I wouldn’t have recognized my mustached man if he hadn’t waved at me from outside the airport terminal (though Chris Hansen would’ve likely spotted him from I-95). Dressed in a borrowed Pabst Blue Ribbon T-shirt, swim trunks and silver bike shoes, Justin was noticeably not the same as the Philly International characters flanking him.
I put the car in park and stared incredulously as he hobbled in, out of the humidity and hordes of tense travelers. He grinned. I kissed his cheek. And for the first time in a long time everything felt right.
Once home, we celebrated his return with music, merlot and many, many massages. As Justin iced his ankles (wait, where were his ankles?!), we made plans for the next few days: mountain biking at White Clay, bikepacking to a friend’s house, barbeques and parties.
Then Justin spoke and I listened. I learned that:
Above all, I learned that time stands still when you swap stories from 2,500 miles away.
A few Tour Divide photos:
welcome home justin!!
ReplyDeleteIt's a good thing HE'S BACK! If Justin stayed out even longer, he would of came back looking like the moose!
ReplyDeletehey justin you should stay with your bike more
ReplyDeleteyou wouldnt believe all the places its been
who has a smaller jean size? pink helmet or justin
the dark helmet