September 13, 2024
Miles: 36.52; Total: 6,825
Howard started his trek back to the U.S. today, which means that I got a late start—not because of some romantic morning hijinks, but because we found it necessary to argue for two hours about who got to leave whom first. Saying good-bye is really hard, especially after one month and about 1,500 miles together.
I hit the road just as the heavens started dumping an ocean. My weather report warned that the Danube might flood, which is a problem, because my path follows the Danube.
As if heartache and downpours weren't enough, my route for the day seemed crafted by Mad Max, with lots of puddles and ramps.
I must admit I was feeling a little salty toward the good people of EuroVelo, who designed this route. I am not a 12-year-old BMX boy. I am a middle-aged woman on a loaded touring bike, with gear that needs to last me about 7 more months.
But then I came across a postman delivering mail on his Magyar Post bike. He asked me where I was from, and when I said, "U.S.," he shared that he had lived in the U.S. for forty years. And so we pulled under a tarp and gabbed for about 20 minutes, which lifted my spirits considerably.
When I was a kid, I collected stamps. Or rather, I had a shoebox of ragtag stamps I had sent off for through some school book fair or other. The most beautiful ones were from a faraway place called the Magyrar Republic, which at the time I did not know was the ethnonym for Hungary.
Forty years later, chatting in the rain outside Budapest with a Magyar Republic bicycle postman felt like some sort of magical bookend to my childhood. Like those stamps affixed themselves to my spirit and mailed me back to their home.
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