Tears streaming silently down my face, I’m glad that guy isn’t here to witness it, as he’d surely be concerned about what an emotional roller coaster time on the computer is for me.
19 days on the road and I hadn’t cried yet, but today was the day. Not out of fear, or frustration, or a desire to give up, but out of deep gratitude, amazement in the goodness of humanity, excitement to continue on.
Subconsciously I’ve been waiting to get slapped down. To have people turn on me and the adventure. Tell me to give up, to throw in the towel. My OMD conviction is strong so I wouldn’t be deterred, but it would bolster my lone ranger ways. To help others when possible but not ask for help, avoid being a bother, to just buck up and handle things.
But there is no slap forthcoming, instead I find myself in a seemingly endless trust fall. The more I lean back with complete faith, the more caring hands arise from all around to catch us. Cookies and love for Baylor, an entire community excitedly making connections, hot maple-syrup-laced tea on a rainy night, spare parts, moto schooling, kindness and encouragement around every corner. It’s slightly uncomfortable and entirely inspiring.
Still reeling from my good fortune in securing a ride to Anchorage I check in with my moto family, a bit nervous that they’ve grown tired of this string of needing assistance. But there’s no slap. Not only are they cheering us on, they actually congratulate me on being able to ask for help. Knowing the costs associated with donors and operating rooms, they rally together, send funds to ensure that the adventure will continue.
I understand how the Grinch felt as my heart swells, tears flow. People are good. Adventure worth seeking.
Two hours later Rufio is loaded on the trailer and we’re making our way towards the border. Eyes dry, my cheeks ache from smiling, my belly is sore from laughing.
As Jack says, “We’re not strangers, just friends that hadn’t met yet.”
I couldn’t imagine a better way to be spending the day.
19 days down. Many to come.
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