Today is a day of changed plans, unexpected destinations, and overwhelming experiences. I left Asheville this morning at 11am with the full intention of riding 80 miles to Hickory, North Carolina. I had a place to sleep all lined up, a phone number to call when I was getting close. After an hour and a half of riding, however, when I was just getting well out of the city/suburbs, just about ready to take my first break for the day, I came across a sign.

Now when I left today, and even yesterday during my day off, I was feeling anxious. I had all of a sudden developed this desire to hasten my pace, to reach the coast soon, to travel more miles per day. I’m not sure where it came from, but it was strong. As I rode today I thought about needing something to calm me down, remind me to take things slower and take my time. I thought about the various ways this readjustment could come to me. Often a change of that nature requires loss or an event which at first seems negative, such as a flat tire, or even being struck by a car. Obviously I would choose a flat tire over being hit, but I considered that as an occurrence that would change my priorities. I surely did not expect what came my way instead.

In the summer of 2003 and for part of summer 2004, my brother Josh worked at a Christian camp in the mountains of North Carolina called Ridgecrest. I knew he really liked it the first year, working in an ice cream shop called the Nibble Nook, but he left early the next year because of his depression. It was only a few months later that he killed himself. He had talked about the place plenty, I had seen pictures and even met some of his friends from there, but I had never been. I knew it was close to Asheville, but for some reason I had the idea it was to the northwest. Well, today as I trucked along old highway 70, paralleling interstate 40, just as I was thinking that I needed to take a break, I came upon a sign that said Ridgecrest. At first I figured that it must be something different, could have been anything. A minute later I was right in front of the entrance, and it was clear that this was the same place.

I decided that I would take a short break and see if anyone still worked there that would have known him. I asked at the entry gate where the Nibble Nook was. They told me it was closed. I told them about my brother to see if they knew him. It’s a huge place, and they have lots of young kids coming through working there every summer, so they didn’t know him personally. But they did start me on a search to find people that would. After a bit of searching and asking around, I was finally introduced to an older couple, Patty and Ken, who had known Josh well in the time he was there.

It was very emotional. They had been very fond of my brother and took his death hard. Just meeting these people who had known my brother brought tears to my eyes. Patty brought me up to the prayer garden where they have placed a memorial stone in his name. It was tough being there, looking at that stone in the ground bearing his name. “In Memory Of Joshua R. Allen.” It’s not something I see very often. It’s very rare that I see his name written at all. To see it there suddenly made everything real in my mind. Often it’s easy to think about events and people in abstraction. The thought is in your head, but there is nothing physical to substantiate this thought, so it may not have as strong of an effect. Seeing that stone in that garden at this camp that my brother had spent a summer of his life at, that I had never visited before but had heard all about, that took months of abstract thoughts and memories about Josh and made them an undeniable reality: He’s gone.

Patty and I talked and cried a lot. She said a very emotional prayer. It was very comforting to be in the presence of someone so compassionate, talking very fondly of my brother. Then she lead me to an office to talk to a woman who also knew Josh, who I guess is in charge of recruiting summer staff. Melissa had talked to my brother plenty and was aware of his depression. She said she could tell when he wasn’t taking his medication. She had tried to get him to talk more, but there was a lot of darkness in my brother that he wouldn’t talk about. It has been a long time since I have talked to someone about my brother who knew about his issues. It brought me completely back down to earth, grounded by the grave reality of my present surroundings.

Melissa started telling me about other people around who knew Josh and would want to talk to me. By this point I had been there nearly two hours and was thinking about getting back on the road, still trying to make it to Hickory. I had arrangements of where to stay, after all. Melissa and Patty asked if I wanted to stay at Ridgecrest a night. They could put me up in the staff dorms. I knew then that there was no other option. I had to stay, to talk to more people, to be in this place that Josh had stayed, to fully take this all in. These amazingly gracious people set me up with a dorm room to sleep in, brought me a lunch because I hadn’t eaten any yet, got me three meal tickets to the cafeteria for tonight and tomorrow. These people loved Josh and showed me amazing compassion because I’m his brother. I’m still in awe.

I didn’t know what time dinner ended, and I ended up missing it. I went to the cafeteria anyway to try to find Patty and Ken to see how I could get food. I asked a group of older volunteers where they were, and one asked me if I was Josh’s brother. He had heard I was around and recognized me by resemblance. It’s funny, when I was younger, I used to hate when people said I looked like my brother. I didn’t like being constantly compared to someone else. I wanted to be completely my own person. Today when some people told me I look like Josh, it brought tears to my eyes, and I felt honored to be compared to someone that I, among many others, admired so much.

The older man’s name is Dick; his wife Veda sat down moments later. They had worked with Josh at the Nibble Nook and became his sort of grandparents. They loved him very much. Dick arranged for me to get some food, and both talked with me for a while in the cafeteria. Such wonderful people. They expressed so much love towards me. I was so overwhelmed by sadness and joy. Dick and Veda also tried hard to convince me to stay a while longer, volunteer at the camp, maybe even try to get some paying work. I couldn’t believe it, but my mind was strongly considering the option. It’s an incredibly beautiful place, nestled in the mountains, but I think it was the prospect of spending more time with these compassionate, loving people that had me turned on to the idea. I want to talk about my brother so much, to learn more about him in those final years and months before he killed himself, and to hear people talk so lovingly about him. I have felt so warm and welcome here.

In the end, however, I don’t think I’m going to stay past tomorrow morning for a few reasons. First of all, I do want to continue on with my trip, if for no other reason than to get up to Rhode Island to see my family. Second, the people I have talked to about Josh have made me feel so good, and I have enjoyed every moment of their company, but this is a Christian camp, and I’m not a Christian, and that has made the rest of my time here a bit uncomfortable. I have no problem with what this place is, with anyone’s beliefs here, I just don’t share them, and that makes me an outsider in a camp dedicated to furthering and developing those beliefs. I have no desire to convert or have anyone talk to me about converting. And third, despite the warmth of the personal company I have found here, it has been very difficult for me to be here. I am overwhelmed with emotion, and I don’t know if I can take another day of that. I think I need a day of riding to put into perspective everything that has transpired today. This has been such an amazing experience. I have cried so many times, smiled just as much, and felt as human as one possibly can, I think. Right now, I want to take this day, these events and emotions and move forward with them. I told Dick and Veda I would sleep on the idea just in case I do want to stay, if only for another day.

Writing now, I wish I could convey everything I have felt today. I wish there was a phrase I could use that would hopefully make everyone understand. All that comes to mind is that I feel human. I feel my heart. I see myself, and I see where I fit in to my present situation. It’s a satisfying feeling, but not necessarily an easy one to handle, if that makes sense. I no longer feel anxious, as I did before.

Experience confirms: ask and ye shall receive.

a memorial stone in the prayer garden

Patty and I in the prayer garden