Seven Acts of Kindness

Seven. It's practically everyone's favorite number. It looms large in virtually every culture’s mythology. Seven days in the week. Seven deadly sins. Seven heavenly virtues. The most likely roll in a game of craps. Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Seven continents and seven seas. Seven notes in a diatonic scale. The Seven Dwarfs.

During my cross-country solo bicycle adventure, I received many acts of kindness. Most people are nice.  But one day stood out, as I counted seven.

I awoke in a fleabag motel (FBM) in Red Wing Minnesota on July 20th, around 6am and peeked outside. It was raining. I was 42 days, and 1988 miles into my trip. 

The day before had been miserable. It was only a 51-mile ride, but on and off rain and cold temperatures marred the day. My route followed the Mississippi downstream, which one could be forgiven for assuming to be flat and gently downhill, but no; there was no idyllic trail along the river and the roads were all surprisingly hilly. Steep hills in the cold rain. Then my bike, “Cassie,” developed an intermittent squeak coming from somewhere near the front wheel. Annoying squeak. Cold. Rain. Hills. I was not a happy cyclist. 

I arrived on the other side of the river from Red Wing at Hager City, Wisconsin. The campground I had researched previously, “Mister Sippy,”  was more of an RV parking lot with a bar. (“Mister Sippy,” as opposed to “Missus Sippy” ha, ha, get it? Groan.) It was still drizzling and getting dark. Worse, the campground was down-wind from the only other feature of Hager City, a Purina Factory. The stench was ever present. I could already hear one of the RV denizens at the bar saying, “you get used to it after awhile!” 

Not exactly optimal camping conditions: Purina “aroma”; rain; crammed between RVs; Microwaved pizza and a Bud Lite at the bar. 

I had already spent far too much on cheap motels -- they add up --  so with a sigh, I checked my phone for a room across the river. I found an FBM, and noted the address. It appeared to be in downtown Red Wing, just over the bridge. 

The bridge was narrow and under repair. The lanes were so skinny I had to walk Cassie over most of it -- in the rain. The address turned out to be Lutheran Church! No sign of the cheap motel. I telephoned. Google had it wrong. The real address was about two miles outside of town (at least in the right direction), next to a prison. Honest. And now the rain was coming down harder. 

Not only was the motel right next to the penitentiary, there were no restaurants anywhere near. Who stayed there? 

After several phone calls, I found a sandwich shop that delivered. At least I didn’t have to make a meal of my reserve Clif-bars and Slim-Jims. 

I was unable to reproduce the squeak in Cassie. I knew it wasn't in the drive-train, as it continued even when I coasted. In the motel room, with no load, it wouldn’t happen. Maybe it would just go away?

I vowed that tomorrow, I would be a Happy Cyclist. 

The next morning it was still raining, so I dawdled. I slowly packed up my stuff, noodled around on FaceBook, ate the awful “free” FBM breakfast, finished packing, wasted more time on Facebook, idly watched out the window for escaped prisoners, worked on my journal. 8:30 rolled around and it was still drizzling.

There was no choice but to ride in the rain. I had a modest goal of Winona, 67 miles away. 

The wind had shifted, and I could smell the Purina factory from way across the river in Hager City. Last evening, I had vowed to be a Happy Cyclist, but today wasn’t starting that way. Yet, the rain soon stopped. The same foul wind turned out to be a pleasant tailwind, and I was soon out of range of its stinky source. The mystery squeak that had vexed me yesterday wasn’t as irritating. The hills on Route 61 headed Southeast along the river were gentle. Things weren’t so bad. 

Throughout the day, it looked like rain up ahead. My first break was at a gas station in Lake City, right on the banks of the Mississippi. The river widens considerably at that point and they call it Lake Pepin. 

Cassie, at Lake Pepin

I sat on the sidewalk under the overhang drinking my coffee, casting a wary eye to the ever-present rain-clouds. I was still not feeling quite like the Happy Cyclist I had vowed to be. A battered old pickup pulled in. Out of it emerged a matching battered old man.

He eyed Cassie and all my gear as he shambled over to me, “Where you headed?”

“The Atlantic Ocean,” I replied.

His tired eyes widened, “You got a ways to go.”

“I know,” I said. I waved vaguely eastward beyond the river, “It’s over there somewhere.”

“Are you riding for a cause?”

“Yes, I’m supporting SMARTS, Students Motivated by the Arts. It’s a free art-school…”

“Can you take donations?”

“Sure, but you can also donate online.” I started digging in my handlebar bag for a card, “for kids in Youngstown…”

He cut me short again, pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, and handed me a twenty. 

I said, “Thank you!” as I handed him the card. “What’s your name?”

“Kirby Veke. You’re gonna need some nourishment. You should get a hamburger.” He tapped my belly with the back of his gnarled hand. 

“You can count on that!” I said, “Thanks again, Mr. Veke.”

Out of the blue, a complete stranger totally changed my mood with an act of kindness. It was a big step towards the Happy Cyclist.

Most people are nice.

The sky still looked like rain as I made my way downstream. I had checked the night before and was surprised to discover there was a bike shop in the tiny riverside town of Wabasha. I wanted a professional opinion on the squeak. 

Dave at River Riders Cycles was happy to help. I removed the front panniers, and we took the front wheel off. The hub appeared fine. The disc brake appeared fine. Dave decided to give both the disc and the pads a good cleaning. We put the wheel back on and the squeak was gone! Dave and his wife live in an apartment behind the shop with their two cats(Guido and Tormantoso) and two dogs (Maybelline and Rufus). 

“How much do I owe you?” I asked.

“Let’s see… You have to sign our guest book.” I did, and left a SMARTS card. And a good thing I did. 

It was another act of kindness from a stranger, and another step towards the Happy Cyclist.

Most people are nice.

Then I pedaled a couple of blocks down to the riverside and had some lunchtime snacks, overlooking the Mississippi.  I was having trouble finding a place to camp in Winona. Plus, it still threatened rain. It was looking like I might end up in another FBM. Just then, my wife, Jena, texted and said she remembered a college friend, Patrick, whom I didn’t know, who now lived in -- Winona! She wanted to know if she should contact him and ask if he could put me up. 

Yes, please!

I took a picture of Cassie at my lunch spot. Jena texted back. It was all set. I had a place to stay. THREE acts of kindness from strangers! Patrick had asked Jena if I like kids, as he has five. Jena told him that I liked kids more than I liked camping in the rain! (True!)

Lunch Break at the Mississippi. What's wrong with this picture?

Most people are nice.

 As I made my way out of town, I went right by the River Rider Cycles store again, and stopped to take a picture. I was several steps closer to The Happy Cyclist. Now, if I could only make it to Winona before the rain -- 30 miles away. 

River Rider Cycles

About ten miles outside of Wabasha, the squeak came back. Damn. Dave did his best, but it was for naught. I was scheduled to roll into Winona earlier than expected, so I contacted Patrick and told him I was going to ride downtown to yet another bike shop -- Adventure Cycle and Ski -- and then make my way to his house.

Just on the edge of Winona, there was a deluge.  I dashed into a McDonalds and had a chocolate shake while I waited out the downpour. Checking email again, I was shocked to see a message from Dave at River Riders with the subject of “Front Panniers.” He had my front panniers. Disbelieving, I glanced out the window at Cassie, staying dry under the overhang. No front panniers. I had left them in front of his store THIRTY MILES ago. I and I didn’t notice!!

If you go back and look at the picture of Cassie at my lunch spot, you’ll see no front panniers. And if you look closely at the picture of the River Rider Cycle store, you’ll see them on a chair to the right of the door. 

I’m still amazed that I didn’t notice.

In the email Dave very kindly said he could drop them off wherever I wanted once he closed the store at six. It was now four. Had I not left my card, Dave wouldn’t have had my email address. I’m not sure when I would have noticed. He was saving me 60 miles of round-trip to retrieve them on my own. FOUR acts of kindness from three strangers (Dave gets double credit).

Most people are nice.

The rain had stopped by now and I headed into town to the next bike shop. Brad at Adventure Cycle and Ski was also very helpful, dropping everything to check out Cassie’s squeak. I obviously didn’t have to remove my panniers this time. Had I not already known they were missing, I think I would have noticed at that point. 

Brad checked the hub. No problem. He checked the front brake. Everything looked good. It was still a mystery. Of course it wouldn’t squeak there in the store. Every time I stopped, it would go away for a couple of miles, then slowly return.  

Brad also declined to charge me. FIVE acts of kindness from four people.

Most people are nice.

As usual, the squeak was gone for a few miles, and then started creeping back in. On my way to Patrick's house, the phone rang. I stopped and answered. It was Dave. He had a customer who was headed to Winona right now. After hearing my story from Dave, Sid offered to deliver the panniers. Dave put her on with me. I gave her the address, she gave me her cell number. Done. Sid would be there in an hour. 

SIX acts of kindness from five strangers.

Most people are nice.

I arrived at Patrick’s house about five. He and his wife, Lindsay, have five wonderful children ranging from two to eleven, for a total family of seven (not including Finton the dog).  I don’t have any kids, and never wanted any. I’m usually uncomfortable around them. But Camille, Gwenevere, Nora, Vera and Martin were a joy. They were well behaved, and asked intelligent, interesting questions about me and my ride. Patrick and Lindsay are doing something right. Sid arrived with my panniers shortly afterwards.

Finton, the Dog

We all sat down to a wonderful meal of make-it-yourself tacos, with loads of options, so the kids could custom tailor their meals. I stuffed myself silly. (One of joys of long-distance cycling is one can eat as much as one likes.)

After the chaos of getting five kids to bed, Patrick came into the dining room where I was working on my journal.

“Would you like an adult beverage,” he asked.

“I wouldn’t turn it down,” I said. “What do you have?”

“Do you like whisky?”

“Sure.” I was expecting the usual mid-line bourbon or scotch blends. Patrick then produced several very nice, very high-end, single-malt scotches and we had a tasting while we solved the World’s problems. Things will be different when he and I are Kings. 

Sharing high-end single-malt scotch with someone you just met is certainly an act of kindness. That made SEVEN acts of kindness from five strangers, all in one day. 

I may not have started out that day as The Happy Cyclist, but it sure ended that way.

Because most people are nice.

(NOTE: The next day, from Winona to Norwalk was my birthday. You can read about it here. Also, the squeak never went away until I got all the way back to Ohio, where my local mechanic, J.D. at Kent Cycle took care of it in 30 seconds flat. The other shops weren't inept, J.D. is just that good!)