Eventually I arrived at the bike shop, which charged me nothing for
the trouble of storing the big, unwieldy bike case for weeks—a gesture of
kindness and support I appreciated as much as any, even if it didn’t surprise
me. I could hardly count the number of times folks along the way had helped
me get this far. After disassembling the cig and cramming it inside I affixed
the shipping label and offered one of the employees $20 to drive me to the
airport on his lunch break.

With so many people passing by at the airline gate, it felt odd not having
my good pal the touring rig at hand to help jumpstart a chat. Until my next
route—the American Southwest—I'd have to readjust to life without my
rolling conversation-starter. Soon, I was just another traveler dozing in an
airport chair. But below my clean ball cap, an overwhelmed mind worked
to process new understandings and wipe away fractured misconceptions.
Behind my drooping eyelids, dozens of faces and landscapes from the Great
Lakes States scrolled past. Under the low music playing in my earbuds, voices
ranging from worried to hopeful described the United States. And beneath
my fresh t-shirt, a vindicated heart swelled with pride. Conversations With US
was now entirely part of me, and would remain so throughout America’s 50
states and beyond.
