It’s February 13. You know what that means!

Hearts and roses and romance everywhere. Obviously, I should write this blog post on the subject … about how the freedom, joy and openness that a traveler experiences can be a catalyst for romance.

But you probably want a juicy, first-person story rather than some rambling philosophical tome. Right?

Okay . . . okay . . .

A long, long time ago (in August, 1976, to be exact) I took a road trip with my best friend, Barbara. Thelma & Louise had nothin’ on us (except I seem to recall that they killed somebody … which we did not.)

Like me, Barb lived on Glendale Street in Saginaw, Michigan – about half a block away. It was the summer before our senior year of college. She was majoring in Public Health at Michigan State and I – embarrassing as it is to admit – was majoring in Home Ec Education. Unlike me, she was extroverted, blonde, slim and popular.

And she had a car! A silver Ford Granada. Stick shift, as I recall.

Barb and I had taken a couple of adventures together, but when she proposed the idea of going west – to California – I was all in. I quit my summer job at Stewart’s Fabrics and we hit the road.

Having practically no money, we camped along the way. Our plan was masterful: We would pull into a campground late in the day and drive around looking for cute guys. After finding an empty campsite nearby, and would casually meander over and ask, “Do you have an extra hammer we can borrow?”

No self-respecting man would lend a woman his hammer … when he can come over and wield it himself – right?

Right! It worked every single time. From Illinois to South Dakota to Wyoming – all the way to the west coast, we met cute guys and shared weenie roasts under the star-filled sky. (Stop! It’s NOT what you’re thinking!).

By the time we got to San Diego, even I had become adept at picking up guys. Now – lest you think me a brazen hussy (that’s what they called such women back then) – all of these encounters were totally platonic. And not a single ax murderer!

Our stay in San Diego was the most memorable because that’s where we met the boys from Calgary. There were five of them – five! Two guys named Al, John, Kevin and Walter. They were cute, funny, nice and they sprinkled that endearing Canadian “ey?” into their conversations.

I’m not sure how all 7 of us fit into a single vehicle, but we drove down to Tijuana one day and came home laden with piñatas, sombreros and, as I recall, a bottle of tequila. By this time, I had a serious crush on Walter. He was the cutest of the bunch.

Alas, I have nothing juicy to report about that summer vacation encounter. (Sorry …) I couldn’t call it a fling. It was more like a flirt.

But Walter and I kept in touch. We wrote letters back and forth (like I said, this was the “olden days” before email and cheap phone calls). He was a good writer. I was a good writer. We wrote lots of letters.

Meanwhile, Barb graduated the following spring, joined the Peace Corps and moved to the Philippines. I graduated the following winter, couldn’t find a job and moved back home to Saginaw. And there I languished for over a year – desolate, depressed and despondent. Life was pretty bleak. It was a very good day whenever I got a letter from Barb or Walter.

In one such correspondence from Barb, she threw out a lifeline, proposing that I come to the Philippines to join her as she journeyed back to the States, via Asia and India. I didn’t hesitate. I had money, motivation and all the time in the world.

I bought a one-way ticket to Manila. With a connection in Calgary.

It seemed logical – since I was heading west, I would visit Walter on the way to Manila. I met his Ukrainian parents and saw a couple of the guys from the San Diego trip. He showed me around God’s Country – Calgary and Edmonton. We had a very good time.

Still, our relationship stayed platonic. Which is probably good – since I was heading off to southeast Asia on what was to be the defining experience of my life. A romance could have screwed it all up!

I’ve told my story countless times … how my plans to travel with Barb changed and I ended up traveling solo for eight months through southeast Asia and India. And how, during that trip, I decided that I MUST find a job in the travel industry. And how, several months after returning home, got a job in Dayton, Ohio with the E.F. MacDonald Travel Company. And how, several months into that job, I knew I had to find a better job in the same industry, somewhere else.

All through these years, Walter and I continued a regular correspondence. It was time to make a bold move. I wrote him a letter with a proposition: since I was going to move somewhere, how would he feel if I pursued employment with a travel company in Alberta?

I sent my letter off and waited for his reply. And I waited. And waited. When I didn’t get an immediate, enthusiastic phone call from him, I knew I wasn’t going to be looking for work in Alberta. Still, I knew that he would eventually respond with something.

It was weeks later when I unlocked the mailbox at my Dayton apartment and saw the envelope. That’s all – an envelope. Addressed to me, postmarked, unsealed – and empty. Somewhere between Alberta and Ohio its contents had shifted and fallen out.

Obviously, the love affair that did develop – my passionate, decades-long tryst with travel … the love that lured me to Woodland Hills – was written in the stars.

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Happy Valentine’s Day!

Comments?  Do you have a favorite travel romance you can share?