Only in Roanoke can you expect this to happen. Not only CAN you expect it — you DO expect it.
It was late February or early March. My wife, Mary and I were running the Chestnut Ridge Trail, starting about an hour before sunset. The weather was chilly but not terrible. The 4.5 mile run usually takes about an hour, and we wanted to finish by dark.
We jogged back to the overlook just as the sun went behind the mountain. Perfect. Except my running shorts had developed a hole in the pocket and the key to my Mini Cooper was now somewhere out there on the trail.
It was chilly. It was dark. Mary had driven there in her car (from work) so I had a ride home. We decided to come back the next day to search for the key.
Except it snowed overnight.
By the time we got back on the trail there was no sign of the key. Not that run or any of the next 10. I kept my eyes on the trail, but the key was lost.
Yet — every time I ran that run, I scanned the tops of the signs in the parking lot. I figured SOMEONE would see the key, and they would put it where the owner might find it.
Despite my optimism — no key appeared, until last week. It was July, nearly half a year later and as we went through our pre-run stretching, something shiny caught my eye on top of the sign. Sure enough, it was my long lost key.
I just knew it. I knew someone would find it. I knew they would take the time to pick it up. I knew they would put it where other trail users would find it.
That's life in Roanoke.