Leaning against the wall opposite was a motorbike, a ‘For Sale’ sign around its neck – like a slave. With sudden interest, I skipped down to the bar and grabbing a chill glass of lemon, stood in the doorway, all but my toes in the shade, eyeing the motorbike. It had recently arrived; ridden the 1500 miles up from Saigon by an Irishman called Ian;  I had an irresistible urge to turn it around and take it back.

A plan had come out of nowhere. It was a ridiculous idea built on a flimsy foundation; perhaps I was turning into a traveller at last! I was going to spend 300 dollars on an old Russian bike, ride it through Vietnam alone and sell it for the same amount in Saigon before my plane left the runway; hopefully without me chasing after it, the bike parked forlorn and ownerless at ‘Departures’ – crying two-stroke tears.

She was a Minsk 250 – Russian, I called her Minx. The Vietnamese called her ‘crap’, and as I was to find out… she was.

Harry the Swede, looking forlorn, hissed like a pressure cooker. ‘Shhiiiitt!… I want to cancel my Laos flight. I should be doing that; riding across Vietnam on a motorbike – goddamn I envy you!’ Others in the Bi-Bi bar nodded agreement in French and Belgian, and some in sympathy.

‘What an adventure you will have, on your own, travelling the opposite way to everybody else here.’ My stomach turned over and I smiled weakly. I wanted Harry’s plane ticket to Laos very badly at that moment.

An extract from Two Minute Noodle – to be released soon

Minx – somewhere on Highway One