November 16

I had bent the hanger of the rear deraileur by trying to get my loaded bike onto the Haas- Cienda stage, and it would skip from one gear to another no matter how I tried to adjust the cable tension. I stopped on the side of a deserted back road, and was about to go to work on it when a man on an ATV came out of his lane, followed by two big dogs, who commenced barking at me. He asked what was wrong, and said that he rides a bike, and offered me the use of his shop. We went back to his house and hoisted the rear of the bike off the ground and tied off the front end so the bike would stay upright, and I straightened the hanger as best I could with a pair of his channel-lock pliers. His help was efficient and wise. I didn't have much faith in my repair job, and thought I should get to a bike shop. He knew of a good bike shop about twenty miles south of there, and called them to get exact directions. He was about 70, and said he had worked in Saudi Arabia, and wanted to know what my career had been. There was a good café down the road, he said, where he often had lunch, and we agreed to meet there.

I got on the paved road again, and started for the café, which was on the way to the bike shop, but off the Adventure Cycling route, and the bike was shifting just fine, and staying in gear. It was only 10:15, and I didn't feel like hanging around the café for an hour and a half waiting for him, so I got back on the route and rode into Louisiana. I regret standing him up, and if he should someday read this I hope he forgives my bad manners.