Day two, a long ride, and sufficiently so for us to almost run out of petrol before reaching Attapeu! Despite filling up in the morning, and our two-wheeled machines stretching to a pretty impressive forty-ish kilometres per litre, the limitation of our three litre tanks meant that the tiny, wavering hands on our fuel gauges were flirting with their red zones with over fifty kilometres still to go. We might have made it, who knows, only the unfortunate find out exactly what leeway lies beyond the red zone of a fuel gauge. But we came across a roadside stall selling petrol in bottles on a shelf (for weeks, what I'd thought was some sort of local rice whiskey!), and chanced one each to see us home. Which they did, and as it turns out, I believe these are considered perfectly normal petrol stations, so our caution was never warranted.

Only one waterfall on our second day, Tat Faek. It was crap, and to rub it in was the scene of my only fall during our motorbike tour. Humiliatingly, a 2mph fall whilst trying to navigate the final, steep, rocky section of the dirt track leading to it from the main road. Damage was limited, though. A slight rip in my jeans, a small cut on my knee (sufficiently deep, however, to potentially leave a little scar / memento), and some slightly altered right-sided front pedal and handlebar positions on the bike. A bit of a concern at the time, having not discussed the financial implications of any damage with the guy in the rental shop in Pakse, but which was quickly alleviated by a Vietnamese mechanic in Attapeu, who had it all back to normal inside ten minutes with a couple of sharp jerks to the frame, a few bashes with his hammer, a grin on his face, and considerably more time spent taking the mickey out of me than actually carrying out the repair. Forty pence worth of work later, and everyone was happy! Thankfully, Paula was unscathed, so I also escaped the greatest potential damage, long term ear ache. The waterfall, incidentally, rewinding a moment, had a swimming area that even puddle-jumper Matt gave a miss, as, to quote the Lonely Planet, "a diabolical puffer fish known as the pa pao is believed to lurk there, which locals report can home in on and sink its razor sharp teeth into the human penis with uncanny precision"! I gave it a miss too.

We had decided to spend a day in Attapeu to take a break from the motorbiking, it being tiring for both riders and passengers, and to go hiking in the remote Se Pian NPA (National Protected Area). Key to this plan, though, was hooking up with the famous Mr Yae, the only English speaking guide in Attapeu, who was based out of the Attapeu Palace Hotel, the town's outstanding and enormous hotel complex. Only it wasn't there! Like much of the town, which we found was being generally upgraded in order to host an important South-East Asian economic conference later in 2011, it was a building site. Which left us in the far corner of Laos with no plan B.

So we went to just find something to eat and mull the situation over, and then one of those small chains of events that almost leads you to believe in fate occurred. The restaurant we sat down in had a menu that was only in Lao and a staff that only spoke Lao. At which point, we'd normally turn to the Lonely Planet's food and drink language section. Before we had the chance, though, an English speaking diner at another table had been enlisted to assist (Mr Sai). He helped us with our order and then stopped for a moment to chat, naturally asking us what we were doing in Attapeu. We explained what we'd hoped to be doing, he called a friend who he said might be able to help, and half an hour later we'd been joined at the table by Mr Yae! And yet if we'd wandered into a restaurant with an English menu...

Well it wasn't exactly what we were after. Se Pian NPA was too far away for a single day trip, so only Dong Ampham NPA was a feasible hiking destination, one of Laos' most untouched NPAs at the time our Lonely Planet was published in 2006, but by January 2011 stripped of thousands of square miles of jungle to accommodate Vietnamese rubber plantations. And, with no other type of vehicle on offer, it still turned out to be a fifty kilometre motorbike ride each way, so alas there was no rest day from riding, either. However, despite the deforestation of large parts of Dong Ampham, which we witnessed on the way there, we did get to enjoy the privilege of a virgin trekking route. Mr Yae's plan, executed successfully, being to just turn up in a village he knew and ask some villagers if there were any local hunting routes we could follow. And as was the case in North-East Cambodia, it was fantastic to have the company of knowledgeable local guide, who, as well as showing us the way, could pass on the genuine opinions of local people and tell us what was really going on in the area. Even if it wasn't all good stuff, namely the exploitation of Laos' little used land and untapped resources. The most shocking tale we were told, which I think goes a tad beyond your usual deforestation and land appropriation, was that of the gift the Vietnamese gave to all the local Laotians in the region. Metal detectors, thousands of them, worth twenty dollars apiece, and they were gratefully received, as sourcing scrap metal can generate a small but useful additional income for your average, self-sufficient, rural Laotian. However, then you learn that most scrap metal is in the form of UXOs (unexploded ordnance), the result of nine years of bombing by, guess who, the Americans, between 1964 and '73 (who, astonishingly, weren't officially there at all! B-52s dropped an average of a bombload every eight minutes, twenty-four hours a day, for nine years, making Laos the most bombed country in history, more bombs dropped than during the entire WWII, and their presence in Laos wasn't even known about by their own general public, back home!). There are hundreds of UXO casualties every year, still, over thirty years later, not to mention the impact on poverty from land not being farmed for fear of harm, and so the generous gift of metal detectors from the Vietnamese, keen to acquire timber and land from Laotian jungle full of UXOs, suddenly doesn't seem quite as generous after all! So like I said, really interesting if not always heart-warming stories.

Our trek was pretty much without purpose, other than to scramble through the jungle for a few hours, but we enjoyed exercising and sweating in the sun, and basking in the novelty of the route. We did pass through a small, tribal village of about six families on the way back, though, where we learnt of their bafflement and amusement at foreigners ("falang"), walking through the jungle just for the sake of it! I suspect they may not really have believed it, in fact, and assumed we would be after something at some point, but they were friendly enough, and certainly interested in us, so I didn't sense any awkwardness or ill feeling. And then we rode back. The landscape was fantastic, actually, so it was a really good ride, despite earlier misgivings at having to, particularly the point where we went over a mountain pass, offering views right over the jungle toward Vietnam, including parts of the Ho Chi Minh Trail that dipped into Laos. And fortunately there is still plenty of jungle remaining, despite the mile upon mile of sapling rubber trees we saw closer to Attapeu.

Just two more small points of interest before departure from Attapeu. Firstly, the amusing fact that Attapeu means "buffalo s***" in Lao! The story goes that when the first Laotians arrived there and asked the locals the name of the place, they pointed to a pile of buffalo manure. Obviously there was a misunderstanding of some sort, but in any case, the name has stuck!

And secondly, Matt and I have now been schooled in dancing to Laotian pop music! After eating on our second night in Attapeu, I felt obliged not to refuse the fifth or sixth invitation onto the makeshift dance floor, from what was probably a large family, based on the age range, out celebrating something or other. I dragged Matt with me, while the girls stood and laughed by the door, suddenly not quite as impatient to leave. It's all in the twists of the wrists, you see, none of that hips and shoulders nonsense.