Not really a Valentine's Day story

This is a true story I wrote up for a Valentine's Day challenge from a radio show for bad date stories.


Many, many years ago (probably about 1979 or 1980), when I spent months of my life working on a research ship, I would dream of doing something fun when I got off the ship. Something that would prove the world wasn't bound by steel bulkheads, didn't serve one type of food every day and the danger of drowning wasn't involved. I thought taking a long bicycle trip would fit these conditions. I convinced a shipmate, Marshall, to go with me. He looked more the part of an oceanographer than I with his long hair and beard. He was outgoing and he had a way of helping us meet people wherever we went.

We picked a route called the East Coast Bicycle Trail that ran from Richmond, VA to Boston, MA. We took the train to Richmond and rode our bicycles north. We planned to take a detour at the end to get home to Woods Hole, MA. We were having a great time. When we got to Lancaster, PA, though, we had some minor problems and needed to stop to repair our bikes, figure out where to get some food and where to camp. As we fixed flat tires in the town square, an attractive woman our age stopped by to talk. Beth was a teacher in town, loved to bike and would ride with us for a while to show us an Amish farmers' market (where we could get some good food) and to show us a campground. She was delightful and Marshall and I both fell for her. After a few hours, Beth said she would be leaving. I took a picture of the three of us with our bikes, got her address and said I'd mail her a copy of the picture.

When I got home, I did send Beth a picture with a short note saying how nice it was of her to help us and how much I enjoyed meeting her. She responded with a short note of thanks for the picture. That was it. I think I may have written another note to her but I can't remember.

About a year later, out of the blue, I got a very nice Christmas card from Beth with a rather long message. What had brought this on? Could she have kept the picture I sent so long ago? Had seeing me day after day worked on her? In all my lonely nights during the previous year, had someone been secretly thinking about me? The card had come early enough for me to send her a reply with a long message of my own. We started corresponding and things seemed to be heating up. It seemed too pushy at this point to suggest my traveling so far just to see her. But I had to go to Washington DC for business and suggested that I could "just stop by" to see her on the way back. To my surprise and excitement, she agreed.

The next weeks of waiting and hoping were agonizing and thrilling. When I got to Washington, I had a hard time concentrating on my work. When Friday came and it was time to catch the bus to Lancaster, I felt happier than I had in years. I bought some flowers to give Beth when she picked me up at the bus station. When I arrived, I called to let her know I was there. Beth sounded as happy as I felt. I said, "I hope you recognize me. I've grown a beard since we posed for that picture." I heard nothing but my heartbeats for what seemed like a long time. Finally she said, "OK, give me a little time to get there." When she arrived, I recognized her right away except that it looked like she'd been crying. I got in the car and gave her the flowers. This caused the thin veneer to crack and she started crying again. As we rode along, I wasn't sure what to do. Was she always this emotional? Was she upset that I didn't try to kiss her? Was she upset because I looked like I wanted to kiss her? Were the flowers too much right away? I asked her if I'd come at a bad time. Was anything wrong? Could I help? We drove and drove with only the sound of her little breaths between sobs and the sounds of cars rushing by. Finally, she was able to compose herself enough to say, "I thought you were the other guy. I thought I was writing to Marshall"

Nothing happened for a long time. No cars came by. Beth's car made no sound. The lights by the side of the road went dark. My heart stopped beating. I didn't know what to say. Beth didn't know what to say. Time was passing and we had to do something. I said, "Should I go home?" She said, "How will you get there this late?" We had a problem to solve and that gave us a distraction. Beth had planned things for us to do that week-end. We would go ahead with the plans, "as if nothing had happened." But it had happened.

I ended up having a good time. Beth was very gracious and her friends and family were welcoming. We talked and played games. We drank hot cider around a wood stove. We ate good food and told stories. My hope that she would somehow change her mind and see me as attractive that week-end didn't come true. On Sunday, she drove me to the train station and there wasn't much to say. She had made a couple of sandwiches for me for the trip back. We said we'd write and I think we did write one letter each.

I told my wife this story a while ago and she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me and said she felt so bad for me. But my wife has made all the bad feelings go away.