A cyclo is a loveseat in front and a motorcycle in back. They were mostly ancient two stroke engines notorious for fouling their spark plugs. It was common to see a GI sitting patiently in the seat while the driver squatted down by the engine, filing and blowing on the plug. I told you all that so I could tell you this.
There had been a rash of crowd bombings using cyclos and pedicabs to deliver small plastic charges packed with nails and ball bearings. The technique was to drive the vehicle into a crowd then haul ass while the thing went boom. We had been warned to watch out for problems while using these forms of transportation. So...we did. See, about two weeks prior to the particular evening I am about to describe, a bicycle whose frame had been stuffed with plastic was on its way to its destination when something went wrong and it boomed prematurely (maybe you know how embarassing that can be). It happened just a few yards from the gate to our compound so we all had a good look at what a few pounds of plastic could do to a bike rider. Or cyclo passenger.
So there I was, opportunity arose for an evening in town, hailed a cyclo down and as I was about to climb in, I sees an Army issue ammo can in the footwell. Having no Vietnamese and knowing the only phase a cyclo driver would know was, "You gimme cigarette, Joe?" Or something similar, I demanded to know what was in the can. It took a few tries but he seemed to catch my drift and began to pantomine cleaning a spark plug and pointing to the ammo box, I presumed that was his tool box. So we became good buddies, I gave him a cigarette and P100 and he gave me a ride into Saigon. It was a pleasant evening and I was enjoying the ride, Gia Dinh was anywhere from 20 minutes to 2 hours from Saigon, depending on traffic and detours. We were making real good time to the intersection of Hwy 1 and Ha Ba Trung, turned south and crossed the river at a stately clip. Just past the bridge, a theater was letting out...the crowd was mostly Vietnamese but there were a few GIs and some ARVN soldiers, too.
Suddenly my new smoking good buddy turned his cyclo into the curb...right at the center of the crowd...jumped off and started running back the way we had come. Times like these, lots of things can go ripping through your mind in the time it takes to make your body do something. I remember the faces of the people on the sidewalk...confusion...terror...panic...and as I was noticing this, I also noticed that my body had jumped out the the seat and took up hot pursuit of my buddy. I think at that point I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to reach him before his little tool box erupted, but I was gonna try. In my youth I was thinner, quicker and very determined...I was closing the gap quickly. I began to believe I could catch him and give him a little "what for" before.;..Then a very strange thing happened. He stopped and bent over and picked up his ball cap. It was all I could do to keep from bowling him over. He was hugely surprised to see me right behind him...but showed me his very valuable cap...smiled, then looked confused that so many people were staring at him. I don't think he realized how close he had come to whatever I could have mustered.
And as these things go, an almost audible sigh of relief from the crowd led to laughter...I became the butt of their humor...silly GI...what did he think? HO HO HO. The same crowd who had just moments before feared the same thing I did were now having a laugh at my expense. I did some deep breathing Katas and tried to get my blood pressure and pulse rate some where close to normal. Buddy and me sat at the curb and had another smoke while we watched the crowd dissipate. I figured that butt of joke was better than a position on the day's casualty list.
The things I learned about fear that year would fill volumes. One thing is that a perceived threat can be just as scary as a real one. Real ones aren't usually funny, though.