If there was one moment that stood above all else for Marc Gimbel, it was this:
“We were cycling through the Central Highlands, leaving behind the small town and entering the heart of the coffee plantations. The air was thick with humidity, the kind that clings to your skin and makes every breath feel heavy, but the scenery was beautiful—deep, rich foliage blanketing the rolling hills that stretched endlessly before us. The road was narrow, winding, with water buffalo lazily making their way toward us and motorbikes buzzing behind. It was one of those long, grueling climbs where every muscle in my thighs and calves burned with the effort of pedaling.
“Then, without warning, the air was filled with white. At first, I couldn’t make sense of it—just all this white, swirling around us like snowflakes in the middle of summer.”
Butterflies. Thousands of white butterflies. “They were pollinating the coffee plants, I later learned, but in that moment, it felt like something out of a movie. I half expected to see Bambi appear on the side of the road. But here I was, riding through a snowstorm of white butterflies. It was like flying through a dream. I had never experienced anything like it. It was … magical.”
“That was my whole experience in Vietnam… So much better than I expected, and certainly better than I remembered,” he says.
Marc Gimbel was just 22 years old when he first set foot in Vietnam in 1969. As a soldier assigned to the Fourth Infantry Division’s long-range reconnaissance patrol, his mission was to venture deep into enemy territory and gather vital intelligence. “Every step felt like it could be my last. The danger was constant,” he remembers. “You can have all the training in the world, but you have no idea how you’re going to react when someone shoots at you. I did OK, and that kind of surprised me.”
Still, Vietnam changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. He emerged more confident, with a newfound determination to carve out his path in the world.
But during his year in Vietnam, Marc never truly saw the country—only the dense, unforgiving jungle. A curiosity gnawed at him over the years: How did this land, which had such a profound impact on his life, really look? What did it look like now? That question lingered, unanswered, as life moved on.
Last year, a medical scare put things into perspective. After being diagnosed with prostate cancer—and thankfully beating it—Marc felt an urgent need to revisit Vietnam. “I’m not getting any younger. I really wanted to do this. I needed to do it.” And so, Marc, who had taken up cycling at age 50 and had already pedaled his way across the United States and Europe, decided that a bicycle would be the perfect way to return to Vietnam.
His goal was ambitious: to ride through the Central Highlands, the very region he had patrolled so many years ago. But finding a tour company willing to take him there proved challenging. Most stuck to the well-trodden paths, avoiding the rugged terrain of the Highlands. Undeterred, Marc took matters into his own hands and found a company willing to customize a trip. He found four like-minded individuals in his Winter Garden riding group (shown right), but he needed a few more to round out the trip. So he posted on Facebook and the Fourth Infantry Division’s webpage, searching for fellow adventurers. The response was mostly skepticism—99% of people thought he was crazy. But then, one message stood out. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for the longest time, and I’m so glad you reached out—I’m in,” it said.
Turns out Kent Sovern had served in long-range patrols, just like Marc. They had been in the same place at the same time during the war, though they had never met. Going back with him felt like a reunion of sorts, a shared journey back to a place that had shaped them both.
For 12 days, this adventurous crew pedaled through the Central Highlands, and every day Marc was struck by how different the experience was from his memories. This time, no one was shooting at him. Instead, locals welcomed him into their homes, stopped him on the street for conversations, and treated him with warmth and curiosity. He finally had the time to truly see Vietnam—the vibrant landscapes, the serene coffee plantations, the bustling towns, and big cities. It was a far cry from the war-torn jungle he remembered.
For Marc, the journey was more than just a physical challenge. It was a chance to close a chapter of his life with a sense of peace and fulfillment. “How often do you get the chance to go back to a place that was so important to your life and revisit it under totally different circumstances?” he says. The trip allowed him to see Vietnam not as a soldier, but as a traveler, an adventurer, and a man who had come full circle. “It was the best thing I ever did in my whole life.”
(Top Left) Lighted boats float up the river in Hoi An bringing joy to the evening hours, much like a Vietnamese EPCOT. (Top Right) Marc celebrated his 77th birthday with cake and ice cream on the last day of the trip. (Below) An unlikely surprise was the instant connection he felt with Kent Sovern, a fellow veteran from Iowa who served in the same region doing long range patrols.
