Traveling with my Mom
by Tim Reynolds
Although I haven’t traveled much lately, I have always enjoyed my little adventures. Sometimes, though, I find myself in odd situations while exploring.
I was once questioned by a State Trooper in Death Valley, while I was trying to tie my shoes; risked arrest and beheading (okay, maybe not beheading), trying to photograph the British Crown Jewels in the vault of the Tower of London; been yelled at in more languages than I can count for trying to sneak photos in various museums and castles; was kicked out of a bordello-looking place for trying to interview a staff member as research for a novel; nearly died—twice—while hiking in the Rockies; had to pretend to be high on crack to evade drug dealers in downtown Toronto; and was almost shot in Italy.
I’m what I call an “airline brat”—someone who grew up with a parent who worked in the airline industry and took advantage of the travel benefits. Mom and Dad traveled quite a bit to the Caribbean when my two sisters and I were young, though they never took us with them. I suspect they needed the breaks. The first real trip they took us on was to upstate New York’s Finger Lakes District when I was ten. Ever the klutz, I managed to … Read more in the Spring 2019 issue
