Traveler
People have asked me: How was it? My recent bicycle tour, JOGLE, John o’Groats to Land’s End, top of the UK to the bottom, 1,100 miles over 19 days. Stiff, upper-lip Brits were high-fiving me at the airport, the check-in lady shook my hand, the guy at TSA was impressed—how was it?—he asked. I realized I sounded sort of pissy when saying, HARD. It wasn’t one thing, it was a hundred. Mostly it changed me. Comfort zone. Just by leaving home we are challenged, exchanging certainty, security, the known for round-abouts, metric, showers with extra knobs, electrical outlets with unwieldy prongs, brown sauce (?). Immediately I am thrown off-balance. And this was in England, where people speak English. Yet stopping to ask for directions I am aware that I am only able to take in half of what they are saying—hoping the second half will kick in when I need it, when I get to that part. Suddenly, the most common place experience sets my stomach into panic. ATM (cash machine), ordering a t...