Matthill71

22 days riding 2700km 30.000m elevation

Some days on the bike are tough. Some are unforgettable. Today was both. I rolled out early, the first 20km tracing a surprisingly quiet main road — a gentle start before the real adventure began. Soon the route turned into a perfect mix of tiny local lanes and fast gravel paths hugging the canals. The rhythm set in, legs steady, mind calm. Around 11am I stopped for a second breakfast. Sitting there in the rising heat, I made the call: today would be a century. With the temperature climbing toward 36°C, it wasn’t going to be about speed — it was about patience. I kept the pace conservative, rationing what energy I had left, fuelling however I could… even if that meant Haribo. By midday the heat was relentless. The kind that drains you quietly. I focused on hydration and steady movement. The real magic came as I entered the Mekong Delta — weaving along canals, whizzing past pineapple groves and rice fields, watching farmers and locals going about their day. It was one of those stretches where you forget the fatigue and simply feel lucky to be exactly where you are. The gravel was a story in itself. Some of the best of the trip — smooth, fast, flowing. And then some of the worst. One brutal 10km washboard section rattled everything, including my resolve. I rolled into town around five, exhausted but buzzing. The hotel welcome couldn’t have been better: an ice-cold beer in hand as the sun dipped over the Mekong. A perfect end to a big day. Now it’s dinner and an early night. Tomorrow is a well-earned rest day. ⸻

Not a lot to report today — just one of those long, hot slogs that tests you more than you expect. After breakfast I made sure to grab an extra bánh mì so I’d have something sorted for lunch. A decision I was very pleased with later on. The first 50km absolutely flew by thanks to a lovely tailwind. For a while it felt effortless — legs spinning, bike humming, big miles ticking over without much fuss. After that, the route turned into endless small roads winding through rubber plantations. Quiet, remote, and hypnotic in that way long straight roads can be. Eventually I hit a stretch of beautiful gravel running alongside a canal — easily the highlight of the day. Proper adventure riding. But by 12pm it was already 36°C. The heat was relentless. I found myself stopping more and more often, hunting down cold drinks just to keep things manageable. By 2pm I was completely cooked. Pulled over for some shade, a proper break from the sun, and an ice cream — essential survival tactics at that point. Rolled into town feeling drained but satisfied. Checked into the hotel and immediately got stuck into an ice-cold beer, followed by an even colder shower. Absolute bliss. Washed the kit, headed out for a simple bowl of noodles, and called it. That’s me done for the day. 🌡️🚴‍♂️

Bonked on the Road to Phuc Long – And Not in a Good Way I knew today was going to be hard. I just didn’t realise it was going to be that hard. It was New Year’s Day, and my wonderful hosts packed me off like a man heading into the wilderness — two egg sandwiches, popcorn, and as much water as I could physically carry. I’d been warned that almost nothing would be open, so it was a self-supported mission. I’d chosen a route off the highway. On paper, it looked perfect: quieter roads, a stunning waterfall en route, and according to Komoot, just 1,300 metres of elevation — all on tarmac. Well. That was absolute nonsense. What followed was nearly 100km of seriously technical gravel. The kind that rattles your bones, clogs your drivetrain with dust, and makes you question your life choices. It took me four hours just to cover the first 50km. Progress was slow, energy-sapping, and relentlessly rough. There was one glorious reprieve. I detoured to the waterfall, and it was worth every metre — cool air, crashing water, and a moment of calm. By this point the landscape had shifted too: coffee plantations had given way to sprawling cashew groves, a reminder that even on a brutal day, the scenery can still deliver. Fuel, however, was becoming a problem. Thanks to the kindness of strangers, I managed to keep topped up with fluids, but food was another matter. I’d demolished both egg sandwiches and emptied the snack bag long before the 100km mark. And then it happened. The bonk. Not a gentle fade — a full system shutdown. Thankfully I was back on tarmac by then, but every incline felt vertical. I crawled uphill like a thoroughly knackered snail, legs empty, body cooked, spirit wobbling. It wasn’t pretty. The emergency Red Bull — my last line of defence — gave me just enough of a spark to limp into town and reach the hotel. I am, in every possible sense, a broken man. To round off the day, the only place open for dinner was a fast food joint. I’ve ordered three portions of chicken and chips and I regret absolutely nothing. Tomorrow, we roll again.

After coffee and breakfast, I hit the road with the wind at my back, cruising through towns and cities buzzing with life as everyone prepared for New Year’s Eve. Markets were packed, roads were busy, and there was a real sense of celebration in the air. A couple of hours later, after topping up on caffeine, I turned off onto smaller provincial roads and gravel tracks that wound through miles of coffee and peppercorn plantations, with the occasional burst of bright dragon fruit fields breaking up the green landscape. Around midday, I spotted a sign for a waterfall. I nearly skipped the detour—but I’m so glad I didn’t. It was spectacular, with torrents of water crashing over the rocks. I spent an hour wandering and taking it all in before heading back out into the heat. The afternoon was scorching, forcing regular pit stops for cold drinks and the odd ice cream. By 3:30, I rolled into Đắk Mil, where I’d booked a beautiful little lakeside bungalow—an absolute gem at just €15. A couple of cold beers by the water rounded off the day perfectly. Now I’m waiting for dinner and an early night, though with fireworks and music already kicking off, sleep might be optimistic. What a day on the road

Some days on the bike feel like a gift. Others feel like a test. This one was both. The morning began with a punchy couple of hundred metres of climbing, just enough to wake the legs, and then — bliss. Nearly 70km of gentle downhill with a tailwind pushing me along. The sun was strong, but with the road flowing and the wind at my back, it felt like free speed. I even stopped for my second bánh mì of the day — when in Vietnam, it would be rude not to. After that, the mood shifted. The next 50km turned into a grinding climb straight into a blustery 20km/h headwind. The kind that makes you question your life choices. Progress slowed, the sun pressed harder, and every kilometre had to be earned. But it wasn’t all suffering. I rode through miles of peppercorn and coffee plantations, with beans and pepper laid out beside the road to dry in the heat. The air smelled earthy and rich. I stopped at a couple of beautiful temples, quiet and ornate, offering brief moments of stillness before getting back into the wind. By late afternoon, the road carried me up into pine forest. The temperature softened, the light mellowed, and the climbing felt almost peaceful. It was the perfect contrast to the furnace of the lowlands. Reaching my destination brought one final twist — my chosen hotel was closed for Tết. Of course it was. Thankfully, another was only a few kilometres away. After getting cleaned up and washing the kit, I headed straight back out in search of dinner.

The original plan was a gravel route tracing the border with Laos and Cambodia. But after a closer look at the maps—and remembering a previous encounter with Vietnamese border police—I decided not to test my luck. The safer option was to stick to the Ho Chi Minh Road. I thought that would mean an easier day. It didn’t. Instead, I got 110 km of pure rollercoaster: up, down, up, down — all day long. To spice things up, there was a steady 20 km/h headwind and a sun determined to cook me slowly. Light traffic helped, though, and the route was never dull. I passed through small towns and busy cities, markets buzzing as everyone prepared for TET celebrations. The scenery shifted between lively streets and long stretches of coffee plantations. I stopped at three Buddhist temples along the way — quiet, cool spaces offering a brief escape from the heat and the grind. By the time I rolled into town, I was filthy — so the bike and I shared a shower before I headed out again. Found a rather fancy hotel right on the river, which felt well earned after a day like that. Now I’m out soaking up the party atmosphere, stuffing myself with street food, and enjoying the energy of a country on the verge of celebration. Sometimes the “safe option” turns out to be an adventure anyway.

Nothing went wrong today… apart from Garmin lying about the elevation. 1,500 metres? My arse. It was closer to 2,400 m. The morning was brutal: 1,500 m of climbing in the first 40 km, with gradients kicking over 16%. My legs were screaming at me to get off and walk. My head screamed back: you chose to be here — so keep pedalling. When I finally reached the summit, there was no relaxing into the descent. The road surface was shocking — potholes big enough to swallow bike and rider, sections where half the road had simply fallen away. Every corner needed caution. There was also a steady stream of long-distance coaches carrying people home for the TET holiday. Thankfully, most were heading north, so I wasn’t fighting too much traffic. The afternoon softened slightly into rolling hills and mostly perfect tarmac. Shame about the energy-sapping headwind and the relentless sun. By then, it was pure grind mode. I rolled into my final stop around 4 pm, completely spent. I must have looked like a man in need of hydration because the owner immediately handed me three ice-cold Tigers — which, in the interest of recovery, I dutifully drank. Friday the 13th delivered. Brutal. Beautiful. Worth it.

A leisurely breakfast meant I didn’t roll out until around 8. There was no gentle start to the day—just straight into the first climb. No warm-up, just the nervous buzz of too much coffee dragging me over the top and into a cracking 10 km descent. Naturally, that was followed by another climb—8 km this time. By then the sun was already baking me. Late morning, I pulled over for lunch: a bánh mì, a Coke, and a sports drink. Total cost? €1. Still can’t quite believe it. After the next descent I hit the valley floor—and a relentless headwind. What should have been steady progress turned into a slow grind up a gentle but never-ending gradient. Traffic picked up too, with tourist coaches sweeping past a little closer than I’d have liked. I stopped briefly at a waterfall for a breather before tackling the final effort of the day: one last 9 km climb. I rolled into town completely shattered. As always though, the scenery made it worthwhile—big landscapes, dramatic skies, and the kind of views that almost make you forget how much your legs hurt. Almost.

⸻ Đà Nẵng back to the Ho Chi Minh Road I was up early, but it took a while to get moving. After checking out, I stopped at the first café I found for breakfast and a strong coffee—fuel for what I suspected would be a tough day. It took 20 km of weaving through traffic to finally escape Đà Nẵng and reach the first climb. The climbs here aren’t long, but they are brutally steep. That set the tone for the day: climb, descend, climb again. No rhythm, no mercy. As always, the scenery almost made me forget the suffering. Lush hills, quiet valleys, and more than a few rickety bridges to keep things interesting. Around 80 km in, I rejoined the Ho Chi Minh Road. One final big climb stood between me and the end of the day. Legs burning, I ground my way up and finally rolled into my home for the night—a lovely little bungalow with stunning mountain views. Only 95 km today, but with 1,800 meters of elevation it certainly didn’t feel like an “easy” one. Another beautiful, brutal day in the saddle.