If you see something, say something. Bags cannot be left unattended. Murmuring of voices. Click of heels, shuffling of shoes, suitcases rolling and being dragged. A baby crying. All areas of the terminal have been designated as smoke free. At the kiosk, I finished inputting the airline confirmation for our flight.
“Stop it, Crissy,” I hissed. My stomach tensed and knotted. Sounds muffled around me. “Crystel, Stop!” I said louder with more urgency. She had stepped sideways to her own kiosk and was checking herself in. “Crystel, we are under the SAME confirmation!” I glanced at my screen: both of our names were listed. “It might screw us up if you check yourself in!” Veins stood out on my neck.
She hesitated. Her lips tightened. With chin held high, she turned her back to me.
Our 4-week Guatemalan trip had scarcely begun. A minute ago, we hugged Jody goodbye. I knew that defiance stance well. Even as a toddler she didn’t like to be told what to do. She insisted on dressing herself, zippering her own jacket, putting on her own shoes. It made for some fanciful ensembles. Beads adorning her hair, mismatched socks. Even her crib couldn’t hold her. After putting Juan in his car seat, I’d dash back to get Crystel who was waiting in her crib. Until the day she met me at the screen door. Grinning from ear to ear, clapping her hands.
Crystel was an accomplished traveler; she’d spent a year in Hawaii as a national exchange student and had traveled alone to Vietnam and Korea. Yet, I was still the mother. I was holding all our valuables, the passports, global entry passes, credit cards, and cash.
Sighing, I clicked on our names, printed our boarding passes and bag tags. “Crystel, here.” She jerked her head sharply and wouldn’t meet my gaze. I raised my eyebrows and handed her the documents.
Crystel had invited me on this trip with a simple, “Why don’t you come?”
Why not, I thought. Crystel and I have similar personalities. Always up for an adventure, searching for the unfamiliar. Both of us enjoy researching, planning, and arranging travel.
Xela, Guatemala located in a remote mountain valley in the western highlands, was known for the best place to learn and improve your Spanish. Crystel and I would have a full immersion experience living with a Guatemalan family that didn’t speak English. Five days a week, four hours a day, we would attend Spanish classes and be tutored by our own teacher.
Crystel walked with purpose towards security. Her long black hair was braided, bouncing against her back. When she was little, I researched how to perfect pigtails. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was 21 and I was 65. I inhaled deeply, relaxed my gait.
As expected, my double knee replacement set off the alarm. I pointed to my knees. A female TSA agent was beckoned. While waiting for the pat down inspection, I scanned the conveyor belt for my backpack and tray of valuables. I held my arms out, spread my legs. I wanted to holler for Crystel to secure my possessions as they emerged from the x-ray machine. I couldn’t yell at her. I couldn’t even see her as she had gone on.
I started sweating, my shoulders tightened. All I could imagine was all our cash, credits cards, my phone and passport disappearing. Our travel ended before we had even left the airport.
Minutes later, I gathered my items at the end of the conveyor. Crystel was waiting around the corner out of eyesight. “CrySTEL,” I said sternly. “We know I’m going to be stopped every time at security. We need you to go through first, then secure our stuff. I have everything on the conveyor.”
Her eyes flickered with recognition. She understood we were in this together. Our success depended on each other. We were bound. In the past hour, Crystel had also established that I was traveling with my equal, my adult daughter.
Heading toward our concourse I tripped. We both laughed.
Sitting across from Crystel who was with her ‘squad’ as she would come to call her eleven nieces and nephews, Jody and I watched her draw the children to her. A magician she was. Instead of pulling scarves one by one out of a hat she charmed each child and tenderly tucked them around her heart. The children, enchanted and mesmerized, enveloped her, this aunt from the United States. This aunt they were meeting for the first time.
Where was Juan? Alarmed, I stood up and quickly scanned the dining room. Eight tables had been strung together to accommodate Crystel’s twenty-five Guatemalan relatives. Fried chicken, burgers, and pizza permeated the air. Chatter of families, scraping chairs, little kids running.
Of course. He was sitting directly across from Crystel. Silent, strong, and loyal he was smiling broadly at her playfulness. That morning Crystel insisted that Juan sit next to her in the van on the way to meet her birth family. Since both are adopted, only he could understand the anxiety of meeting strangers connected by blood and the intense three-hour reunion that would occur.
Adopted together at seven and eight months old, they were only six weeks apart in age. Now, both 21, they have had a lifetime of knowing each other. Juan would remain nearby, available. Crystel would do the same for him one week later when it was his birth family reunion.
“Jody, I’m going to ask Mayra if she wants to sit closer to Crystel,” I said. Mayra, Crystel’s birth mom, was sitting quietly next to Juan. Mayra shook her head, no. She encircled her arm in front of her. “This.” Her eyes brimming, “I love watching all this.”
I understood. I, too, have given up an infant in adoption. I imagine meeting my birth son. Sitting across from him, looking closely for resemblance in the eyes, face, and mannerisms. I’d want to intimate who this child is. Ask, Did you have a good life?
Mayra had met Crystel twice before. When she was nine years old and again at eleven. Jody and I had initiated the birth family search and made the reunions possible. After the second visit we were notified by Mayra that Crystel’s birth father had threatened to kidnap her and return her to Guatemala. Crystel was the 8th child in a family of 9 children from the same biological father. She was the only child given up for adoption. Every time Mayra was pregnant, the father said the child was not his. After learning about Crystel from our visit, he threatened he would claim her back because he didn’t want any of his children to grow up apart. He was going to claim her as his own. Jody and I knew this threat to be real. Her estranged birthfather was living illegally in Chicago. A drive of 6 hours and 3 minutes separated us from him. Or was he right down the street, waiting to grab our daughter?
Boxes of Pollo Campero and cheese pizza materialized on the tables. A whirl of activity, Crystel’s brothers and sisters, ranging in ages from 18-34, sprang into action, doling out plates of fried chicken and small bags of fries. Hands reached for slices of pizza. Bottles of soda were poured into smaller cups. Our voices filled the space as we sang “Feliz Cumpleanos” to Juan’s girlfriend, Aryanna. Celebrating her 19th birthday, she blushed, and accepted tres leches, a sponge cake soaked in a sweet milk mixture, and topped with fresh whip cream and a cherry.
Mayra approached Jody and me. Standing next to her, waiting to interpret, was Freddy, Crystel’s eighteen-year-old brother’s boyfriend. He was the only person in their party that was bilingual. Mayra reached down for our hands, brought them together and cupped them in her palms, cradling us. “I can see that my daughter is happy. That you took great care of her,” she said in a burst of Spanish. Tears fell onto her cheeks. “I’m glad that you … you … were the ones that adopted her.” Jody and I teared up. Our eyes were steady on Mayra’s soft round face. Mayra made no attempt to stop crying or to wipe her tears away. Her hands tightened around ours. She continued in her emotion-rich voice, “You … you … brought her back.” She placed her hands to her heart.
I looked over at Crystel. Sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephews gathered around her. Loud animated laughter. She wasn’t ever ours to keep, I thought. Ever since we adopted her our goal was to bring her back, to her birth country, her birth family. Everything Jody and I have done has been to that end.
She came home to us at seven months old, underweight, and developmentally delayed. The doctors could treat her feeding issues, scabies, and the viral infection. What she needed most of all was the will to live. Jody and I nurtured and loved her, and she found that will within herself. Speech therapy for an articulation disorder addressed her inability to correctly produce speech sounds. Until she didn’t need it or wouldn’t allow it, Juan interpreted for her. They both attended Spanish dual language school in elementary, middle, and high school.
I turned to face Mayra and took a sharp breath. I wasn’t sure if it was the appropriate time to ask but I wanted to know. “What about her birth father?” She brandished the air in front of her. “Don’t worry about him. Erase him from your thoughts.”
Crystel was 18 when she asked Jody and I about her birth father. I showed her his Facebook page. “Why does he have pictures of me on there?” she asked. “He’s been stalking you,” I said. “When you were in fifth grade, he threatened to kidnap you.” She pondered. “I always wondered why my name on class rosters had a note saying I wasn’t to have any visitors.” I explained further, “Schools, law enforcement, friends, neighbors, aunts and uncles all knew. It’s what we did to keep you safe.”
Jody and I have noticed how Crystel has taken responsibility for her own wellbeing. She completed her college sophomore year in Hawaii as a national exchange student, successfully navigating school, friendships, surfing, and a job. At the end of the school year, she traveled independently to Vietnam and Korea. She and I had just completed a month-long homestay in the mountains of Guatemala to take Spanish classes. After school, Crystel climbed volcanoes and managed other excursions without me. She is an accomplished adult. The threat is no longer viable.
Voices became spirited, higher pitched around the tables. Talk of rollercoasters. Mundo Petapa Irtra amusement park where we were was the perfect place for this reunion. Rides, entertainment, playgrounds, restaurants, and a walking zoo were spread over the grounds. Chairs were pushed back. Cleanup started. A trail of children to the bathroom.
Mayra took this moment to walk around the dining area to sit next to Crystel. Both shifted in their chairs to greet each other. Mayra laid her hand on Crystel’s arm resting on the table. Though Jody and I couldn’t hear the conversation, I imagine Mayra telling Crystel that it had been a difficult time in her life when she surrendered her in adoption. That she missed her every single day. How she carried her in her heart. What a beautiful woman she was. Both had a ready smile and bubbly laugh that leaned toward boisterous. One could easily discern that they were mother and daughter. The same high forehead, cheekbones, distinctive eyebrows, narrow chin, and small lips.
Observing Crystel and Mayra, my eyes glistened. I swiped at my tears. My tendency is to cry when I am moved by the expression of love. I wasn’t raised with love or safety. I was sexually abused and neglected on a constant basis. There was violence. What I wanted for myself, Jody, and our children, was to see what continuous love would look like in a child. I saw the answer in Crystel. She was full, meeting with her birth mom, siblings, nieces, and nephews. She knew where she came from. She knew love was abundant. Jody and I had only gained by this reunion. We had Crystel for 21 years and all her firsts. She’d be ours for the rest of our lives. She’d also have her birth mom, siblings, and her squad.
Daughter, did you have a good life? Mayra knew the answer.
Adventure and the unknown drive me. Quickens the beating of my heart. My senses are awakened and my yearning to feel alive fed.
Most often my experiences turn out different than I have imagined.
First an idea forms from conversations, reading, or research. My spirit takes note. I imagine the possibility. Interest becomes excitement. I rapidly move forward toward commitment.
Jody is along for the ride, a supportive enthusiastic travel partner.
Biking the Great Allegheny Passage (GAP), took root in March of 2023. I was chatting with a couple from Delaware in our shared Florida courtyard. The retirees had recently completed the old railroad trail that follows waterways and mountains yielding stunning views of waterfalls, gorges, river valleys, and farmlands.
That same day, I began researching the 150-mile nonmotorized path that starts in Cumberland, Maryland and ends in downtown Pittsburgh. According to the website, traveling the Great Allegheny Passage is a sought-after, “bucket list” adventure that delights local users as well as tourists from all 50 states and over 40 countries annually.
I ordered the TrailGuide, the official guidebook for traveling on the GAP and had it shipped to our home in Minnesota. It would be waiting for me in our stack of mail when we returned from our five-week Florida stay.
With the thumbs-up from Jody, a date to bike the GAP—all 150 miles—was set. Lodging at three Bed and Breakfasts along the route were reserved.
Biking the GAP would fulfill several of our wants. An adventure, a statement of active retirement, and a proclamation that we were keen for the next phase in our life: traveling and planning excursions without our adult children.
• •
C&O Canal Towpath
“What happens when you drive through a toll gate, damaging the arm barrier?” I googled from the passenger seat. Jody couldn’t stop laughing. She backed the car up, jumped out of the driver’s seat, dashed to pluck the toll gate ticket from the kiosk, then tossed it on the dashboard. “That’s what you are supposed to do,” she said, still guffawing.
“Now, you’re following directions?” I asked, astonished. I had a notion to video the bent toll arm that wouldn’t close, her grabbing the ticket and fleeing, but I hadn’t caught up to what had just occurred. Her laughter was a little disconcerting.
A loud voice over the intercom telling us to pull over and wait for the police didn’t come. Jody continued onto the Ohio turnpike. I adjusted my seat to an upright position. “There is probably a video of you,” I warned. “By now, the police have a description of our van and our license number.”
Jody couldn’t stop laughing. Hitting a toll booth arm would be expected of me. Not rule-following Jody. According to my Google search, driving through toll booth arms has also happened to others, rule-followers or not.
What goes on in Ohio stays in Ohio? As of today, we haven’t yet received a fine.
• •
GAP trail
Cumberland, Maryland was our starting point for biking the GAP. Jody and I were eager to start. We had already altered our plans at Jody’s suggestion. The weather in Cumberland ranged from lows of 40 to highs in the low 60’s. Instead of biking the entire 150-mile length, pedaling from one B&B to another and carrying our gear, we would plan day trips on the trail and drive to our lodging. This would allow us to start later and bike during the warmest part of the day.
After asking directions for the trail at a bike shop, we headed out for a 30-mile afternoon ride. Jody and I pedaled single file on the narrow dirt path with me leading the way. The afternoon sun warmed our backs when it poked through the tree canopy. Deer, snakes, squirrels, and chipmunks were spotted and dodged. Occasionally we skirted a pothole filled with water and rumbled over bumps. I was happy to be using an e-bike. It made the impossible possible and the not so fun … fun.
The next morning, at The Inn on Decatur, our hostess served a delicious and abundant breakfast of pancakes, pastries, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, Canadian ham, hashbrowns, and fresh fruit. She encouraged us to pack the leftovers.
“Was it a narrow path?” she asked. “You went the wrong direction,” she explained. “The GAP is flat and wide with a crushed gravel surface. You were on the C&O Canal Towpath.”
I looked at our map. It started to make sense to me: the locks and lockhouses we passed, the river on our right. I had even taken a photo of mile marker 170, our turnaround spot. This was clearly marked on the C&O Canal diagram.
This, I would do. Go in the wrong direction.
C&O Canal Towpath and the Great Allegheny Passage intersect at Cumberland, Maryland with the towpath running 185 miles to Washington, DC following the Potomac River while the Great Allegheny Passage is a 150-mile trail in the other direction to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
The towpath was originally built for the canal mules to walk beside the canal as they towed the canal boats through the waterway. Jody and I can now say that we’ve biked a portion of the trail. Thank goodness we were biking out and back. We could have been in Washington, DC before self-correcting.
• •
At Meyersdale, we entered the GAP trail and headed north two miles towards the Salisbury Viaduct. The GAP trail was what I had expected. It is similar to the crushed limestone Luce Line State trail in Minnesota. Amazing that yesterday I accepted the forest dirt trail as the GAP.
The Salisbury Viaduct, 101 feet above the Casselman River, is the longest trestle on the GAP. Forests dressed in their fall colors, farmland, and wide views surrounded us. We turned around at a small family cemetery and headed south towards Frostburg and the Eastern Continental Divide (Highest Point on the GAP), Big Savage Tunnel (longest tunnel, ¼ mile) and the Mason & Dixon Line.
The hard packed trail surface follows the old Pennsylvania and Lake Erie Railway. A small mountain creek, Flaugherty Run, flows alongside the trail for six miles before disappearing at the Eastern Continental Divide, where it runs into the Casselman River. The GAP crosses the creek 10 times on short wood-decked former railroad bridges.
Just past the divide is the Big Savage Tunnel. Before going through the tunnel, Jody and I turned on our headlamps. As soon as we entered the tunnel a cold damp gripped us. A wide sweeping view of rolling mountains and valleys greeted our exit. We stopped to soak in the warmth of the October sun and enjoy the scenery that was dotted by wind turbines lining the ridges.
The GAP trail crosses from Pennsylvania into Maryland at the Mason-Dixon Line. This famous area snuck up on Jody and me. We noted the markers and stones from our bikes and continued onward.
Frostberg, our turnaround point, is a small college town. To reach it we biked a steep paved trail into town. The Toasted Goat Winery seemed a fitting place to stop for lunch before our 16-mile return to Meyersdale and our car ride to our next B&B, Hanna House of Breakfast near Confluence, PA.
• •
The falls at Ohiopyle State Park
In the fast-flowing whitewater of the Youghiogheny River, a kayaker had not emerged from the turbulent falls. Jody and I believed we were witnessing a death. Two kayakers had successfully made it over the 18-foot drop at Ohiopyle Falls in Ohiopyle State Park. This one was in trouble. He was a cigar bobbing up and down in the powerful water unable to escape the whirlpool. The three kayakers had slipped into the river upstream ignoring the signs saying, “No water access.” Jody was filming the kayaker and didn’t shut her video off until his head surfaced.
The name Ohiopyle is thought to have derived from a combination of Native American Indian words which mean “white frothy water.” We had walked to an observation deck to view the falls and the rapids leading up to them.
Ohiopyle State Park, was our planned rest break. That morning we had parked our car at the main visitor parking area near downtown Ohiopyle and biked ten miles to Confluence before returning.
The town of Confluence is at the convergence of three waterways: the Youghiogheny and Casselman Rivers and Laurel Hill Creek. “Where mountains touch rivers,” is the town’s motto. This was definitely evident on the bike trail. On one side of us was a mountain and on the other a river. Confluence is surrounded by some of the highest ridges in Pennsylvania. The Middle Yough, Laurel Hill Creek, and White’s Creek are considered some of the best trout waters in the region. From our bikes we could see fishermen casting their lines.
After taking a breath and reviewing the video of the kayaker, Jody and I continued our bike ride north over the curving 620-foot Ohiopyle low bridge and the 663-ft Ohiopyle high bridge. From our bikes we took in Ohiopyle Falls, Ferncliff Peninsula, and the Youghiogheny River. Our turnaround point was 10 miles further near Sheepskin Trail.
• •
Jody and I considered our biking options from the front porch of our final lodging destination, Bright Morning B&B, West Newton, PA. West Newton is a trail town along the GAP. The Youghiogheny River flowed flat and calm in front of the inn.
Downtown Pittsburgh, PA, the end of the GAP, was 30 miles north. Jody and I had biked 105 miles of the 150-mile GAP trail. We both came to the decision that the end of the GAP for us would be here.
Driving the scenic backroads of Maryland and Pennsylvania to reach our B&B’s provided Jody and I with a fuller experience than only biking on a flat railway bed. Curvy mountainous roads. Narrow valleys. Hardwood forests. Rivers. Small farms. Amish. Valleys and hillsides were a beautiful shade of green to vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows.
The next morning, we would start the trek home.
Our next adventure? Our next unknown?
In January, Jody and I will be attending National RV Training Academy in Athens, Texas for a one-week class in RV Fundamentals. Learning objectives include, Understanding electrical systems, AC/DC systems, Propane and Water Systems, Air Conditioners & Refrigerators and Water Heaters & Furnaces.
We don’t own an RV … yet.
Right now, we need to clean the dust off our bikes and get them ready for the next ride.
If you see something, say something. Bags cannot be left unattended. Murmuring of voices. Click of heels, shuffling of shoes, suitcases rolling and being dragged. A baby crying. All areas of the terminal have been designated as smoke free. At the kiosk, I finished inputting the airline confirmation for our flight.
Adventure and the unknown drive me. Quicken
