Yeah, once I was on a 500‑mile run from New York to Seattle and my GPS hiccuped mid‑night. I rolled past a rusted sign that said “Welcome to Pine Creek, Population 8.” Thought I’d hit a ghost town, but it was a one‑room cabin with a porch swing and a barista who was brewing coffee in a pot. He said, “You’re lost, but you’re welcome.” I’d been riding on my own for years, so I figured, why not? We swapped stories, and he told me he used to be a mechanic before the highway changed. I left with a map of a place I’d never heard of, a bottle of his coffee, and a new sense of what “unexpected” really meant. The road didn’t end up being a straight line after all.