Staying by a Stranger
As I awoke in the morning, my nighttime anxiety had subsided. Then I realized, that night I’d be sleeping in a stranger’s house. In the last few days, many friends expressed their concern about me sleeping in a stranger’s home. I put on a brave face and explained that statistically, nothing will go wrong, but I was concealing some of my fear.
I said my final goodbyes to friends and decided to stop by my freshman dorm. Maybe I would feel something, a rush of emotions for this big occasion or at least nostalgia for my first year in college. But I felt nothing. I undramatically peddled away from my home for the past four years.
My first bit of excitement came only three miles from where I started. My map suggested I turn onto a grassy path too small for cars. An abandoned bridge that crosses train tracks lied ahead in the distance. The woods of the side beams were rotting away and there was a single two-foot-wide plank with barely enough room for me and my bike to walk across. I knew I could have probably biked across, but I was still uncomfortable with all the weight on my bike. I probably had around 50 pounds of gear in addition to the bike itself. Since I didn’t want to risk my trip ending on the first day by falling off a bridge, I chose to play it safe. I waddled my bike with myself on it, slowly across.
The more I biked, the hillier it got, and after a tough, long day, I made it to my host, who I had found through an app designed to connect current bike tourists with host families, called Warmshowers. I had messaged my host, John about a month ago asking if he could host me on my trip. I was nervous about where I would be sleeping each night, so I made sure to plan the first five nights way ahead of time.
Since this was my first time using the site, I was unsure of the protocol. Would this man I found on the internet be safe, were my friends right to be concerned. The neighbor’s dog finally stopped barking at me as John greeted me outside his house in rural Massachusetts. He lived on a beautiful lake surrounded by trees. John approached me and offered his hand. I hesitate for a second -Covid vaccines were only just available for every adult who wanted- then shook his hand and introduce myself. It felt like years since I had met someone new or shook someone’s hand, and I was going to be sleeping in this person’s home.
I was exhausted, hungry and filthy. John showed me the room I’ll be staying in and told me to make myself at home while he got dinner ready. I took my warm shower and then headed down for dinner. John made enough food for a large family. Even though it was just the two of us eating, I felt I could eat for four. We talked about biking, traveling and the differences in our generational attitudes. Whenever it was his turn to talk, I gulped down my food, filling my bottomless pit of a stomach. By the end of the meal, I had gotten up for “seconds” half a dozen times. Although I came in with fears, my first night in a stranger’s house subdued all my worries and set a precedence of trust in the future strangers I’d meet along the way.
After dinner, I crashed and got some much-needed rest. I had a long and slow trip ahead of me, but I fell asleep more optimistic than the night before.
