Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
out from a stranger—and in the big ones, the ones that take everyone right out of their com-
fort zone, uniting them through love or compassion or just two strangers dropping their
masks and connecting with each other for a remarkable moment.
As I drove out of Utah and into Colorado, I looked up to find a double rainbow stretch-
ing across the towering Rocky Mountain skyline. Maybe because I slightly feared what was
ahead, all I could do was appreciate the present moment. I had no iPhone to distract me.
No Internet to take me away from my Zen. In that moment, surrounded by nature's extreme
beauty, I realized that in this time of endless calls and texts and Insta-everything, we think
we are connected. But it's a false connectivity. What we often lose is that relationship with
the deeper fiber of life. As I drove through the crisp Rockies, the summer morning expand-
ing before me, I knew that this was the real network. This was connection.
And that's when I saw the old English taxicab, serendipity once again gently touching
me on my shoulder. What are the odds of seeing an English cab in the middle of rural Col-
orado? I will tell you, about infinity to one.
I drove into the nearest town, and found myself at the Chamber of Commerce. There
I discovered that not only was I probably in the only town in Colorado with an English
cab, but I was also probably in the only town in Colorado with a Scotsman. The lady at
the Chamber of Commerce put me on the phone with Willy, who the woman clearly hoped
would help me because we both had strange accents. She was right.
Within a few minutes of conversation, Willy agreed to put me up for the night. I thanked
the ladies at the Chamber of Commerce and drove off to Willy's house. And I almost made
it there too, but then my left side mirror fell off. You know, the one that tells me whether
there's a car driving on my left side.
Here I was on day two, and the bike was already starting to fall apart.
Lina had asked me what would happen if the bike died, and I'd had no reply. I could still
remember hers.
“Are you just never going to come home?”
“What, don't be ridiculous,” was my insensitive reply. Yet the question still lingered:
Would I ever make it back?
I guess my mirror was going to have to be broken for a while. A long while as it turned
out. I put it in my backpack and drove on.
As soon as I arrived at Willy's home, with its white shutters and flower-lined path lead-
ing up to his front door, I felt at ease. The long drive, the stress of finding a bed, the fear
that I might run out of gas and not find anyone willing to help me, it all faded as Willy
