Karen Kreider Yoder’s story perfectly captures 2024.

“It was a June afternoon in the Rockies just after I retired when we agreed that we must be turning into ghosts.

We had been cycling in the mountains since breaking camp before dawn, and we decided to splurge on a private room in a hostel. We checked in and headed through to the bike-storage area, walking our rig by young hostelers congregated in the common spaces.

We must have been a sight: two bedraggled 60-somethings pushing a tandem bicycle laden like a pack mule.

Except no one seemed to see us.

We crossed the living room, where 20-something hikers with ruddy faces studied their computer screens. No one looked up. We inched through the kitchen, where others were sautéing onions for a group meal. ‘Excuse us. Sorry to interrupt,’ one of us said as we squeezed through. ‘That sure smells good.’

They turned a bit, giving us space. But not a word. Not a ‘How’s it going?’ nor ‘Where’d you come from?’ nor ‘Cool rig.’ Nor eye contact.”