Descending out of the White Mountains of New Hampshire, we enjoyed the soft rolling hills between ourselves and Vermont. Navigating the crumbled shoulders caused by frost heave and carrying our momentum through slight uphills, we grinned while thinking about the 9% grades we climbed up the day prior. The route we chose skirted a creek at the base of the mountains. I felt my legs begin to drain and therefore realized I had already waited too long before eating lunch.
Beginning to look for a pretty place to rest, we found the creek to have steep banks and protective guardrails in many places. After about five miles of rolling along, we came across a little pull-off towards the creek. Turning down it twenty feet, we came across a private property sign and saw that a house may sit a few hundred feet down the road and around a corner, but couldn't see a structure. We walked our bikes fifteen feet down the drive and laid them on the ground near a little view of the creek. Two vehicles drove down the road within a few minutes of us arriving. Chowing down on some salmon sandwiches and fruit, we noted the contrast between the cobbled rocks in the creek compared to the big granite a little north in the mountains. Feeling fueled and adequately stretched, I begin to pack up my little food satchel and stand up to let everything settle into place. Right as everything hits its resting point in my stomach, something very unpleasant hits my ears.
HOOOOOOOOOOOONK!!! I straighten up to find a blue Chevy truck, which passed earlier, blasting its horn from only a few paces away.
Unhappy lady in truck: "Could you not read the sign!?"
I instantly realize this is going to be a struggle for me to contain my sarcasm and dislike. I naturally begin to pack up my gear, all while going into this discussion with a smile.
Me: "I'm able to read quite well, but figured the owners would be happy to let me enjoy a lunch on this river bank."
Lady: "This is private property. I get off of work, only to find two bicycles in my front yard. You think I want that?"
I must note this is not a front yard and is not within a few hundred feet of where there possibly even could be what most would consider a yard. This is five feet off a basic gravel road.
Me: "I had no idea it would upset somebody this much."
Lady: "Do you want me to call the cops? How would you feel if I brought my bike to your lawn for a lunch?
Me with an overly curved smile: "After this I wouldn't want you on my property, but prior to this you could have brought your whole family, bicycles and lunch to my front yard. I would have joined you."
The wicked witch: "You must leave. Now."
My gear is nearly packed up at this point and the lady begins backing all the way back down to her possible dwelling, which may have been 300 feet or 3 miles down the road. I do not know which. Wes informs me that I handled it much better than he would have and we walk our bikes to the highway, about ten generous paces away.
As we reorganize and stretch on the highway, a lady from the other truck which previously passed, walked up to us from down the road. She was very polite and indicated to us the nicest place to enjoy the creek a little ways back down the highway. Without saying so, her actions and mannerisms showed that she realized she was being the mediator between an unpleasant friend/neighbor and a couple guys eating lunch.
As we rode away, we analyzed what had happened. The reason for it, its deliverance, and the person who provided it. As we pedaled into camp that night, we concluded she has probably already retold the story to a few unfortunate people. Some will roll their eyes at her, while others will rant about private property and freedom. Wes explained this lady perfectly by simply stating, "She'll tell her grandchildren that story."
We're experiencing people on this trip. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Each of them teach us a new perspective. Everybody interacts with the world in their own unique way and it reflects upon them. Some through guts and glory, sadness and uncertainty, pride and honor, caring and content, uneasy and dissatisfied, and others wild and crazy. We met New Hampshire's wicked witch, but I'm sure each state has its fair share of them.
Our camp location that night was surely the worst of our trip. Mosquitoes in thousands, undesirable hammock options, scurrying critters under our humble nests, and a race track less than a mile away with late night races and booming loudspeakers. We decided to skip dinner and breakfast in order to be fully packed and rolling away at 7:15am the next morning. Quite the contrast from the noon or 1pm starts we've found routine in. Miles come and go, but over fifteen miles in and we still haven't eaten anything since the previous afternoon. Upon feeling our obvious need for nutrition, Hueso (known by some others as Wes) yells back to me that his rack seems looser than usual. We stop and quickly realize a bolt on his front rack has been sheared off in the fork. This is not going to be resolved with a quick fix and high five. Arriving in the town of West Lebanon, NH, we attempt to find solutions to our problem. Searching for bike, auto repair, and machine shops in hope of finding somebody with a bolt extractor kit, I come to a quick realization that it's Sunday and therefore very unlikely to produce any positive results. As we begin to accept the fact we'll be in this town until everything can be fixed on Monday, we began running errands which have built up. Slowly perusing through a bookstore, I decide to shoot my father a photo of the shearing situation with an email which simply says:
"Any ideas outside of a bolt extractor? Sunday in a small town."
The following text conversation ensues:
Papa Wang...you're the greatest. You literally saved the day. You and a space machine designer (not actual job title) by the name of Bill.
We walked toward the bike bench as I point at him and inquisitively ask "Bill?". He points back and states, "Clayton." He threw Hueso's bike up on the stand and began running through it. In the beginning, I watched and chatted with him, but began walking around the store after a short period of time. I fully admit I envied his ability to have a full bike shop at his disposal. While I love riding bikes, there is something about dissecting and rejuvenated a bicycle that's easily as beautiful to me as it is riding them. Rider and technician shared great conversations while I became lost in the gear throughout the rest of the store. Squishing sleeping bags I don't need, testing the sharpness of tent stakes, and finding the perfect container for my garlic and chili paste that's spilling in my pannier. After a couple hours of steady minutes, Hueso not only doesn't have a bolt sheared in his fork, but he also has a new rear rack which doesn't sway, a new stainless steel cookset to replace a destroyed one, and most importantly a sturdy installation of a front rack. He has left West Lebanon a new man.
Bill countered all the damage the wicked witches had placed on my view of New Hampshire. While there will always be those who never operate upon happiness, there will also always be others who have extra to share with others.
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