You hear people say, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

But what about the things that are broken… and you simply don’t feel like fixing them? Or the things other people call “broken,” but you feel it’s added character? 

Come on vacation with me. I have a little story about this. 

Last year, I set out on an adventure that felt braver than most. Though I had traveled internationally a few times prior, I had never done it by myself. I knew some family friends who lived in Belize, saw the flight was reasonably short and not terribly expensive, so I planned a solo international trip. 

After landing in Belize City, I caught a short flight to Ambergris Caye, one of Belize’s small islands. The plane was the type that was so small, you could see the pilot’s haircut. And, I was lucky that day – I was chosen to sit in the cockpit of the aircraft with one of the world’s most handsome.

Within minutes of arriving on the island, I noticed something remarkable: everyone was incredibly friendly. Definitely anyone selling anything – but especially every solo man. 

In the span of just two days, I fielded more compliments than I had collected in my entire lifetime. Complete strangers were thrilled – thrilled! – to have crossed paths with me. Some invited me to join them on various adventures immediately. No planning necessary – just “Let’s go now.” It became clear very quickly that I was, indeed, in another country. One where people were far more comfortable sharing positive opinions than I was used to back home.

The compliments did wonders for my confidence. By day two I was walking around the island wondering whether I had always been this captivating or if I had just found bolder company.

The island was a dream. I had escaped the cold of home and instead was enjoying life on a beach, to include coffee, strolling, and good food. I swam in the ocean a few times – once with stingrays and nurse sharks! The island was beautiful, and it helped me kick off vacation nicely, but I planned to go inland for the remainder of the vacation.

I flew back to Belize City, rented an SUV and started a separate adventure. I found my way easily, thanks to a navigation app I had recently discovered, but those speed bumps tossed me a handful of times. 

I explored the Teakettle area, hand cranked my rental car across the river to see the Xunantunich Mayan Ruins and even walked into Guatemala to earn another stamp on the passport. I checked out Mountain Pine Ridge Forest Reserve and tried my first tamales at Mrs. Bertha’s.

Finally, I had a lovely beachside dinner and margaritas with my friends and then it was time for my last night, which I spent in a town called Hopkins. 

Hopkins, Belize. (Far removed from Hopkins, Minnesota.)

It was a windy day, but I enjoyed the pool and hot tub, took a walk on the beach and enjoyed a drink at an establishment that had swings at the bar. 

Heading back to my condo, I wasn’t sure what to do for the evening. There was a fancy restaurant near my place, but I had driven through the small community and deeply wished to explore more. That’s when I saw a couple snag a few bikes off the bike rack by the complex I was staying in and I remembered: I had access to those bikes, too! 

I changed out of my flowy dress, threw on shorts and a tank, and practically skipped back downstairs. This was going to be fuuuuun! I had a big selection, but one bike called to me – a pink cruiser with a basket. 

I hopped on and was immediately in love with the moment. Warm air, comfy seat, hair blowing back, easily bikeable streets. It felt good to be moving, unencumbered. 

Then people started hollering. 

Oh, this again! I thought. I had gotten used to that on the island, but hadn’t yet turned heads inland. It was just as uplifting.

I gave friendly waves, flashed big smiles and resorted to a dip of the chin when my cheeks got sore. 

Is this what it feels like to be Taylor Swift?

It continued. I was a Belikin or two in, so it took me a while. I finally started to notice comments were coming from all sorts. Women. Kids. Grandparents. Then I noticed the “complimentary vibe” wasn’t all that complimentary. Something was off. They didn’t seem as friendly… some were even pointing at me. They seemed borderline alarmed. 

Finally I heard a clear exclamation: “Your kickstand is down!”

I looked down. Sure enough, my kickstand was dragging. I haven’t dealt with a kickstand since I was a kid. Muscle memory was still strong. I swooped my toe down, keeping my forward motion and pulled the rod back up. Satisfying. 

Briefly.

It descended the moment I hit the next bump. 

Soon the warnings came again. People pointed. Whistled. Yelled. Some even turned around, caught up to me and insisted they could help. Their concern was genuine, their urgency loud.

I decided not to worry about it. The problem wasn’t dangerous in my mind. Plus, I only had a short amount of time left in the country. I wanted to cover more ground, visit more places and capture some photos, too.  I was grateful for the borrowed bike, but I didn’t want to spend time worrying about a minor fix when there was still so much ahead of me.

I made a pre-dinner stop at an ice cream shop unlike any other ice cream joint I’d ever seen. “Nice Cream Hopkins” was a colorful extension of the business owner’s home, a perfect example of the work-life balance I aspire to. I hemmed and hawed over the world’s best selection of homemade ice cream, and eventually enjoyed the treat on the beach-facing patio. Trees were painted and I took a moment to imagine my life as the owner of this ice cream shop. Waking to waves, sunshine and beach every day. Unimaginable. 

Returning to the pink cruiser, I tried to fix the kickstand, more firmly shoving it into place, hoping a little more pressure would make it stay.

The success was temporary and again, the people waved, called, pointed. I continued to explain I was aware of the malfunction but, ultimately, wanted to keep a move on.

“I know!” I’d call back. “I tried to fix it” I’d say as I kept rolling, hoping they’d understand I wasn’t worried about safety inspections on my joy ride.

I stopped by a few other places to capture some images of the beaches, boats, trees and unique signage. The place was beautiful, with equally as beautiful people, as demonstrated by their care and concern for a total stranger. 

On my excursion, I began hearing drumming. I drew closer to the sound for blocks and was astounded when I rolled up – the vibe was fire! There was a group drumming, a server with a super cool black hat flashing a smile at everyone. She was working inside what would best be described as a shack on the beach. A Terrible Towel hung from its rafters, like a cairn on my path. (Any other Steelers fans out there?) Turns out I’d wandered into a hangout rooted in the traditions of the Garifuna people, vibrant Afro-Indigenous people of Belize known for their drumming, dance and Caribbean coastal roots.

I had a very cultural experience there, trying Hudut (a traditional stew), the Beer of Belize and eventually working up the courage to drum on a turtle shell that hung from my neck. There, as night fell on that gorgeous beach on my last night in Belize, I learned I have terrible rhythm. But similar to the kickstand, I kept trying anyway – laughing through it.

Knowing I had arrived on the pink bike, the server warned me it was about to rain, and that I should go if I didn’t want to get wet. I took her advice and left in time to experience the first few sprinkles as I slipped the pink beauty back onto the bike rack.

Stepping back, I took one last look at the bike and its downfallen, lackadaisical kickstand. Then I laughed and shook my head as I reeled the last few hours through my mind. My Hopkins experience would not have been the same without that bike – stubborn streak and all. It was the reason I interacted with the locals, got my first glimpse into Garifuna culture, tried a new flavor of ice cream, took several photos I treasure and, of course, learned I can’t catch a beat.

Was the pink cruiser perfect? 

No. It didn’t need to be.

That bike ended up being one of the greatest sources of joy on the trip, right up there with sitting in the co-pilot’s seat on the flight out to the island and snorkeling with sharks. Sometimes it’s the smallest, unexpected things – and yes, sometimes literal bumps – that can take you out of your element and spark immense joy. You just have to embrace it. 

Sure, tucking in loose ends and silencing rattling parts presents a smooth image to the world. But the “broken” version, the one we’re tempted to hide, is often what opens doors. The thing that gets locals talking to you, that brings a dozen people rushing over with helping hands, that gives you a front‑row seat to the generosity and warmth of the people of Belize.

Shootin’ the Wit is a sporadic blog about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.