Yes, this is a photo of the island I used to live on. Romantic. And I met the most amazing boy there, Stacy, my first love. I lived and worked here for 6 months, scraping and putting aside money so that I could follow my dream and go on a bicycle tour of Asia. But for practice, I would ride a “trial run” 800km down the coast of Queensland.
I bought myself a bike and a tent. I packed up my mountain bike (which, I now know, is the stupidest thing to go bike touring on). I packed far too much stuff, as any newbie to traveling will do. I even packed my trumpet on the back. What was I thinking? But I wasn’t seasoned yet, and at the time, everything I packed seemed so vitally essential.
I packed my -30 mitts, despite the fact that I was living in the tropics. Because I wanted to have something warm for when I inevitably toured Nepal.
I foolishly used my snowboarding helmet as a bike helmet. In 40 degree weather!
Not to mention books that added more unnecessary weight.
But I was young. And stubborn, and had the willingness to learn from falling on my face.
I parted ways from Stacy to endure a month apart from him. All alone on the road. I cried many tears as I watched him get on the bus and drive away.
And probably every night for 2 weeks after that.