Cyclo Killer...Qu'est-ce que c'est?

We decided on an afternoon train from Quy Nhon to Nha Trang once we'd had our fill of the city.  The train left at 1645 and so we grabbed our bags around 1500 to leave us plenty of time to either walk to the train station or get a lift on a moto.  The first two moto drivers refused to give us a fair price so we started walking.  With a two mile walk ahead of us, and each of us carrying 50 lbs of pack on our backs we were motivated to find another couple of moto drivers to haggle with. 
Instead, an 89 pound man, who had an expression I first confused with drunkeness and later understood as desperation appraoched us.  He had been eavesdropping on our bargaining session with the two moto guys and agreed to take us where we wanted to go for the price we had offered the others.  He was dressed in a short sleeve button down shirt, trucker hat and had straggly hair down to his shoulders.  He had a reassuring smile that immediately put us both at ease. 
And...then we saw how small his cyclo was.  The cyclo is an adapted bicycle with what could be likened to a medieval wheelchair strapped to the front of it.  We gave him four raised eyebrows, indicating we needed some clarification on what it was he was offering.  Both of us?  Both bags?  At the same time?  Where?  He helped us arrange oursevlves and our packs on his cyclo and then hopped on the back.  Nathan was basically sitting on me, and I was hunched over with my chest resting on my knees.  We were an absolute spectacle. 
Things went down hill..unfortunately not literally.  He started to peddle.  Our first thirty feet of movement across 6 lanes of traffic happened over the course of approximately two minutes.  Nathan's groans persisted the entire time.  He, to no avail, insisted that we get off and walk because walking was surely faster.  To me it seemed like disembarking might come across as an insult to this tiny man's ability to do his job.  Finally, we picked up some speed as the cyclo-hero swung his entire body side to side using all of his weight to rotate the pedals. 
We were laughed at and heckled te entire ride.  Nothing makes you feel like a worthless slug quite like listening to the labored breathing of a man killing himself to haul your 100 lbs of baggage and 260 lbs of lazy flesh across town.  This was by far the most guilt filled, embarrassing experience I can remember.  (In recent history)  When the cyclo finally pulled over to let us out, we paid the poor man his $1.50.  He took it with a sigh of relief.  As he stood on wobbly legs gasping for breath, dripping sweat, we didn't have the heart to ask him where the heck we were- because it wasn't the train station.  We smiled and thanked him profusely.  Walking the mile to get ourselves where we had originally intended seemed like the least we could do as penance for having almost killed a man.