The Kindness of Strangers

by David Goldman

Last Sunday I went for a trike ride. I wanted to get video of the fall colors. Unfortunately, the colors on the trail I ride were all pretty subdued and bland, especially compared to some of the trees I see on the streets. Thus, there are only a couple of pictures here.

However, as it turned out, the ride became into something far different than a ride with nothing to show for it but disappointing  video.

On each of my last four rides I had experienced a flat on the same wheel. I changed them, inspected them, got home, inspected them with a magnifying glass, ran my hand against the inside to feel for something sticking through, and could not figure out what was going on. I checked the rims, the spokes and everything else I could think of. Fortunately, when I brought the trike into the shop they figured it out and bolstered my ego because it was something I never would have found without the proper tools and equipment. Okay, and maybe a bit more knowledge of trike and bike mechanics.

Now that my flat problem was fixed I was all set to head out for a ride on my usual trail. The weather was okay – it was sunny and in the low 50s. I’d much prefer the 80s or 90s, but it was October so I’ll take what I can get. I was having a good time as always just rolling along the trail. Being somewhat paranoid though because of my recent spate of flats, I stopped every few miles just to double check and make sure I didn’t have a tire with a slow leak. Each time I stopped, all was well. When I got to the 10 mile mark, the underpass I needed to pass through was flooded due to the rains we had over the past few days. This made my decision to turn around and head home easy. I turned around and headed back.

I was about six miles from home when it happened. I suddenly felt a higher resistance to my pedaling and a slowdown. No, I told myself. It can’t be. A sinking feeling hit me as I applied the brakes and slowed to a stop. I reached over to check the left front tire, the one that had been giving me trouble. No problem! I checked the right front tire and it was also fine. Without looking, because I didn’t want to see, I reached around behind me to feel the rear tire. Flat as a pancake, as the saying goes. Dammit! I had ridden over 3,000 miles on this trike and probably as many or more on my previous bike without experiencing a flat. Now, I’ve had flats on five consecutive rides. To say I was angry, frustrated and possibly cursed, wouldn’t come close to all the thoughts going through my head.

Oh well, I thought to myself. I’ll change the tube, see if I can see what caused the problem, and be on my way home.

I found the puncture in the tube and the corresponding tiny, sharp rock sticking through the tire that had caused the problem. I checked for any more leaks or piercing and found none. All was well. Now, I just had to remove the old tube, put in the new one, pump it up, and get rolling again. And I must admit, I was feeling quite proud of myself!

I removed the entire tube from both sides around the valve and was about to pull it through when I

The culprit

 remembered there was a small, nut holding the valve in place. No problem. These nuts are round and knurled and meant to be easily turned by hand. I started to turn it and … nothing. It was frozen solid. I tried several more times with no luck. I thought I needed a better grip so I put on a pair of thin rubber gloves I always carry in case I have to do something and I know my hands will get greasy. I thought the rubber of the gloves would give me the grip I needed. Nope. It would not budge. I needed a pliers and didn’t have one because it just isn’t something normally needed as a bike or trike tool. Yes, yes, I know. Until now.

But it was Sunday and there were plenty of people on the trail, walking, running and riding. Some overly prepared rider was bound to have a pliers with him or her.

As each rider passed I asked if they had a pliers with them.

“Nope, sorry.”

“A pliers? No.”

“No, I never carry pliers.”

A few people did stop and ask if I needed help but when they saw my predicament I saw a series of shrugged I-don’t-know-what-to-tell-you shoulders. One man did stop and say he didn’t have a pliers but he would try anyhow if it was okay. After trying unsuccessfully, he too said sorry and that he had to get back home. So here I was, about six miles from home and thinking I’d be taking that long walk while wheeling my trike behind me.

After about an hour of fighting with the locked nut and stopping helpless passersby, I was about ready to start hiking when a man rode up on his bike and in a mild Irish brogue asked, “Do you need some help?”

“If you have a pliers, the answer is yes,” I replied.

“Well, I don’t, but let’s see what’s going on.”

I explained and showed him my problem and he asked if he could try. My fingers were sore at this point from trying to turn the locked piece of metal so I gladly handed the wheel over to him. He tried but had no success either. As I took the wheel back and continued to try and solve the problem, we sat on a nearby bench and talked. He was here from Ireland for two weeks on business and staying at a nearby hotel. He told me he was thrilled when he found the trail located so close to the hotel, and as an avid cyclist back in Ireland, he was even happier to find a nearby bike shop that would rent him a bike for the two weeks he was here. We introduced ourselves, his name was Michael, and continued talking while taking turns trying to come up with a solution.

At one point when I was fumbling for a grip he noticed my hands were shaking. “Are you cold? Your hands are shaking.“ This with a mild look of concern on his face.

“No,” I responded. “It’s a side effect of a medication I’m taking.”

“Do you mind if I ask what medication? I do adverts and sometimes work with pharmaceutical companies.”

I told him what the drug was. It was one of my anti-rejection drugs and I was just put on a higher dosage of it because of a rejection episode with a transplanted organ. He knew the drug and immediately said it by it’s brand name rather than the generic name I had used.

With that he said, “You shouldn’t be doing this. Give that wheel to me, and practically snatched it away from me. He stood up, braced himself for leverage, and forced the nut free!

“Oh man, thank you SO much!” almost shouting.

As I took out the old tube and replaced it, we continued to talk. Mostly about cycling and the trail we were on. He had ridden close to 60 miles that day and said he was going to figure out a way to ride it every day he was here.

I pumped up the tire to its correct pressure and went to remove the pump’s nozzle from the valve. Don't you know it, it was stuck like glue to the valve. I made sure the nozzle was in the unlocked position and tried again. It wouldn’t budge. I tried moving the lock/unlock lever to what I thought was the locked position with the same result.

“Don’t tell me it’s stuck,” Michael said.

With a forced chuckle I said, “You got it.”

We both tried twisting it, gently pulling it, and pulling it with more force. It just was not my day.

After several minutes of both of us doing this Michael asked if I minded if he just gave it a good yank. I told him to be go ahead.

He did, and the entire valve ripped out of the tube, instantly deflating my only spare and rendering it useless. The valve was still stuck in the pump’s nozzle and now of course, easily twisted out.

“I don’t suppose you have another spare do ya?” Michael sheepishly asked.

“No, and don’t feel bad,” I told him. “I would have done the same thing pretty soon anyhow.”

Now I was really left with only one option. I told him I was going to start walking home. Without hesitation he said, “No, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to ride back to the hotel, get my car and meet you up at the next street. Do you know how far we are from it? Can you walk there?”

I told him it was about a mile and a half but reminded him he didn’t know where I lived. “For all you know I could live 40 miles from here," I told him.

With a smile he said, “So? It will be an adventure for me!”

I asked and asked again if he was sure he wanted to do this and he assured me it was fine as he had

nothing else to do. He asked me for directions from his hotel to where we were to meet. I gave him the directions and he repeated them back to me. He headed off while telling me he would be there and if he arrived before me, he’d wait. I told him once again he really didn’t have to do this. I could walk. In truth I certainly didn’t want to endeavor on a walk that long while holding the rear wheel of the trike up in the air behind me and wheeling it along. He insisted on doing this and I thanked him and told him I’d see him at the street. With that, he was gone.

I put the wheel back on the trike, put my various blown tubes, gloves, tire levers and pump back where they all belonged and started walking, trike in tow.

The walk wasn’t bad although it certainly would have been easier had I not been schlepping my trike

behind me. I walked along and people coming toward me stared at me as I wound my way south on the trail.

It didn’t take too long until I got to the street. There, I removed the seat from the trike and folded the trike (yes, it folds) for easier transport and began to wonder how long I’d have to wait.

Did I give him the right directions? I reviewed them in my head and was pretty sure I had. Besides, he repeated them back to me and they were correct. I think.

How long do I wait? I guess until I feel certain he isn’t coming.

These questions and others buzzed through my head as I stood there watching traffic go by.

Gladly, I didn’t have to wait long. Within three minutes at most, he pulled up and over. I walked to the car and he popped open the trunk. Looking at it, we both knew immediately that even folded, the trike wasn’t going to fit. “We’ll put it in the back seat he said.”

“Okay, but we have to be careful not to get grease on the seat of a rental car,” I reminded him.

I turned and headed back toward the folded trike but Michael sprinted ahead of me.

“Please,” I implored him, “let me carry it or at least we’ll carry it together!” I shouted after him.

He got there first and started to pick it up and realized that at least for this task, two of us would be a much better idea. We carried it over to the open rear passenger door, turned, twisted and cajoled it to get it partially in. I said I’d go around to the other side to lift it and pull it in from that side while he guided it.

“No need,” he said as I was opening the other rear door. And with that he gave it a shove just in time for me to see a large smudge of grease being generously applied to the back seat.

“That was why I wanted to lift it,” I said.

“No matter, it’s in. That’s the important thing.”

“They’re going to charge you for it,” I reminded him.

“The company will pay. It will be fine,” was his instant response.

“Are you sure? Won’t they be mad?”

“No, it’s my company.”

With that I got in the car and gave him directions toward my house. Driving down the straight road and moving at about 45 mph most of the way made it a quick ride as opposed to the zigzag path of the trail while moving at 10 mph. We were at my garage in under 10 minutes. We got out, and this time he allowed me to help him get the trike out and set it on the ground. I got out my garage door opener and wheeled the trike inside.

As I turned to say goodbye and thank him it occurred to me that I had no idea how to thank him, which was exactly what I told him. “Can I offer you money? Something to eat or drink? I don’t know how to thank you for this. It’s not often that a complete stranger would do something like this.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hopefully if I’m ever in a rough spot, someone will help me out. That’s how I look at it” We shook hands and he got back in his now grease stained car and was gone.

I thought about what he had just said, that if he’s in a rough spot, one day someone would help him out. I smiled to myself because I realized that was almost exactly what I would say if the roles were reversed.

A moment later I laughed as it dawned on me that maybe our mutual thought process had just worked out for me.