HANOI – A few months after we arrived in Vietnam in late 2010, the Vietnamese Communist Party gathered for a big confab. Just about every day for a week I witnessed police leading motorcades of VIP busses to and fro.

But I'd never seen one as polished as the one I saw from my taxi the other day, coming from the opposite direction. It was led by a phalanx of motorcyle officers in sparkling white uniforms riding in tandem, two abreast ahead of a row of Mercedes sedans carrying VIPs. I had no idea who they were or where they were going. But the officious pageantry and show of authority made a striking impression on Au Co, the dike road. My appointment on the far side of town –too far to trust myself on my motorbike.

By pure serendipity, I happened to catch this motorcade on the way back some two hours later, riding in a different cab. But now it wasn't such a neat spectacle, but raggedy, with sirens helping it bullthrough rush hour traffic. The impression, again, was striking – literally so – because I had the bad fortune of hailing the most aggressive cabbie I've yet to encounter in Vietnam. Or maybe it was good fortune, because I have this True Vietnam Taxi tale to share. If I had been a tourist, not an expat, I'd have been more freaked out.

Funny, though, that I picked this cab because it seemed a prudent choice. I was about to enter a little taxi that might have been an unlicensed vehicle when this familiar, more comfortable brand appeared. The cabbie was middle-aged and seemed mild-mannered. We were about halfway home when I noticed that he suddenly seemed eager to pass every car, truck, motorbike or bicycle in our path, as if he had suddenly remembered an appointment and needed to step on it.

On my motorbike I've grown somewhat familiar with Hanoi's crazy traffic, and now have my own defensive-driving strategies. I should have told the cabbie to slow down, but didn't. Then again, when I was a kid growing up in California, I always enjoyed Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland.

As we approached Au Co, the excitement shifted into high gear. Here, a small traffic island creates a turn lane that typically carries a single file of cars, with extra room for motorbikes. My cabbie slid left and gunned past the two taxies in front of him.

This was the home stretch – just a few kilometers from our place in the Tay Ho District. Then I heard the sirens of something coming up from behind – that same motorcade, it had to be, led by the white-clad motorcycle cops. As other cars pulled to the curb, my cabbie figured there was room for him to pass – right next to the police escorts. They were no longer in a neat, tidy row, but stretched thin. A couple passed, with the cop in back waving their white batons in warning to my driver. He slowed, but then sped up again. And then – Thwack! Thwack!

A passing cop used his baton to whack the taxi's frame, near the driver's head, and angrily gestured for him to move to the side. My driver slowed – and then soon sped up again. 

Then an official vehicle passed, with cops leaning out, waving batons in a menacing fashion. My driver again slowed – and then again sped up.

Thwack!

Another motorcycle cop. My driver slowed and rolled down his window as if to inspect the damage. The cop's strike had shattered his side view mirror.

Well, that's not something you see every day.

A few minutes later, he dropped me off.

This wild ride left me thinking about the film "Premium Rush," inspired by Manhattan bicycle messengers. In one scene a bike messenger, angry with a cabbie, swings her heavy lock chain to wreck his side view mirror.

Here on the streets of Hanoi, it was an authority figure who delivered this bit of street justice to my recalcitrant, scofflaw driver. Would the police have noticed the cab's identification number and sought some sort of fine or perhaps a suspended license? I don't know. Back home in the US, I'm pretty sure a similar episode would have ended up with a traffic stop and, quite possibly, the driver placed under arrest, or at least losing his taxi license. Did the police write down the cab's number? Would there be a follow up investigation and a fine? Or would the busted mirror be considered punishment enough?

Perhaps there's more to the story than what I witnessed, perhaps another turn or two in wheels of justice. I really don't know.

But I doubt it.