My War: Bike Pirates and an Armadillo - Life is a Wheel - page 133

a moment I realized, to my amazement, that it was my bicycle pump. I ran to the back
of the bus to check that my pump wasn't, in fact, still on my bicycle and, of course, my
bicycle was gone.
Now how these guys had crept up on the bus, opened the back doors, made off with
my bicycle, and closed the back doors again without any of us noticing remains a mys-
tery to this day. It must have happened when we crossed the stream, but I still don't get
it.
In any case, the bus driver stopped the bus, and the two Vietnamese guides—one
with Vietnamtourism, one with us—got out with me to negotiate. The kidnappers were
small men and my opening ploy was to threaten to beat the shit out of them. The Viet-
namtourism guide—we called him Wally, if I recall—was a timid sort, but our guy, Di-
enh (Dean, we called him), 1 wasn't. He told me, in so many words, to shut up and talked
to the two guys, then explained to me that they said they hadn't stolen the bicycle but
had found it—“Uh-huh,” I said, and Dean winked—and that they would be happy to
give it back to me for a finder's fee. (I can't remember the word Dean really used; it wasn't
finder's fee . Maybe it was reward .) He had bargained them down from $10 to $5, he said.
“How do we know they'll bring the bike back?” I said.
“I'm going with them,” Dean said.
So I gave him the five, and he got on the back of one of the scooters and they took of.
We waited around for half an hour; the local children came to see what all the fuss was
about and we let them pull the hair on our arms. Young Vietnamese were fascinated by
our body hair; they don't have any.
Finally, the two scooters came back, Dean on the back of one, holding my bicycle on
his shoulder with one arm and holding on to the driver with the other. Through Dean,
the kidnappers asked for another five dollars, and I told them no. They said okay, got on
their scooters, and waved as they drove away.
The article I wrote for the New York Times about the trip appeared on March 1, 1995,
under the headline “Vietnam Bike Tour Challenges Hearts and Minds.” The accompany-
ing photograph shows me cycling in a remote region on a muddy road that was once part
of the Ho Chi Minh Trail and gave me the distinction of being the only New York Times
reporter ever to have his picture on the front page with a water buffalo.