Friendliness [First Installment of a Series]

Day One of the bike trip. Late start because of partying the day before, but it still got me a jump over leaving the next morning. I got to an area near Kinnelon, NJ, on Route 23, and had a late afternoon flat. A staple had punctured tire and tube with both prongs, but the tire was salvageable. It is the first flat I would be changing by myself. Disconnected the trailer. (This and most others to come were on the rear tire, which bore so much weight. Also, because it was too easy to have them on the front where the tire comes off in no time. Bikes are definitely evil.)

I butchered the new tube trying to mount it, due to inexperience and the use of a less forgiving tool used to pry tires off and on rims, later replaced with a virtually foolproof tool. It got too dark to bother trying a new tube. I expected to camp out a ways into the woods.

However, while I was sitting off the shoulder and on the grassy upslope, a car pulled over just past me, and then a police car stopped just short of me, flashing lights blazing. I first thought the cop had pulled over a speeder and I just happened to be between where they stopped. No, the car stopped because Nicolas Ortiz thought I might need help. The cop stopped because there had been a telephone report of someone in trouble. They both told me I dare not camp there because of the bears. Nicolas offered to drive me further, to where there is a bike repair shop, in Essex. There also was a motel within a hundred feet of the shop. I was not inclined to do this, but had no choice. En route, we chatted. Nicolas hails from Colombia, originally, and we had a touchpoint because my youngest son’s ex was her Colombian parents’ first-born in the US. By and by Nicolas offered to put me up for the night. “Why spend the money on a motel?” He lived in Essex and would drop me off in the morning on his way to work, in Newark. He had nearly a quarter million miles on his Ford Echo with such a healthy commute, but it looked pristine inside and out! That little car swallowed my bike, inside (front wheel off), and my bags and the trailer, although we had to lash the trunk down.

His wife, Angela, and their teenage son, Michael, were welcoming. It was hot and muggy, so the Corona beer was mightily appreciated, and so were the chicken slices and dinner they provided.

I slept on the couch and we had an early start. Loaded the car, drove to the repair shop (not open yet) and unloaded everything, and then discovered that the shop is closed on Tuesdays! There was not another repair shop within 25 miles (we learned later). Nicolas took me to a gas station opposite a Wal-Mart, where he had bought a bike for his son. The young sales guy now worked at the gas station, and I (obviously) needed help mounting a replacement tube.

I waited for the guy to come to work. The gas station owner would not let the young man help me: “We work on cars, not bikes,” he said, very gruffly.

Wal-Mart does no service work on bicycles.

I grabbed the wheel and a replacement tube, holding them out prominently, and hitched for a ride to what I had remembered seeing, maybe 13 miles back on Route 23. I was picked up quickly by a man who asked what the problem was. He biked some. He then said he could help me and had the use of all sorts of equipment in a shop his landlord let him use. And so he did, and returned me to the gas station where I reassembled everything and set off. It was now 9am. I got only a few miles and the same tire went flat. I was at an intersection that had a gas station on it, where I checked the yellow pages and found 3 bike shops listed. None were open and all were far, but the gas station manager said one was not so far. Except the listing only gave a highway route number as an address, not a town. And they were not going to be open till 10am.

A young man, Jason, and his wife, Lindsay (married 2 years, but they looked so young!) overheard all the telephone calls and conversations and, of course, I was in biking gear. They could see from the sign on my back ("NJ to LA") where I was headed. They offered to drive me. En route, she called his mother at work who checked Mapquest and got specific driving directions. Yes, it was on the route given, only 8 miles to that route’s intersection, but it was 15 miles south from there! They still drove me! This fellow had returned from Iraq recently … he was in a tanker truck battalion. He knew his wife in high school, but they did not date then. She wasn’t interested, until he graduated and showed some spark when he enlisted.

I thanked them profusely, but they had other places to go, so I hitched back, getting 3 rides in quick succession. Two were from bikers. An older man was named Perry and he rode extensively with a group called the Free-Wheelers (this is a great fraternity!) and one rode recumbent bikes. The third was a cop, who could only take me to the other border of his town, maybe 3 miles. Meanwhile, because I got into his patrol car, he had to card me.

Why did that tube go flat? It may have been because the valve wasn’t fully tightened. As it lost air, it got to a critical point. The tube was slit in a circle around the valve base, which can happen when a lot of weight combines with insufficient inflation, I was told.

The bike shop had found an anomaly in the rim which could cause future problems and fixed that. Then they sold me much stronger inner tubes. And while they were at it, I had them adjust the shifter cables, which had stretched, as new ones always do.

I set out for Port Jervis, hoping to get a little beyond there before stopping for the night.

Jason had been going to Oakland for a job interview and was to return to Port Jervis, to his in-laws' home, and lo and behold, he overtook me on the long and very steep climb up High Mountain towards the lookout point. So he stopped and we talked some more. He said he’d have a beer waiting if I rode past where he was staying, and told me about the long downhill I was going to enjoy. Which I did.

I stopped at a very small grassy park, at the foot of another very steep but shorter hill, at the far end of town, and lay on the grass for 10 minutes or so. Jason showed up (again!). He remembered the long hill I was now facing and suggested I take the shore road, beside the Delaware River, which rejoins the route later on and avoids the climb. Wow, what a nice guy! He was dead on. But I never did see him on the porch of any homes I passed and lost out on the cold beer.

I did stay at a motel where the roads rejoined. A dump, but clean and reasonable. It had a shower, and the A/C worked. That’s enough for me.

Not only was Jason pleasant and outgoing and generous with his time, but both he and Lindsay were a very handsome couple indeed. I hope his future works out well for him.

PS: This was Day 2 of 95 degree heat, 95% humidity, bright sun, zero clouds, zero wind. I remember thinking that if my heart could take this kind of punishment, I WAS in good shape and the rest of the trip was not going to be a problem.

PPS: I spoke to Nicolas after the ride, when I got back to NJ. What a sweet man. Michael says his Dad often helps people he comes across on the highway. That's a lucky boy, who has a wonderful role model!!