Halleujah!

Today we reached the promised land. Actually, just the gateway to the promised land but for the moment we seem to have broken free of flat land and are finally in the mountains. I actually felt a little emotional when I caught the outline of them when we pulled into Denver and realized what sweet relief they were after OHINIANE, which is the way that Ohio, Indiana, Iowa and Nebraska have impressed themselves into my psyche.Well, we actually didn't pull in to Denver, we were on the interstate trying to make up for time lost waiting for a replacement tire. Turns out we didn't need the BMW guys after all but things in rural Colorado are a little laid-back so I took the opportunity of a looong break to do a little reading while I sat in the shade of a tree on a hard concrete slab. The monotony of the wait was broken by the intermittent arrival of Colorado good old boys of every age as they roared into the gravel driveway in their pickups. The new female greeter at the entrance to Morse's Motorcycle Shop might have been a bit of a shock but all the men were courteous and cordial.

Despite the thrill of the mountains and at being on the road again without having to worry unduly about my tire holding up. Despite the novelty of riding through a hailstorm on twisty roads, which apparently happens in the mountains with some regularity, the high point of my day was an encounter with one of Morse's customers. He was a little rough-looking, in his late sixities maybe early seventies.We got to talking and he told me that he was preparing to move to Wisconsin and that his bike was in storage. He kept a couple of photos of his beloved, shiny and polished, in his wallet and whipped them out proudly. Ice broken, he told me that he was moving to be with his children and grandchildren. He had lost his wife to cancer, "my dear wife" he said, his eyes filling with tears, a few years back and had moved to Colorado to be of help to other family members who needed him more. He had recently seen a photograph of his now 22 year old grandaughter and realized that she was no longer the karate-loving thirteen year old of his memory. "Where had he been?" he wondered. He had missed so much and now his fourteen year old grandson was having a hard time due to his divorcing parents. He could be there on hand to offer the boy some guidance. He loved his church, he told me this twice, deep emotion filling his eyes and face. He was hoping that maybe he could get the boy involved in something to do with the church, if he could get him to go, maybe a youth group...

'What's more important than being able to help out where you can?' he asked.

"I drive a truck back and forth to California, and on days like today," he said gesturing to the blue sky, "I hate having to be on the road. "

His new job in Wisconsin will be an office job. "A real job. One that I can own. One that can't own me," he said.

We said our goodbyes. He wished me well on the road and I wished him well with the move. "God Bless," he said as he turned to walk away.

In that moment of grace I was reminded that deep down, despite our differences, we all just want the best for those we love.