I imagine you’re worried about my renewed motorcycle lifecycle. What can I say? I’m back on the horse. It’s my chosen mode of transportation. The good news: I may be low on the totem pole, but over here, there are bikes everywhere. Everywhere. At least I’m visible, though low on the pole. In America, I was invisible. I’ll be careful. I’m a good biker.

If I can bike Vietnam, I can bike anywhere. When I left Ha Noi for my inaugural bike journey, I was literally laughing in my helmet. There are no rules in Vietnam. There are a few roads and everyone/everything is on them. One Way just meant you were going one way. You could go the other way and that would be your one way. Any vehicle could may into your lane at any moment. In Vietnam, the  school signs depict women and children running for their lives to cross in frantic traffic. In Thailand, they're mellow, walking, carrying books. In America I was taken down on a perfect road on a perfect afternoon by the only other car on the road. Somewhat of a joke in Vietnam. I’ve heard your brain must process two million pieces of information per second when you’re on a bike. In Vietnam, it’s ten million. I believe it. I experienced and learned it. The odds are with me now. Lightning stuck once. It doesn’t strike twice in the same place, knock on wood, cross my heart and hope to die. Whoops! I mean hope to live, to the fullest, however long that may be.

Right now, you’re probably saying, “That dang motor bike place that rented him the bike.” Well, it’s the Dang Bike Hire and the owner Dang is my friend. He looks over his bikes like his children, gives me good advice and a smile to send me on my way. (It’s good to have a semi-swear word as your given name. It opened doors for him in America. He chose to come back where the doors are never closed.)

In Thailand, we drive on the left side of the road, like England, Australia, Cyprus, India, Hong Kong, wherever those tall white guys had reign. It was a mental stretch the first day, the second day, today: back on the road bike, the “wrong” side of the road, signs in another language without even Roman letters to guide me. It’s familiar now. It’s where I live. It’s comforting to know that Julie Hit-and-Run would be driving here on the “wrong” side of the road, the “right” side, while I’m on the left.

It’s your choice, but you needn’t worry about me. When you notice the time, know that I’m living at the same time on the clock, and in your life, just 12 hours later, or earlier, depending on how you like to think. If it’s 5PM on the east coast of the USA, it’s 5AM in Thailand. If you’re driving in the “right” lane, I’ll be in the left. You’re on one side of the world, I’m on the other, but a circle doesn’t really have sides, does it? If you’re feeling you, I’m living in your heart and you’re living in mine.

If SARS or a meteor or a Thai Julie takes me, nothing will really change. I’ll still be in the other lane, on the other side, forever living in your heart. ( Previous page )

ã2003 by Scott Jones, Chiang Mai, Thailand, 01.04.03

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