Sherry was on her way home and, without ever meeting me, told me where her place was and where I could find a spare key.
So I made my way to Sherry's place, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by her trust towards a complete stranger. I cleaned myself up a bit, rested for a while, and then (at Sherry's request) rode out to meet her, her daughter Nicki, and her great big dog Gus at a cafe known to cater towards cycling enthusiasts.
Sherry is tall; full of light and life. Nicki, an anthropologist who teaches at the nearby university, struck me as very practical; more reserved than her mother, but very friendly. Gus is a big, black, old dog who still thinks he's a pup.
They treated me to wine and pizza, told me stories, and I told mine. We talked about traveling, and philosophy, anthropology, and history, about Neanderthals, Europe, and the Basques (Nicki's specific area of expertise).
They convinced me that in the morning I should accompany Nicki to the Boise Basque museum and a Basque Pub called the Gernika.
So, after a night of good food, good wine, and good company, we parted ways. Sherry and I met back at her place and she set about making me at home.
Her house is comfy and decorated like my Aunt Rose's drum circle studio. It's the sort of place that is designed, by use of warm colors and a hint of incense, to make a stranger relax and feel like a stranger no longer.
So I slept long, and I slept well; eager to see what the following day would bring.
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