As I write this, in Concourse A of Denver International Airport (tethered to a $9.99/day WiFi connection from AT&T Wireless that blankets the entire property), Mike and I have undocked from each other. I am flying back to Boston overnight, and on to Charlottetown tomorrow; Mike is headed east by car: Nebraska, Chicago, Toronto, back home on Saturday night with a Cubs game somewhere in the middle.
I think our other family members think it’s something of a miracle that Mike and I not only decided to hook up for the Phoenix to Denver portion of his American Journey, but actually followed through, didn’t kill each other, and enjoyed the experience to boot. But we did.
As it turns out, we have very compatible traveling styles (perhaps best termed “improvisation with a touch of planning”), we have almost equal tolerance for in-car word games (Mike, as it turns out, is more clever than I, which is a painful but necessary knock to my elder brother ego), and a similar sense of culinary adventure (we made up for the deep-fried gack from last night with a truly delightful vegetarian meal at Watercourse Foods here in Denver).
I feel like I’ve been gone from home forever, mostly because this has been a dizzying three-stage, two-week trip that took me to seven U.S. states. Catherine and Oliver are safely returned from their visit to Ontario, and I’m eager to reunite our little family tomorrow.