world. Later I got married, became a father, and life became busier than ever.

But every now and then, the dream would quietly return.

It never disappeared.

Finally, in 2015, I realized there would never be a perfect moment.

If I kept waiting, another twenty years might pass.

So I made a decision.

On 2 August 2015, I would begin cycling from Móng Cái to Mũi Cà Mau.

Not to set a record.

Not to prove anything to anyone else.

But to understand my country more deeply—and perhaps understand myself a little better too.

More Than Preparing a Bicycle

People often ask me how I prepared for such a long ride.

They expect me to talk about bicycles, equipment, or training.

Those things matter.

But I don't think they are the most important preparation.

For me, the bicycle was simply a tool.

The strongest legs in the world cannot carry someone whose mind has already decided to quit.

Long-distance cycling begins long before the first pedal stroke.

It begins in your thoughts.

Once your mind is ready, everything else becomes easier.

Choosing the Right Bike

At first, I planned to ride my old mountain bike.

It wasn't expensive, but I trusted it. I knew every bolt, every gear, every sound it made. If something went wrong on the road, I felt confident I could repair it myself.

Then my good friend, who owned a bicycle shop called Lam's Velo, heard about my journey.

Without hesitation, he lended me one of his used touring bikes.

It wasn't brand new.

But it was built for exactly this kind of adventure.

I gladly accepted.

Looking back now, I realize the bike wasn't simply equipment.

It was the first gift the journey gave me.

Packing for a Month on the Road

I tried to keep everything as simple as possible.

Three sets of cycling clothes.

Rain gear.

Cycling shoes with clipless pedals.

A helmet.

A basic first-aid kit.

Three spare inner tubes.

Essential tools.

Chain lubricant.

August is one of Vietnam's wettest months, and I knew rain wasn't a possibility—it was a certainty.

When everything was finally packed, my bags weighed about 13 kilograms.

That was all I carried for an entire month.

I wasn't worried about food.

One of the great things about cycling in Vietnam is that you're almost never far from a village.

If I became hungry, I knew someone would be cooking nearby.

I carried only a little dry food for emergencies, just in case heavy rain or a remote stretch of road delayed lunch.

Accommodation was equally simple.

Every afternoon, I would open Google Maps, estimate another hundred kilometers, find the next town, and trust that there would be a small guesthouse waiting for me.

There usually was.

My Most Important Piece of Equipment

Oddly enough, it wasn't my bicycle.

It wasn't even my helmet.

It was my new iPhone 6.

At the time it had just been released, and buying one felt like a luxury.

For me, it wasn't about having the latest technology.

It was my camera.

My notebook.

My GPS.

My connection with family.

My way of sharing the journey with everyone following along from home.

Without realizing it, that phone would become one of the most important companions of the entire trip.

Sharing the Dream

A few days before departure, I created a Facebook page called:

"Từ Địa Đầu Móng Cái Tới Mũi Cà Mau."

I wanted family and friends to follow the adventure as it happened.

When I announced my plan online, I wrote:

Everyone has a dream. Some dreams are simple, others seem impossible. Mine has stayed with me for twenty years—to cycle the entire length of Vietnam. Perhaps now it's finally time to stop dreaming and start riding.

The response surprised me.

Many friends offered encouragement.

Some even wanted to join parts of the journey.

Every message gave me a little more confidence.

Saying Goodbye

Not everyone was excited.

The person who worried the most was my mother.

I understood why.

She wasn't afraid of bicycles.

She was afraid of losing her son.

She imagined every possible danger that could happen over thousands of kilometers.

Eventually she agreed to let me go.

But only after extracting one promise.

"Call me every day."

My wife reacted differently.

She knew me well enough to understand that once I had made up my mind, changing it was almost impossible.

She didn't try to stop me.

Instead, she quietly chose to support me.

Then, two days before departure, she surprised me.

She told me that she and our daughter wanted to ride with me on the very first day.

I could hardly believe it.

My wife had never enjoyed cycling.

She rarely rode more than a kilometer.

Yet now she wanted to begin this incredible journey beside me.

That simple decision meant more to me than she probably ever realized.

The Storm Before Departure

One week before departure, northern Vietnam was hit by relentless rain.

Floods spread across Quảng Ninh Province.

Friends called.

Family called.

Everyone gave the same advice.

"Wait."

"Delay the trip."

"Leave when the weather improves."

Their advice was sensible.

But something inside me wouldn't allow it.

Dreams always meet obstacles.

If I postponed because of rain, perhaps next time it would be work.

Then family commitments.

Then another excuse.

I wanted to teach myself—and one day my daughter—that if a dream truly matters, you don't abandon it because conditions aren't perfect.

So the departure date remained exactly the same.

The Night Everything Became Real

On the evening of 1 August 2015, the three of us boarded an overnight sleeper bus from Hanoi to Móng Cái.

Beneath the bus, three bicycles rested in the luggage compartment.

Inside, none of us slept very much.

We smiled at one another from our bunks, each lost in our own thoughts.

Mine were filled with thousands of unknown kilometers stretching south.

I don't know exactly what my wife or daughter were imagining.

Perhaps their dreams looked completely different from mine.

But I knew one thing.

They believed in me.

And somehow, that made the journey feel less lonely before it had even begun.

Tomorrow morning, I would dip my front wheel into the sea at Móng Cái.

The dream I had carried for twenty years was finally about to begin.

What the Road Hadn't Taught Me Yet

That night, I thought I had prepared for everything.

The bicycle.

The weather.

The distance.

The equipment.

What I didn't realize was that the hardest part of the journey would never be the mountains.

It would be discovering how much a country—and a person—can change, one day and one pedal stroke at a time.