At least the weather was nice

Thursday, 18 September: On the road from Portland, ME to Portsmouth, NH this morning, I met a touring cyclist-- the first woman I have met who is also traveling alone. After speaking with her for less than a minute, it became clear that she was a bit off. After another minute or two I had pretty much confirmed my suspicion that she was a homeless person with a bike. She was very sweet, and very unstable. I asked if she had enough warm clothes, thinking I could pass along my new T-shirt, but she said she was fine. It broke my heart to leave her. I'm already worried about her safety, but she has been getting along fine without me up until now.

A few miles down the road I got very upset with myself for not thinking to offer her food. Where was my head? I had just hit a sale on Luna bars at a grocery store, and stocked way up. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of concrete, sunshine, cars and roadsigns while I was lost in thought. How odd that this should happen so soon after my only-half-in-jest post about how homeless people should call themselves travelers, and after a brief conversation this morning about how mental illness is only an illness if it interferes with your life or the lives of those around you.

Beer and conversation (and Scrabble) with my friend in Portsmouth helped.