From Mui Ne we took the mountain road up to the central highlands. "Highway 28" turned out to be a quiet winding road through the mountains, which steadily became darker as the day wore on. Dan suffered a flat on the way up and had to push his bike about two kays back to the nearest village. I say push, but he actually ran the whole way with it, being the fitness freak that he is. The friendly village folk quickly had us on the road again and we forced some beer money onto them in return. In the heat of the afternoon, Dan decided to take his shirt off and drive the rest of the way like that, being the hardcore boss that he is. This turned out to not be such a good idea when he drove into a cloud of wasps or bees or somesuch. I was waiting for him up ahead on the side of the road and heard an odd sound, completely out of place with anything on that mountain. Dan? I thought, surely not. And then he comes round the corner, screaming my name out at the top of his lungs over and over again like he was calling for my blood, red in the face and driving right at me. Whoa there. He's in a highly agitated state (if you hadn't figured that out by now) and says he's been stung by a swarm of bees. Bees. Of all the things that could happen to someone riding a motorbike through Vietnam, being stung by a swarm of angry bees never quite figured into the picture. He was convinced he was going to die if he didn't get an "e-pen", and with great haste we barreled down the mountain to the nearest town, which was still more than 40km away at this point. I wasn't sure if he was being overly dramatic or if I should be calling in an ambulance, but I was along for the ride either way, whether I liked it or not. I was hard-pressed to keep up with him, especially now that the role of luggage mule had been transfered to me after Dan's flat had necessitated moving the racks onto my bike, and I quickly lost sight of him. We'd been driving like this for about half an hour when I rounded a bend and there he was, pulled up on the side of the road and having a smoke with two locals. I asked him if he was alright. "You know what?" he said to me. "I've lived a good life. I could die right here." Fortunately for Dan, he didn't, and we made it to Dalat by evening, arriving in the dark and pouring rain.

We spent our time in Dalat in various states of being stoned, drunk, sick, and lost, and picked up some cheap leather and seude jackets at the flea market for the cold weather up north. I don't care where you're from, $5 for a suede jacket is damn cheap. It's a picturesque little place in the hills, originally a French hill station and now a bustlingly pleasant Vietnamese city that still feels more like a town, and one of my favourite spots in the country.