This is our first trip to Canada, which is also our first trek outside the United States since we moved here back in April 1995. That doesn’t roll off the tongue very easily. It feels awkward to admit that we have not ventured beyond these borders in over 16 years. Not that we have been lax about travels, but this was our 173rd excursion away from home since August 1999, when I started tracking our journeys into the North American countryside.

After landing in Buffalo, the town of my birth, we go to collect our rental car, certainly one of the crappiest ever: no power windows, no power locks, and no cruise control; we are full-on analog. No time to waste, we exit the Detroit of New York and drive immediately to the Lake Trail Motel in Stoney Creek, Ontario, Canada – in the pouring rain. The reason we were in such a hurry? We were meeting Cathy McGill at midnight.

Cathy is a dear friend whom I met back in the late 1980s at a small nightclub in the Frankfurt Airport called Dorian Gray. Cathy was traveling with her then-husband, Patrick Codenys, of the band Front 242. I met Patrick in 1985 or 1986 while they were performing in Wiesbaden, West Germany – Deutschland wasn’t unified back then. It was at a subsequent meeting at yet another Front 242 concert, this time in Offenbach, that Cathy and I would become friends. Shortly thereafter, I met Caroline after coming up for air, and following Cathy and Patrick having a son, Stephan, we all got together at their home near Brussels, Belgium, and have somehow been able to stay in touch, except for some 14 years without any contact.

Seeing Cathy again was nothing less than terrific. Her smile hadn’t changed a bit since last we saw her over a decade ago. The strangest part of this meeting was that just two days earlier, after a long silence between us, Cathy signed up for Facebook and then emailed me with the message that she was living in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. This city sounded awfully familiar to me. I googled it, and sure enough, it was one of the towns I had looked at for a motel back when I was planning our Canada trip. My first message to Cathy was, “I have news for you that you won’t believe!” The next morning I get an email and a phone number to call so I can share the news. No, Caroline is not pregnant. “We will be in Stoney Creek tomorrow night, just 11 miles from you!” We agreed to meet at midnight.

It’s raining when we pull into the motel. Cathy must know it’s us; she jumps out of her car before we open the door of our car to stand with us in the rain for a group hug. Our faces could have been damaged by all the smiling at one another. Disbelief that we were once again face-to-face had the three of us doing a reality check, asking out loud, can you believe this? It was as though time stopped in the mid-’90s when our paths went in different directions, and then years later, we materialized in the same dimension and wham, friends stepped back into each other’s world.

After checking into our room, we three are in the car and driving to someplace dry for Caroline and me to have dinner. Cathy brings us to Jack Astor, it could have been Taco Bell for all we cared, not that we would at any other time eat at Taco Bell, but tonight, that didn’t matter. We asked for a table away from the noisy bar, and the entire empty side of the restaurant was ours. I don’t know how we heard one another or if I even remember much of what was spoken in the 94,000 miles per hour exchange, but I do know we smiled so much that my cheeks would feel the strain for the next days.

In the hours prior to our departure from Phoenix, I received another email from Cathy. She told me of a famous German deli that she was going to on our behalf and that I should simply roll over and accept her generosity as “resistance is futile.” Not one to be shy, I put in my list of potential items that we would be interested in. Cathy delivers, changing one of the dynamics of our stay in Canada. Effectively, Cathy would now be with us for the remainder of our journey. A bag stuffed with onion potato bread, a loaf of rye, Gouda cheese both young and aged, German sausage, pretzels, spicy German mustard – great for dipping pretzels in, two knives, a small cutting board, paper towels, and special for Caroline; Pfeffermüsse – the sweet taste of home.

We talk until shortly after 2:00 a.m., Caroline and I have to wake around 6:30 to meet another old friend we haven’t seen since leaving Germany. I wish we could have brought Cathy along. In some way, we did, as the next day for lunch, when we opened our care package, Cathy’s wonderful gift had us pinching ourselves at our great fortune. And every day following, we thanked Cathy for her big heart in helping load up our vacation with these tastes of Germany and an extra few hundred smiles.