May 13-14

As much as this bike trip is a celebration of my independence — I'm doing a lot with my own physical and mental abilities — there have been times when I would have been stranded if I couldn't depend on others lending me their assistance.

Friday, May 13, was the perfect example. It was supposed to be a relatively easy day — about 60 miles from Stroud to Tulsa. A mid-day rain shower was in the forecast, but the storm system wouldn't be large enough to create any significant delays.

As I neared Bristow, Oklahoma, the first rain drops started falling — big, fat drops that made splats on my bike helmet. I rode for about a mile as the raindrops fell occasionally. But then the pace of the drops began to quicken and I realized I had better seek shelter. Fortunately, there was a small subdivision of nice, ranch-style homes just off the highway.  I turned down a narrow gravel road that connected to one of the subdivision's streets and spotted a ground-level front porch where I could get out of the rain. I rolled up the house's short driveway, then onto its sidewalk and the covered front porch, where a couple of Adirondack chairs looked inviting. As I got off my bike, and the rain started to come down harder, I noticed the house had a Ring doorbell. A few seconds later, I could hear someone inside starting to unlock the front door. I assumed the doorbell notified the resident that I was outside and they were going to check to see who I was. So, I got ready to greet this person and stood right in front of the door. Turned out it was the woman of the house, and she was not expecting someone to be there. She was just checking on the mail. I totally scared her. When she opened the door and saw me standing there, she gasped, her eyes grew big, and she almost fell backwards saying, "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!"  I immediately apologized and explained that I was a cross-country cyclist on Route 66 and had just sought out her porch to get out of the rain. She collected herself and said it was fine for me to stay. And then she closed the door.

The rain would continue for about a half-hour.  I made myself comfortable in one of the Adirondack chairs, and actually took a catnap as the rain eased me to sleep.

After the rain stopped, I got back on the road and pedaled about 10 miles to a convenience store where I bought a few things for lunch. However, when I went to get back on my bike, the rear tire was flat — and I had potentially more to worry about. The bead on the tire — the stiff edge that hooks into the rim of the wheel when you inflate it — was going bad. I had to work to keep it hooked into the wheel. I got the tire pumped up and it looked like the bead was going to hold. However, about five miles down the road, in the town of Kellyville, the tire went flat again. This particular stretch of highway had no shoulder, so I walked my bike about a quarter-mile to a crossroad where I could work on my bike in a safer spot. 

It was there that I realized I was in significant trouble. The tire's bead was completely shot. It wouldn't stay on the wheel, despite numerous attempts. Every time I got the tire pumped up to almost the recommended minimum pressure, part of the tire would pop off the rim and the inner tube would be sticking out. I wasn't going to be able to ride anywhere. I'm sure I was visibly frustrated, as two motorists stopped and asked if I needed help. When I told them the help I needed involved driving me and my bike to a Tulsa bike shop — some 20-25 miles away — they both said they would have to go home first to take care of commitments. They said they might be back, and if I was still there, they'd try to give me assistance. I thanked them and watched them drive off, wondering how long I might be stuck alongside the road.

Just then I turned around and noticed that a woman I thought was a state trooper had pulled up in a white, unmarked car. The name tag on her uniform shirt said "Garrett." She asked if I needed help. When I told her I would need someone with a pickup truck or SUV to take me to Tulsa, she immediately got on the phone and had a quick conversation. "I just called a pastor who is nearby," she told me. "He has a truck. I don't know if he can take you to Tulsa. You can work that out with him. But at least he'll get you off the side of the road." She told me he would arrive in a few minutes and drove off.

I would find out later that she was no state trooper. She was Shelly Garrett, the town administrator and chief of police of Kellyville. The guy she called, who did arrive shortly, was Chase Hurst, pastor of Coalition Church, located a few miles down the road in Sapulpa, Oklahoma. Chase and a friend who was accompanying him also build houses. They had a business appointment they had to get to, but they were going to drive me to another friend's place in Sapulpa, and he would take me to Tulsa. Sure enough, we got to their friend Dave's place, where we transferred my bike and bags to the bed of Dave's truck. With Dave's son Michael in the back seat of the truck's crew cab, we started driving toward Tulsa. I made some calls and found a bike shop with two tires that would serve as replacements (might as well replace the front one while we're at it). When we got to the shop and the mechanics got busy working on my bike, I asked Dave what I could pay him for his assistance. He responded, "Have a blessed day." When I asked again, insisting that I pay for his gas, he gave me the same response.

And I guess that's what I did. The bike-shop guys gave me directions for the eight miles to my hotel in downtown Tulsa, almost all of which was on a beautiful bike path. Even with all the delays from rain and mechanical issues, I was able to check-in to my hotel without a hitch, enjoy a nice dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant, and get to bed early for a good night's sleep.

It's not how I would have planned it, but thanks to Shelly Garrett, Chase Hurst and friends, I did have a blessed day. I don't know what would have happened without them.

The next day, May 14, was blessedly uneventful. The new tires held up well, and I had a good ride — with some challenging headwinds here and there — from Tulsa to Vinita, Oklahoma.

Contact me: Thoughts or comments? Email me at richardridesusa@gmail.com.

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