It was fuscia. 18 speeds. Every afternoon on my walk home from school, I would pretend I wanted to flip through the mixed tapes in the Radio Shack upstairs. But, on my way past, I would glance quickly to the right to make sure it still stood there, lodged between its counterparts, waiting for me to save up enough babysitting money to load it into the back of my Dad’s pickup truck and give it the home it deserved.

I can’t remember the day I brought it home and I don’t think I ever learned to use more than 4 of the 18 speeds, but how I loved that bike. In the days long before helmets became a necessity, my sister and I would fly down the gravel dirt road outside our house; chests heaving and the wind in our tangled hair as we chased the early evening light.

I don’t remember when our love affair (mine and the fuscia bike’s) ended, but it could have been around the time I learned to drive. One spring, the bike never made it out of its winter hibernation and stayed lodged between the shed’s spare tires, fishing tackle boxes, and pungent red gasoline containers. I’m sure it collected dust, along with some rust before it eventually landed in the re-use shed beside the local landfill.

As life got busier and I traded in my students jeans and t-shirts for business suits and high heels, my first car (a teal Ford Escort) made way for a Honda Civic, and finally, when my Professional Recruiting Career really took off, a shiny black Acura CSX. With no time to waste between meetings, I would never had dreamed of taking the bus, let alone riding a bike.

It’s been exactly a year since my final surgery and given that Vietnam has literally shut down for the Tet holidays, I decided to take myself on a little side trip to the town of Hoi An to commemorate the anniversary. As the taxi driver careened through traffic on the 30 minute, grip-the-holy-sh!t-handle-without-looking-obvious-about-it-drive, I couldn’t help but reflect on how much has changed since my breast cancer diagnosis in October of 2009. These days, I’m homeless, car-less, and job-less (well, at least paying job-less for now). But, what an adventure we’re on…

The taxi mercifully pulled up to my budget hotel, (so budget in fact that there are no windows in the rooms, although there are curtains to make you believe a window might appear if you pull them back and stare at the wall long enough) and I stumbled onto solid ground. Although my time with my host family has been wonderful, I was ready for a short break from sitting around a dinner table, feigning interest, while a conversation I did not understand a word of whipped around me and a break from negotiating (pointing and miming work wonders) with my teenage host brother to please let me borrow the wi-fi stick so I could get online long enough to get a bit of work done (yes, it’s like I have gone back in time to my own teenage negotiations with my brother).

So, yesterday, after 7 hours holed up with my laptop (and unlimited wi-fi thank God) in my airless box of a room, I decided to venture out and see what this little town had to offer. A traveler I met in Ha Noi said I absolutely must rent a bike (for $1/day) and ride out to the beach. Every part of me questioned the safety of this option given the constant throng of scooters and careening cars fighting over the road. But, then I remembered the lessons I learned in Risk Taking 101 and my vow to not let my fears get in the way of me making the most out of every experience.

With more bravado than I felt, I strapped on my backpack, walked across the street to rent an old cruiser bike and peddled (for the first time in 15+ years) past rice fields and tiny villages. Alright, I admit it, I felt a little Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love, until I stopped the bike to take a picture and my backpack fell into the dust and my bike went sideways underneath me. But, even with this minor mishap, for the first time since I left Vancouver, I felt like I had finally eased into my new life as a “citizen of the world”.

You see, for me traveling alone is a bit like riding a bike. The first few days, until I find my “legs”, I wonder what the hell I signed up for. I miss my friends, my yoga classes, my gluten free bread, and the coffee shops where I like to write. But, if I wait patiently enough, I inevitably reach a tipping point, like yesterday, and break into a wide toothy grin because I am actually riding a rickety bicycle along a potholed rode in VIETNAM! The stomach troubles and culture shock fade away and I finally settle into the moment and appreciate the hell out of it.

As an International Volunteer, there are days of hard work and emotional strain, but there are also these moments of freedom where you have the opportunity to play tourist and soak up the best of the country’s experiences (at least the best of the low budget options 😉

Soon, I will travel to Ho Chi Minh city and immerse myself, as much as I can, in the cancer world there. But, I will never forget my few short hours yesterday when I got lost behind the lens of my camera, sat on a chilly, deserted beach by the South China Sea, and perched at the counter of a hole in the wall restaurant so I could spend a couple of hours watching the world go by.

Hoi An is beautiful both day and night (even amidst the revving engines and horns of the always present scooters). Below are just a few of my favourite pictures:

But, first – here’s a quick snapshot on our fundraising progress so far. I continue to be humbled by your support and feel grateful to represent all of you on this big Adventure of Hope.