Three adages illustrated
6 May - Portsmouth-Ripley OH: mostly sunny, around 70; 9:50-5:50, 57.8 miles
It's nice to get a hand up. The trip's third flat, coming only eight miles into the day's ride, almost undid me. I'd used my two new tubes days before, and the extra spare had its own hole. We discovered that after mounting it, so the tire came back off. We then tried patching two of the tubes I'd blown earlier, but they still leaked. As I grew increasingly frustrated, a car stopped to ask if we needed help, though they couldn't provide what we needed. Then the man whose home we had stopped in front of came out. Quickly Jay called the nearest bike shop to verify they were open, then drove us back twenty miles so I could buy new tubes (and replace the tire tools I'd broken). Then it was back to Jay's place, where he gave us pizza for lunch before seeing us down the road. Thanks, Jay - you Ohioans are incredible!
It's nice to give a hand up. Ten miles later I saw a couple struggling to push their car back onto the road. I stopped and added some extra muscle, helping them accomplish their goal. I know it amounted to little, but they appreciated it. It felt good to be on the giving rather than the receiving side for once.
You can never go back to Rome. (or is it 'back home'? Well, they both rhyme.) Today's ride covered the territory we hit after reclaiming the car, when pulled ligaments in her knee meant Sue could do NO walking whatsoever. She would pull ahead and busy herself with needlepoint and crosswords, envying me as I trod through the hot, humid miles. We again had our trip enhanced when the tiny hamlet of Rome, OH (birthplace of the Rome apple) amazed us again with midwestern hospitality.
If anything, the visit to the burgh depressed me. The store with the soda fountain, where the owner regaled us with tales of his Indian chief ancestors, had closed shortly after our 1993 visit. The widow who cooked us dinner and breakfast had moved to Columbus. The post office that hooked us up with a camping spot - closed for the weekend. The whole town seemed but a shell of the place I fondly remembered.
Interesting sign for a specialized business - in Portsmouth we cycled past the Gallia Shoelace and Narrow Fabric Factory. Talk about finding a niche!
It's nice to get a hand up. The trip's third flat, coming only eight miles into the day's ride, almost undid me. I'd used my two new tubes days before, and the extra spare had its own hole. We discovered that after mounting it, so the tire came back off. We then tried patching two of the tubes I'd blown earlier, but they still leaked. As I grew increasingly frustrated, a car stopped to ask if we needed help, though they couldn't provide what we needed. Then the man whose home we had stopped in front of came out. Quickly Jay called the nearest bike shop to verify they were open, then drove us back twenty miles so I could buy new tubes (and replace the tire tools I'd broken). Then it was back to Jay's place, where he gave us pizza for lunch before seeing us down the road. Thanks, Jay - you Ohioans are incredible!
It's nice to give a hand up. Ten miles later I saw a couple struggling to push their car back onto the road. I stopped and added some extra muscle, helping them accomplish their goal. I know it amounted to little, but they appreciated it. It felt good to be on the giving rather than the receiving side for once.
You can never go back to Rome. (or is it 'back home'? Well, they both rhyme.) Today's ride covered the territory we hit after reclaiming the car, when pulled ligaments in her knee meant Sue could do NO walking whatsoever. She would pull ahead and busy herself with needlepoint and crosswords, envying me as I trod through the hot, humid miles. We again had our trip enhanced when the tiny hamlet of Rome, OH (birthplace of the Rome apple) amazed us again with midwestern hospitality.
If anything, the visit to the burgh depressed me. The store with the soda fountain, where the owner regaled us with tales of his Indian chief ancestors, had closed shortly after our 1993 visit. The widow who cooked us dinner and breakfast had moved to Columbus. The post office that hooked us up with a camping spot - closed for the weekend. The whole town seemed but a shell of the place I fondly remembered.
Interesting sign for a specialized business - in Portsmouth we cycled past the Gallia Shoelace and Narrow Fabric Factory. Talk about finding a niche!
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