A Glimmer of an Idea

She was in the Willamette Valley of Oregon, drinking wine and soaking up that one fabulous moment among miles and miles of fabulous moments. She had been on the road for over two months and the Blue Car was holding its own. More than holding its own. And she was doing more than driving. She was on a journey. As she swirled pinot noir in her glass, watching the lights of the garden patio refract and glimmer across the crystal, she thought, Hey, this trip is going well. Why couldn’t I do Europe?

Maybe it was the tapas restaurant and the delicious Spanish food. Or maybe it was the French couple at the table next to hers. Maybe, just maybe, it was the third glass of wine she enjoyed that night because she had left the Blue Car at the guest house and was walking back to her room after dinner. She can’t tell you where that idea came from. Not because she doesn’t want to. It’s not a big secret. But because she doesn’t know. If pressed, she will say that this glimmer of an idea stayed with her, quietly deep inside, long after the evening was over, like her memory of the glimmer of the lights’ reflection in her wine glass.

She woke the next morning and got on with her travels, thinking about other things. She still had another six weeks of adventures ahead of her and she was focused on the here and now because road trips, particularly in a 53-year-old car missing most creature comforts, are good for focusing you on the here and now. They are good for keeping you in the moment. And she needed that focus right then. She was in the moment, with herself, in her life, for the first time in a long while and the journey was so much more than she had dared to expect. But the question, the glimmer of the idea of Europe in the Blue Car, was still sitting quietly inside her.

Waiting.

Fast forward to December of that year and picture an empty two-car garage in Vermont and a profoundly grateful but sad woman backing her 1970 Porsche 911T into one of the parking spaces, snug as possible to the side wall without damaging that Albert Blue finish. She shuts off the engine and the sudden quiet swirls around her, heightening her awareness of the wind and leaves circling the garage, telling her winter is almost here. Reminding her, although she doesn’t need reminding, that she won’t see the Blue Car for four, maybe five months. Oh, she will see it with its beige cover in the garage, like a sarcophagus, solid and unmoving in the cold of winter, politely leaving enough room for her workhorse ten-year-old Subaru. But she won’t see the Blue Car like she yearns to see it. Her sadness grows; the road trip is over and she won’t be in the Blue Car for the long months to follow. She won’t be behind the wheel with the rumble of that air cooled engine behind her and the narrow and winding road ahead, full of infinite possibilities. Full of serendipitous moments. Moments laden with new sights and sounds, and people, and a new understanding of herself.

It’s now been over a year since she backed the Blue Car into her Vermont garage. To be exact, it’s been 468 days. But really, who’s counting?

Well, maybe she is.

It’s been 468 days since she closed the garage door and took her sneakers off in the mudroom, hung up her coat, and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, the memories and moments of her road trip trailing behind her. If asked, she would be completely honest and admit (with no shame) that she really wanted a single malt whisky to celebrate the end of her trip. Or maybe one of those Willamette Valley pinots she shipped back home while on the road that were in the closet, waiting for a great dinner party. But it was 11 o’clock in the morning and that seemed a bit much. Particularly because she was alone and she doesn’t enjoy drinking alone. So, she opted for her usual Earl Grey in her favorite Royal Copenhagen cup and saucer. She should not be judged for this; it’s not as boring as it sounds. She settled down in the sunroom, spread the road maps before her, searched for Stuttgart, the nearest port cities, and the winding roads through the Alps. She got out her highlighter and went to work. The coast of Italy? Yes. Normandy beaches? Yes. Spring of 2026? That’s enough time to prepare, to research, to dream.

And as her US road trip memories and moments wrapped around her, the glimmer of an idea started to become real.