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 I gently, in the same manner one keeps a nearly melted ice cream on the stick, place my foot on the pedal. My rubber is already meeting the road. I begin to make movements one can only make in ballet, or cycling. I begin my adventure, with this physically complicated motion,yet, so simple once on my steed of steel, and some bits of plastic, and possibly other metals.

The streets of Hanoi glisten, as if a galaxy that is far, far, away, is seen through the telescope of a young child that dreams of one day being an astronaut, yet has vision issues that cause would cause the streets of Hanoi to seem to glisten, even when not taking into account the effect of oil on the pavement mixing with the rain that is falling this fresh, and unusually cool April morning.

The ride out of Hanoi is on a road that reminds me not so much as an octopus, but of a meal of octopus where when served up it is in pieces, and one of those pieces happens to be a tenticle that is actually kind of straight.
I am out of Hanoi. I am in the country. I am in a city whose name I do not know and Google maps doesn't seem to want to help me.