Sick on the Road Home

It was cold as I stepped out of Bradley Airport and into the late night, yet perspiration ran down my body like creek runoffs after a spring storm. I rode to long term parking lot fevered and tired and decided to stay at a nearby motel, I wasn’t going to fight this cold any longer.

I pulled into the Days Inn and grimaced wondering what kind of relief I was going to muster there. I ran the coffee maker with hot water to mix with some salt packets I squirreled away the day before, anything to relieve my sore throat. I laid back and moaned to myself, could it get any worse I wondered. As I slowly passed in and out I remembered a trip long ago and how sick I was then.

On one of my first back packing trips to Europe at 17 I headed straight to Amsterdam to live it up and explore what I heard was Europe’s big party place. By the time I arrived I was feverish and dizzy. I splurged and got a single room at a dirty and putrid hostel that I was told about. For two days I fell in and out of consciousness, slugging down water when I could lift my head. The smell of the room was the only constant and I barely remember some kind face bringing rolls and juice, I will always remember the kindness of the person as well as the squalor of that tiny room.

I woke up with a start that night near Bradley transported back in time to the hostel in Amsterdam. My Days Inn room appeared as a five star property; however there wasn’t a kind stranger that cared. Being sick on the road no matter where or why just plain sucks.