Hot Pursuit: Burnin' Up The Road!

“HHHHHOOOONNNNKKKK” the car driving past me screams. A flurry of unintelligible words and hand gestures follows as they fly past. I shrug off their road rage as simply as I do one of the dozen mosquitoes buzzing around my head in the morning. Hot Pursuit is focused on the 10 more miles to go and doesn’t have time for silly road games . . . “Oh no, I’m on the wrong side of the road!” I desperately swerve through oncoming traffic to relocate myself on the correct side. Suriname drives on the left side of the road, and choosing to ride against traffic is certain death. Some mornings I purchase the local paper to practice my Dutch, and in the process I have noticed that the front page always has a picture of a bike or motorcycle hit by a car. Fortunately, the 13 miles between the capital city and my center is only located on one of the busiest highways in the country . . . “gulp.”

          I left my center at 6am to beat the heat and traffic, both of which could be the death of me, although after only a couple of miles into the bike ride I started to believe the pain in my butt would
kill me first. The gold colored cruiser that Peace Corps issued me might be rejecting my body in hopes that the thirteen year old girl on summer vacation who was meant to ride it hops on instead. It’s all good, the real star of the journey to

Paramaribo and back is not the man, or the bike, it’s the helmet. My mandatory Peace Corps helmet is straight out of my childhood. It’s black, with purple and teal stripes, and says “Hot Pursuit: Burinin’ Up the Road!” Many would scoff at this,
especially the Surinamese kids I ride by who have never seen anyone wear a helmet on a bike, let alone a goofy, white foreigner. However, their pointing and laughing doesn’t bother me as I confidently wear my helmet, focused on my goal.

          The funny thing about my bike ride most definitely is not my bike, or my helmet, but my desire to go so far out of my way for no reason but to just do it. Often, when back home in the States, I don’t take the time for adventures. The times that I do, they are planned weeks in advance. Of course, if I wanted to wake up at 6am and ride a bike 13 miles I could, but I don’t. I don’t take the time to lose myself in things around me. When explaining to people why I love traveling so much, I have a hard time. The story of me on my silly bike with my silly helmet will most definitely not help anyone understand why I travel, but that’s ok because it helps me to understand. Really, life is not about the things that we surround ourselves with, but the moments that we truly let ourselves experience it.

          I can’t say that anyone ever telling me that I was adventurous made me feel adventurous. Is adventure the addition of “exciting” activities to one’s life, or is adventure the ability let go of what we are so comfortable with? I’m not comfortable in a country where I don’t understand people most of the time. I’m not comfortable with the heat the bears down on me at two in the afternoon every day. I’m not comfortable with things never happening when they’re supposed to. I’m not comfortable with my bike. I’m not comfortable with my Hot Pursuit helmet. Yet I’m comfortable with the idea that tomorrow will bring me to a new person or experience that I may never have had if allowed myself to stay comfortable.