Ruth
I dropped my husband off at the trail at around 8:00 a.m. He got his lime-green mountain bike off the rack and checked it for readiness. “Are you sure this is the right spot?” I asked.
“It’s the Colorado Trail, Ruth,” he said. “Tons of people use it.” He kissed me, then got onto his bike. “I’ll see you at the parking lot at the North Pass in about six hours.”
I watched him head off, then got on Highway 50. I had a nice picnic lunch packed, might take a hike, or just sit in the sun and read. Six hours would fly by. But first I wanted to make sure I knew where to meet John.
I drove 25 miles, then picked up Highway 114 and drove about 25 more miles. The mountain terrain was beautiful. I looked at the map. North Pass should be close by now, I thought.
Sure enough, just ahead was a sign pointing to a big gravel parking lot. No one was there. I parked and got out. Something was wrong. John had told me the parking lot would abut the trail, but I was on the opposite side of the highway now.
I got back into the car and drove slowly up the highway. I didn’t see any signs for the Colorado Trail. I headed back to the parking lot. Still empty. What was the deal here?
I studied the map again: John was on the wrong trail. He should have been making a big loop, but the route he got on went in a straight line across the mountain.
We didn’t have cell phones, so I couldn’t call. Several trails came out on the highway. I had no way of knowing which, if any, John might take when he realized the mistake.
A truck hauling a motorcycle pulled over. I asked the driver if he knew where the trailhead was. “There’s a little turnout down the road,” he said.
“While you’re riding could you keep your eyes open for my husband? He’s on a lime-green mountain bike.” Motorcycle man said he would.
John
My ride went smoothly, at first. The rugged terrain meant I had to push hard, but that was what I loved about mountain biking. I drank my water and marveled at the yellowing aspens and clear-blue sky. But then I noticed the trail markings were few and far between. There was a lot of overgrowth. Wasn’t this supposed to be a popular trail?
Finally I heard the distinct sound of tires behind me. It was comforting to know that someone else was riding fairly close behind. But when I pulled over no one pedaled by. I waited for a while. Nobody there.
Ruth
I found the turn-out the motorcycle man mentioned. A dirt road. This was the trailhead? Now I started to worry. I was out in the middle of nowhere, cut off from John. Lord, please let him be okay. And please tell me what to do. Did God hear me?
I hadn’t been talking to him much lately. I felt cut off from God too. I couldn’t read, I couldn’t eat. All I did was hike up and down the trail, waiting for John and praying.
John
I had a map, but I couldn’t be sure where I was on it. One thing was certain: I wouldn’t get to the place I was supposed to meet Ruth. I decided to bail. The first trail I chose was a dead end, even though the map showed it as a through trail. I tried to find another.
Ruth
Close to 2:00 p.m., the time I was supposed to meet John. Where was he? Were there snakes or mountain lions out there? What if he had an accident? I was beside myself. I shouted up at the cliffs, “Father God, Lord Jesus, Holy Spirit, please help! Let John be okay!”
Then I heard the drone of a motorcycle engine. The motorcycle man was coming back! Maybe he’d seen John! I got to him as he was putting his cycle back on the trailer. “Did you see him?”
“Sorry, I didn’t. But let’s see if I can figure out where your husband is.”
He took my map and traced his finger along the route John had taken. “I bet this is what your husband did. Bailed off the main trail and headed down to Sargents.”
“Where?”
“See these dotted lines coming off the main trail?” he said. “They’re all side trails that head down to Sargents, right on Highway 50 on the other side of the mountain.” He showed me where the town was. Then he gazed at the sky and tilted his head, as if he were listening to some faint sound.
A few seconds later he looked me right in the eye, the hint of a smile on his face. It was spooky. Slowly he said, “Your husband is fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Turn around,” he said, pointing toward the sky. About 15 feet overhead were two hawks, playing with each other as they soared skyward. “You don’t often see hawks playing like that. That’s a sign. You and your husband will be together again soon.” I stood there gaping. “Here,” he went on, “this is what you do.”
The motorcycle man pointed out a thin line on the map, a dirt road that cut across the mountain. “Follow that. Your husband is in Sargents.”
I thanked the motorcycle man and headed up the trail, looking at the hawks at play one last time. God, please let the motorcycle man be right about John.
John
After a few false starts I finally found an active logging trail. I carried my bike for a half mile over fallen logs. Was I ever glad when I came to a paved road. Highway 50, the sign said. What must Ruth be thinking?
Ruth
I got into the car. The clock on the dashboard said it was 5:00 p.m.
For some reason I felt a rush of hope.
I gunned the engine and took off. It wouldn’t take me long to get to Sargents. I turned off the highway onto the dirt road the motorcycle man had told me about. It was as smooth as if it were paved, no houses, but an occasional turkey vulture flying by. I reached the other side of the mountain and Highway 50, just like the motorcycle man said I would. I headed east into Sargents.
No wonder I hadn’t seen it before. It was a tiny town, just a gas station and a few other low buildings tucked off the side of the road.
As I pulled off the road I caught a glimpse of lime green! There was John’s bike. Better yet, there was John! I jumped out of the car and ran right into his arms.
John
“How did you get here so fast?” I asked Ruth. She looked puzzled. I told her how I’d gotten off the trail and found my way to the gas station.
“I called the sheriff’s office to see if they could send someone to find you,” she said. He told me he’d try, if they had someone in the area. Then I waited, and before I knew it, there you were.”
“What time did you get here?” she said.
“Five o’clock.”
Ruth
God might have seemed far away, but I was sure he’d heard my prayer and answered. In the form of the motorcycle man, who couldn’t have given me better directions. And two hawks at play.
Read more stories about heavenly angels and angels on earth.
Download your free ebook Angel Sightings: 7 Inspirational Stories About Heavenly Angels and Everyday Angels on Earth.
