Earlier that afternoon I’d been sidelined on a Blue Ridge Parkway overlook for an hour tearing my motorcycle apart in search of the source of a mysterious electrical problem. Then it started to rain…and rain. The kind that causes your skin to pucker from a mixture of condensation and sweat accumulating beneath layers of leather and Day-Glo yellow rain-repellent nylon, resulting in your entire body smelling like it’s just been cut out of a six-month-old medical cast.
I was hungry. I’d booked a far too expensive hotel room because I was still 100+ miles from that night’s campsite and couldn’t face the remaining ride. So I pulled into an Asheville grocery store parking lot, donned my Covid mask and sought out dinner, a pre-packaged salad kit and a miniature “black box” of cheap Cabernet.
Still dripping wet, I shuffled back outside to find the entire sky lit up by the brightest, most stunning double rainbow I’ve ever seen. I just stood there with my plastic grocery bag, my heart flipping over in my chest.
A young guy came out, bee-lining for his car while lighting a cigarette; for a second I caught his eye.
“Look up,” I said.
“What?”
“Look…up…”
A smile crept across his face. “You just made my day,” he said. We talked for a little while, each swapping stories of triumph. And he went on his way.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. I remembered what and whom I loved. And that I’d actually *fixed* my motorcycle and survived riding in all the rain.
Best part is that the hotel had no bed bugs.
