Just after the odd proselytizing Buddhists drove away from our campsite, up pulled a groovy-looking character in a Toyota Celica. He stepped out of the car wearing a flannel shirt under a down vest, and we pegged him for one of us right away.

“Hey, did you just loose a bag of weed up the road?” called Preston, laughing. The guy laughed, but was puzzled until Preston told him the story of the folks who had just left. The new guy’s name was John, and after he heard the story he said, “Shit! I should have pulled up here and just hollered out the window ‘Has anyone seen my weed?!’ I’m gonna start trying that at random places.”

We all had a good chuckle about it, and then John hung out for a while. He brought us some firewood, pulled out his bottle of whisky and some homemade cranberry sauce and crackers to share. He did some impressions (how many people do you know who have worked on their Lakshmi Singh impression?)

and told us some jokes.

I was still sick and went to bed early, but he and Preston stayed up late around the fire talking about fathers and heartbreak and poison oak and their favorite movies. In the morning, he had left this note on our picnic table.


This is why we travel.