A Peg to Stand On

Lori and I woke up just before sunrise on Sunday with Durham, North Carolina, as our spiritual destination, a total trip of about 215 miles. The plan was to eat breakfast along the way and make it to Duke University Chapel for the 11:00 service. As we departed Mill Spring, the sun decided to peek over the horizon. I have seen my share of beautiful sunsets, but for me, sunrises are a bit harder to come by. The morning mist hanging in the air appeared like a veil, allowing us to stare directly at the blinding beacon leading us East. By the time the sun had taken its rightful position among the patchy clouds, we were closing in on Greensboro. It was ten o'clock, which would have given us just enough time to make it to Duke, park, and seat ourselves in the back rows of the church had I stayed the course on I-85. But I misremembered the directions and before we knew it we were twenty miles north of anywhere on Highway 29 with signs telling us that Virginia was just up the road. So I broke out the Blackberry and re-charted our course through light rain and back toward civilization. We would be late and a little wet, but perhaps still make it for the closing hymn. I was mad at myself for the misstep and needed to stand up on the bike and stretch out my legs. As I did, something gave way and my right boot bounced on the pavement, throwing me off balance for a split second. I looked down and there was no foot peg...just a brake pedal! I tried to find an alternate place to rest my foot but to no avail, and about a mile down the road we pulled over at a service station. I determined that the one remaining passenger peg (I broke the other one off on a chain-link fence when I was living in LA) could be removed and substituted for the right front peg. Alas, I did not bring all my tools. It was then that good-samaritanism, not rain, came pouring down upon us. Matt, who lived nearby, came to the gas station to buy cigarettes and, realizing it was closed, offered to run back to his house and return with a socket wrench. I was able to get the rear peg off, but needed a different tool to remove the chain plate, so he ran back to the house again. In the meantime, a woman stopped and offered the services of her son, Scott, who was just getting out of church and liked to work on bikes in his spare time. When Matt returned, Lori did the Christian thing and bought him a 12-pack of Bud Light for his troubles. Scott then arrived and, after a brief trip home to pick up his tools, helped me remove the plate, screw in the peg, and replace the rear peg with a bolt that would allow Lori to rest her feet for the remainder of the ride. An hour later we were eating lunch with Lori's family and laughing about the whole debacle. No less than five people asked if we needed help or tools while we sat outside the service station, and though we never made it for the closing hymn, I felt as though we had been blessed by the kindness and generosity of the good-hearted people of the South.