Believers are everywhere.

A reporter asked me recently if I ever got lonely traveling in the Purple Bus. My response was not often, and that's the truth. When you're driving the Purple Bus, people aren't shy about asking questions, and before you know it, they've told you their life story.

I was bone tired when I arrived at the Lazy R Campground in Sheridan, Wyoming, late Tuesday evening. I had driven four hours that day (and had for days on end), making stops in Bozeman and Billings, Montana.

I was still exhausted when I got up early the next morning so I could arrive on time at my next stop. It was raining and chilly. No NPR because my radio is broken. No one stirring in the campground. I must confess to feeling a little down and very alone.

I dragged through my departure checklist -- drawers latched shut, curtains pulled, clutter stashed, and all movable objects battened down for blast-off -- when I heard a knock at the door. There stood the man in this photograph. His name is Cleve, and he was my next door neighbor.

Cleve told me that he and his wife, Barbara (who wasn't dressed yet) were thrilled to awaken to find a "magic bus" parked next door. They got on the internet to take a look at our website. Cleve said they wanted to make a donation, and he handed me a $20 bill. About then, Barbara opened a window to say they loved the magic bus and believed in healthcare for all.

I thanked them both. The clouds lifted. I cranked the magic bus, and we found our way to the next stop down the road.