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It’s always fascinated me how people act in times of crisis. My first thought, “cigarette”. As I lit the perfectly manicured end and turned my bike off I thought “This is pretty much the start of wolf creek, in vietnam, I wonder what's vietnamese for wolf” before adrenaline re-focused my ADD riddled brain on the task at hand. Two thirds of the Ho Chi Minh Trail was now blocked with a spray of broken tail light, headlight and 2 of my makeshift biker gang. Surveying the scene further, where the fuck are we. Ninh Binh to the north, Phong Nha to the south and apparently nothing but vast jungle inbetween. I had never noticed how ominous a jungle can be while flying past to the tune of Born to be Wild. Never quite silent. Never quite still, just a deep green void with a different food chain, ones we aren’t at the top of. Panic sets in a little. As the boys slowly got to their feet and sat out the waves of shakes that dumped through their central nervous system, various deities were thanked for no broken bones and only minor wounds. I began to sweep the glass out of the road between the thunderous passes of truckers, for whom seeing white people and smashed motorbikes was as common as the 3pm shower of the rainy season. After some broken english and wild gesturing to a passerby, he turned back and hopefully, so would our luck. Moments later a child appeared, on a push bike. As if by magic managed to get the broken husk of a bike to start and then hopped on, “Come, Come”. We scrambled for ours and gave chase. A mile up the road stood a stand alone shop. 3 walls and a garage shutter. Before our tailpipes were even cool work had begun on getting us back on the road, wheels were off and phone calls made with parts en route, from where I couldn't fathom, this was the only building for miles. Further back into this supermarket/residence a stranger scene was unfolding. At 6 ft 2” and descended from 1000 years of farmers, I was quite possibly the largest person to have stopped here and I felt it. We had apparently stumbled onto the local watering hole, as we were soon surrounded by 30 shirtless vietnamese men, drinking beer from plastic bottles and smoking. This felt strangely familiar and yet alien. All of the qualities of my local pub but none of the furniture. A space for me was cleared at the table and I dutifully sipped the free beers, as a discussion broke out in Vietnamese that appeared to involve pointing at me and the alot of bicep flexing. My inner panic fizzled in an instant and left for the day with two stuttered words “A-a-arm Wrestle?”. The crowd swirled around me and a cheer went up as the bottom of my empty pint hit the table and I extended my arm across. So began my reign. My size the X factor, one by one they fell, my confidence surging. 10 in a row each win eliciting a more grandiose reaction than the last. Amongst the heavy tan of the local community, for a second I saw a flash, pale skin such as my own. Every time I glanced at him he darted away but as my vision shifted he would approach until finally I felt a tap on my shoulder. Among the jet black haired giggling gaggle of children his albinism stood out more. He held his arm next to mine and darted his index finger back and forth “Same, Same”. He mustered. “Same, you strong too” I replied, A roar went up from the crowd. I’ve never experienced joy like it. As the children left I saw him flexing to raptures from other boys and felt a deep warmth inside. What had started as a nightmare had turned into a triumph. You can bet your ass I’ll never forget my stint as the arm wrestling king of Tan Ki. Long live the King.