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By Root 154 0

of money saved—not as much as I thought I needed—but I packed some gear and my bike and caught a flight to Europe. I spent the first three months there just . . . doing whatever I felt like, and it rarely had anything to do with what I was supposed to see. I didn’t even have a planned itinerary. Don’t get me wrong—I saw a lot. But when I think back on those months, I mostly remember the friends I made along the way and the good times we spent together. Like in Italy, I saw the Colosseum in Rome and the canals in Venice, but what I really remember was a weekend I spent in Bari—this out-of-the-way city in the southern part of the country that you’ve probably never heard of—with some Italian students I happened to meet. They took me to this little bar where a local band was playing, and even though most of them didn’t speak a word of English and my Italian was limited to menu items, we ended up laughing all night long. After that, they showed me around Lecce and Matera, and little by little, we became good friends. Same type of thing in France and Norway and Germany. I stayed in hostels when I had to, but most of the time I’d just show up in a city and somehow meet someone who would offer to let me stay with them for a little while. I’d find odd jobs to pick up extra spending money, and when I was ready for someplace new, I’d just take off. At first, I thought it was easy because Europe and America are a lot alike. But the same thing happened when I went to Syria and Ethiopia and South Africa and Japan and China. At times, it almost felt like I was destined to take the trip, like all the people I met had somehow been waiting for me. But . . .”

He paused, looking directly at her.

“But I’m different now than I was then. Just like I was different at the end of the trip than I’d been at the beginning. And I’ll be different tomorrow than I am today. And what that means is that I can never replicate that trip. Even if I went to the same places and met the same people, it wouldn’t be the same. My experience wouldn’t be the same. To me, that’s what traveling should be about. Meeting people, learning to not only appreciate a different culture, but really enjoy it like a local, following whatever impulse strikes you. So how could I recommend a trip to someone else, if I don’t even know what to expect? My advice would be to make a list of places on some index cards, shuffle them, and pick any five at random. Then just . . . go and see what happens. If you have the right mind-set, it doesn’t matter where you end up or how much money you brought. It’ll be something you’ll remember forever.”

Gabby was silent as she digested this. “Wow,” she finally said.

“What?”

“You make it sound so . . . romantic.”

In the ensuing quiet, Stephanie began to slow the boat and Travis sat up straighter. When his sister glanced at him, he nodded and stood up. Stephanie lowered the throttle, allowing the boat to slow even further.

“We’re ready,” he said, and moved to a storage box. Pulling out the parachute, he asked, “Are you up for a new experience?”

Gabby swallowed. “I can’t wait.”

Nine

Once the parachute was filled and harnesses strapped on, Joe and Megan lifted off first, followed by Allison and Laird, then Matt and Liz. One by one, the couples sat on the platform and were lifted into the air, the tow rope unwinding until they were a hundred feet up. From Gabby’s spot on the boat, they looked small and inconsequential as they drifted over the water. Travis, who’d taken the wheel from Stephanie, kept the boat at a steady speed, making large, wide turns, then finally brought the boat to a gradual halt, allowing the riders to drift toward the sea. Just as their feet grazed the water, he’d gun the throttle, and the chute would rush skyward like a kite being pulled by a boy running in the park.

Everyone was chattering as they reached the platform, talking about the fish or dolphins they’d seen, but Gabby nonetheless felt herself growing nervous as her turn approached. Stephanie, splayed out in her bikini, was working on her tan and nursing