On my first solo long-distance bicycle ride, I rode through a solid week of rain from Amagansett, Rhode Island to Western New York (Lewiston, actually). On my way there my bike broke down in the mountains of western Massachusetts - the pedal crank bearings broke into pieces.  

 

Drenched, with an unrideable bicycle on my shoulder and a wet backpack full of wet clothes, I stood at the base of a large hill and stuck out my hand hoping against hope that I might get a ride. 

            

 

 

After not too long, a fellow in an International Harvester pickup drove by and told me to throw the bike in the back. He took me to his house where he and the wife, having grown sons of their own, fed me, dried my clothes, and put me up for the night. A miracle indeed. 

            

But wait, there’s more. 

 

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