What a wonderfully wet day to ride my last few kilometers in Norway.

It has been raining here in Bergen since yesterday and I knew rain was in the forecast for today, but riding in the rain was the least of my concerns. Been there, done that, had the gear for it.

I was more concerned about getting to the bike shop that had said they’d have a cardboard box waiting for me. Wasn’t sure about my next move after that, but the bike box was the critical ingredient to any possible game plan. Airlines require bikes to be packed.

So all my communication with the bike shop had been via e-mail. They told me last week they had a box and they’d set it aside. Then I found out just yesterday they were closed on Mondays. What if they had forgotten and thrown the box away? Man, if they didn’t have a box, I would be working in panic mode to find something for my 3:30 p.m. flight.

They opened at 8:30 a.m., but I decided I needed food and coffee beforehand to be ready for whatever. After a hit of caffeine I was prepared for a scramble, if need be.

But as soon as I walked into Pedalen sykkelverksted all my worries were put to rest. They not only had a box for me, they let me break down my bike in their dry shop and pack it there; they offered me coffee; helped with the breakdown and eventually helped me carry the loaded box to the nearby Bybanen stop where I could board the wlight rail to the airport. What a Norwegian send off!

And speaking of Norwegian send offs, as I was riding toward the city center from my hotel, rain in my face and the wind whipping, there were a couple of guys along the cycle path with big green signs saying “Takk syklister” (thank you, cyclists). I was by no means the only one cycling this morning, but it was nice being cheered on. I was participating in the cycle culture of a big European city. Pretty cool.

Now I’m at the airport. Cost me less than $4 to get here by public transportation. Had help along the way with lifting, turning, navigating.

I think the thing I’ve appreciated more than anything on this trip is the kindness of strangers and the beauty in making those connections with other human beings.

After 30 days on the road I found myself in a big city tourist stop hotel. When I went down for breakfast two days ago the very first thing I noticed was that nobody made eye contact, much less said, “Hei!”

What had happened? On the way back to my room I realized I was now the guy in the homeowners’ insurance commercial talking to strangers in the elevator. They were a bit shocked, but they responded. I guess I had them trapped.

I read a book about human contact, human relations last spring. The basic gist of the Harvard 80-some-year study (the longest of its kind) was that humans need humans. Deep relationships make for a good life, but even talking to strangers in public places on public transport, etc. generates a sense of well-being. I have confirmed that on this trip.

Gaytan, the French girl, made me aware of it first, but there were so many others: From the Italian from Verona with whom I talked across the highway with cars passing between us, to the sweet elderly ladies in the organized camps that squeezed my shoulder and wished me a “God tur,” to the Pedalen staff, to all the cyclists on the ferries.

More than proving to the Norwegian immigration officer from Oslo (and to myself, for that matter) that this viejita can ride the length of his hilly country and live to tell the tale, this trip was really about how I’m just one of a multitude of sojourners on earth. We’re not so very different: we need one another in the flesh. There are no substitutes for that. Even strangers have their very necessary place in our lives.

Thank you, Norway, and thank you, Lord, for the lesson.

God tur!