Good People.

“They are gone.” Jonah and Finn look at me incredulously. I feel my cheeks redden and a familiar heat creeps up my back and wraps around my neck. The keys were in my back pocket, now they are not.

“Oh my God,” says Jonah, my 16-year-old son, “not again.” He whirls away from me in disbelief and stares across the desert at the distant horizon.

“It’s not my fault,” I stammer, “they were right here a second ago.” Finn, my 18-year-old son, runs his fingers through his hair.

“You are kidding me,” he says.

It has been a long day. We have flown out to Prescott, Arizona, to visit Prescott College and Embry Riddle, an aeronautical university. I went to Prescott College, and I can honestly say that it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. It is where I began to understand that I could have the life I wanted. That it was possible. I had been so excited to share this place with the boys. Finn was interested in going there. Jonah was interested in becoming a pilot, so we were visiting Embry Riddle for him.

When we arrived in Prescott I had immediately wanted to take them to the Granite Dells, one of my favorite places. It is a formation of huge, pink granite boulders strewn about over the desert landscape for miles that look like voluptuous naked women lying about in various states of repose…to me anyway. When I had pulled the rental car into the lot, we had quickly hustled out of the car and tramped off into the rocky landscape. The rocks form a huge playground, and we soon became absorbed in climbing, jumping, and shimmying from boulder to boulder. There was no path, and we quickly lost ourselves in exploring every little rise and crevice that was created by this endless jumble. We were so happy.

That is, until I reached my hand into my back pocket. And there was no key. And I thought, “Shit.” Not for me, for them. Not because we were in any real danger, but because I had proved them right, again. This was my pattern. I was irresponsible. I was supposed to be the grown up, and here I was screwing it up. I just get over-excited and disregard the details. Like putting the keys in a safe place. I saw the weekend unraveling.

The parking lot of the Granite Dells was several miles outside of town, and it would soon be getting dark and cold, and we were hungry. I had wanted them to get swept away in the beauty of the desert, but I realized that I might have blown it. “It’ll be okay,” I said. They glared at me. “Maybe I left them in the car.” I knew I hadn’t; they knew I hadn’t. Still, we went back and rattled all the handles and peered in the windows. No keys, just my cell phone and wallet lying on the seat. So much for calling a locksmith.”No worries; we will hitchhike into town.”

“I can’t believe you,” fumed Jonah. “I should have taken the keys.”

“It was an accident.” I stammered.

“You always have accidents.”

There began our weekend of really getting to know Prescott and the good people there. We walked out to the highway and stuck out our thumbs. It took about an hour, but then we got a ride from a sympathetic man. He happened to be a pilot and told us all about his experiences at Embry Riddle flight school as he drove us back into town. He told us how the process of becoming a pilot worked and the challenges he faced and how to cut the costs of school. A perfect happenstance.

When we got to our hotel we informed the receptionist at the front desk that we needed a room, but that we had no ID and no money because my wallet was locked in our car. She took pity on us and let us have a room with a promise that we would pay when we were able to get into the car. Jonah happened to have a $10 bill, so we walked to the local supermarket, and he brought a frozen pizza. The folks at the motel office let us cook it in their oven. In the morning we called a locksmith. He picked us up in town in his personal vehicle and took us out to our car. He opened the doors and retrieved my wallet and cell phone but proclaimed that he could not hotwire this car because of some fancy computer chip issue. It would have to be towed to the shop. He drove us back to Prescott. We hitchhiked to tours at both colleges. We hitchhiked to Thumb Butte, a volcanic plug, and hiked to the top. We hitchhiked to restaurants and the garage. Everybody who gave us rides was engaging, and when we asked questions about the local colleges and the culture of the town they gave us their insights.

On the day we were to leave, the car was still in the shop. Nobody seemed to be available to crack the code to enable the car to accept a new key. Our plane was leaving from Phoenix, which is a two-hour drive, and we had no way of getting there. Our car issue became a community issue. It seemed that everyone in the dealership rose-to and scurried about trying to beg and borrow the computer reprogrammer from another dealership to reset our car and unlock the engine. Our mechanic stayed over an hour late. When the car was finally able to be driven, there was a celebratory feel throughout the shop. In the end, we made it to Phoenix with minutes to spare. We ran through the airport to make our flight. The boys, although annoyed as hell, made the best of it and commiserated with each other about what a mess their mother was. True bonding for sure.

We never got to see some of the sites that I had planned, but we did experience something remarkable. My sons and I witnessed the kindness of the people of Prescott, Arizona. If everything had worked out, we would have stayed in our insular little car and never met any of those interesting and helpful locals. The three of us are actually quite shy, and it would have been so easy to keep our interactions to a minimum, but, instead, we left with an irrefutable reminder that people are good to each other. That it is the norm, not the exception.

The process of preparing for this bike trip reminds me of this time in Prescott. People are responding to our coming adventure with warmth, interest, and generosity. My friends, family, and neighbors have been incredibly supportive and encouraging as I bash my way through this writing and learning-to-bike-tour process. I have had many encouraging comments in-person and through social media and, as exposing as it feels to write down all my thoughts, stories and feelings, all this support really does help. It fuels me and keep pushing me forward. It also prevents me from chickening out.

I truly believe that the world is full of good people. That is why I am not too afraid traveling alone with Oakley on this coming adventure. Throughout my life, people have always come through.