"Thanks for sticking by me through all this shit, man. I appreciate it."

The blaring horn of the train made its way fhrough my ear plugs and woke me up around 5:00 and then 6:30. The latter got me moving out of bed.

It was a smooth fifteen mile ride into the town of Winona, population 30,000. 

Josh and I met up at a Hardees even though we had our eyes set on something "nicer." Nonetheless, we laid around there soaking in our own saturated fats waiting for our phones to charge. Two hours later, we picked our asses up and got into gear.

It wasn't long out of Winona that we both began experiencing problems, and no... it wasn't the Hardees wreaking havoc on our bodies. Our bikes were falling apart.

Ten miles out, Josh gets a flat. I roll up to him, lend him some sympathy and get rolling again. No more than thirty feet away from him, my bike begins bumping up and down like my back tire is a trampoline. Guess who got a flat at the exact same moment? Yeah.

We both began the long road to repairing our back tires: taking off all of our gear, flipping the bikes upside down, unscrewing the tire from the frame, deflating the tube, taking the tube out, ect.

As we began, two different men using two different modes of transportation appeared. Keith, riding his bicycle from New York (being driven across Michigan) and Bob, day-time van driver, and occasional biker. Bob stopped briefly to see if we needed anything. At the time, I said no but about twenty minutes after he left, I wish I'd known the problem. 

Keith wore all black everything, from his bike to his clothes. Somewhat of an introvert and alone, he talked about his ride. Apparently, he'd been out a week in Minnesota with a sprained knee from a crash he sustained awhile ago. I couldn't help noticing how thin he was and wondered if we looked exactly the same, if not worse.

Keith went onward.

Josh and I stayed backward.

Turns out, it was a godsend for both of us that we got flats at the same time. Josh learned his pump was broken thus requiring mine. My spare tubes were the wrong type (thank you hometown bike shop :() so I relied upon Josh's last two patches. My tire leaked air twice after putting it back on the rim. I cursed everything but Josh remained by my side, and optimistic despite the heat and my frustration.

I realized something critical checking my tire for holes. My tire didn't hit anything that caused the tube to leak. My tire was literally coming apart, causing the fibers it's made up of to stab the tube. I prayed the final seal would make it the last twenty five miles to Wabasha. I made it ten more miles.

Again, Josh stuck by my side while I grappled with the problems of my back tire. We found a small patch of shade around the highway, behind a box next to the railway tracks.

There were no patches left and I had the same tear from earlier. I used the leftover glue, covered it with duct tape, and then used the classic bike trick of placing a folded dollar over it. No dice. We were out of options.

"You boys got everything you need over there?" came a voice from a truck on the train tracks.

Josh and I looked at each other. We shrugged. We both yelled back, "Ah, uh, not really."

The truck appeared to pull away but it was only getting off the tracks.

Joe. Blue-eyed, athletic, around fifty years old. He gave us a ride fifteen miles to town when there were no options left. His wife, Stephanie, was spending more than a year in Switzerland as a raw chef.

"She told me, 'Ya know, they could use a handy man out here,'" Joe told us. "So I spent the better part of a year with her out there. Just got back about a month ago. I learned so much about raw foods that I was able to teach some classes too."

Joe was an adventurer. He was retired and with so much time on his own, he liked to have his "poof pauses": fits of time where he just dissapeared. Next up on his agenda was a trip into Arizona.

Joe dropped us off in Wabash next to the local bicycle shop where David sat outside, awaiting our arrival. We called him back on the road in our panic. He offered to pick us up too but not until the shop closed around 6pm. He got to work on our bikes.

I tried to get a good picture of the legenday David but in my attempt of the photo to remain secret, it came out blurry. A wonderful aroma of flowers and perfume puffed out of his pipe when we arrived. 

"We'll deal with the bike hardest hit first. Come on in, guys," he said with a moderate Minnesota accent. We've seen our fair share this evening.

David talked a lot about his fiance and his two chihuahuas; Maybelline and Rufus. The man was sharp, funny, and very easy to get along with. He made it his primary goal of the evening to ensure our bikes were ready for the next half of our tour. So much so that he worked over an hour past closing time to change our tires and get us new chains. The price was reasonable and David was more than respectful. Everything worked out.

We're back in a local park tonight. We called the local police and they were more than cool with allowing us to be the foreign vagabonds for the evening. We should try this more often.