I try to remember when I was first bit by the travel bug. I believe it was when I was about 8 or 9 years old. I grew up in a small mountain town in Colorado - Idledale. And it was. We had two grocery stores, a post office, a 3-room school that taught 8 grades and about 500 residents. My mother worked in Denver, about 30 miles away. Occasionally my younger brother Jon and I would stow away in the backseat when she left for work in the hopes that she wouldn't discover us and we'd get an exciting day in the big city. But I digress.
My first real memories of wanting to travel began when I had an older friend, a surrogate grandfather, who owned shelves and shelves full of National Geographics. I would go visit him and curl up in a chair with an armload and dream of the day when I would travel to all these exotic places.
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