Colorado

I made it through South Dakota and Nebraska thanks to espresso shots and the Joni Mitchell CD Iris left in the car before she left. The flyover states sunk me into a lonely and futile depression with every mile and it felt like an eternity before I crossed the Colorado border. But as I sit in this random Denver coffee shop I somewhat shamefully found through Yelp and look out the mirror to the distant mountains, I am content. I opted for a hot chamomile tea with the hope of escaping utter caffeine addiction that this road trip has incurred in me and take the last sip as I read Robert Pirsing's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. One of Don's favorite books - I remember him quoting it on one of our first dates, so it's ironic that I'm only getting around to reading it now that we're split up... So far, I'm finding it slightly disturbing. I want to appreciate the philosophy, but it seems like a bit of a beautiful disaster. How can we take to heart the wisdom from someone so troubled? But then again, how can't we?

Just then, the cafe door opens and rings a little attached bell that catches my attention. It's two young guys, maybe fresh out of high school or in the middle of college. They wear the road in their tired eyes but fresh perspective and are clearly not from around here. As they walk by me, I hear one of them humming Fiddler on the Roof. My heart lifts and I nearly let out a chuckle as I remember the time Clara was a part of the ensemble in her seventh grade rendition of the play - she had one line, and agonized over it for weeks. It's nice, the little ways you see the ones you love when they're not with you. And in this case, even better that the people to bring this particular memory to mind I'd have otherwise pictured at a frat party. Sal, Simone, Bob, Pearl, Bess, even those seedy guys in Seattle, and now these two...these people and moments are why I'm out here. I'm so tickled that I am ready to give up my comfy arm chair and get back out on the road.