Day 38, Wednesday, May 28

Ewing, Nebraska to Stuart, Nebraska

This was one of the strangest days of the trip, emotionally. It started with the normal level of adversity, then went downhill, to the point I wondered how we would continue. And yet, the day ended on such a high I now wonder if anything can stop us. 

As forecast, the rain abated early in the night. However, fog set in. I am fully convinced the dense fog left our camp wetter than the rain of the previous night in Norfolk.

We could not possibly ride on the highway in the fog, so we set off down the trail. Once again it was slow going. We averaged around 8 mph, an appalling speed on flat ground. 

Our slow pace was solely my fault. John is a much more powerful cyclist than I am. On climbs, and on slow surfaces, he is forced to ride much slower than he might otherwise just so we stay together.

After 13 miles of drudgery the fog lifted enough for us to feel safe (reasonably safe) on the highway, so we hopped over there and once again began moving at a reasonable pace.

Around mile 23 we stopped in O' Neill, "The Irish Capital of Nebraska," for lunch. Sometime after that the day fell apart. 

I started hearing a rubbing noise. We stopped a few times to try to figure out what it was, with no luck. Eventually I realized my brake pads were rubbing the rim.

I tried adjusting them, which was a complicated production. I had to remove my rear panniers to get at the brakes, and I had to dig into one of the panniers for my tools. Once I adjusted the brakes, I had to reverse that whole process.

It seemed to help for a bit, but eventually the noise returned and the pedalling became harder and harder. Usually we fly along the highway flats at 13 to 14 mph, and I was struggling to ride at 10 mph.

We had hoped to put in a 70 mile day to Bassett, Nebraska, but as I limped into Stuart after just 50 miles, I told John there was no way for me to ride 20 more. So we rode to the Stuart municipal campground. There we could try to fix the bike. If we could not at least we had a place to stay. 

At the campground I looked at the rear wheel again and finally realized I had broken two spokes. When you are missing even one spoke the wheel will get out of true. With two broken my wheel was so out of true it would rub one brake pad and half a rotation later rub the other. No wonder I was putting in so much effort but riding so slowly.

I happened to be carrying a couple of spokes, and if it had been the front wheel I think I could have replaced them. But when you break a spoke on the rear wheel, especially if it is on the drive side, as one of them was, you have to remove the cassette (that is, the gears on the rear wheel). Otherwise it is impossible to thread the spoke through the hub. Cassette removal requires specialized tools that few touring cyclists carry. In fact, few home mechanics even own them.

Even if you can replace the spoke, you still have to true the wheel. That is, you have to tighten and loosen spokes until the wheel runs true, with no wobble, rubbing neither brake pad. That is not a talent I possess. 

I decided to call Dan Conover, my friend and former bike mechanic. While we discussed options, John called City Hall, which is turning out to be a good thing to do when you're in trouble in small midwestern towns. This advice probably applies outside the region, too.

The reasoning was sound. Somebody in this part of Nebraska must have an idea what to do, and since everyone in Stuart is probably within two degrees of separation, you should be able to find a solution if you just start asking. 

Someone at City Hall suggested the hardware store, and someone there suggested Steve Brewster, a retired lawyer, because he rides bicycles a lot. When John got in touch with Steve he drove right over the to park. He had not one, but two possible solutions. He has a friend coming into town Friday who probably has the tools and the knowhow to replace the spoke. Alternatively, Steve happened to be driving to Omaha and back the next day, so he could drop me off at the bike shop in Norfolk, the city where we camped two nights before. He could then pick me up on his way back.

The latter sounded best. It would mean losing only one day of progress, and a professional mechanic would be doing the work.

Now I had to call Norfolk Bike to see if they could fix it in the morning while Steve continued to Omaha. I called but there was no answer. A few minutes later I got a call. It was the owner of the shop, Jason Toffelson. He told me they are not open on Thursday morning, but he would meet me there at 9:00 AM to fix it.

Steve said he would pick me up at 6:00 AM. With that, we had a plan. I was relying on two complete strangers to come through: Steve to get me to Norfolk and back, and Jason to show up even though his shop would be closed. I was not too worried. I'm gaining faith in the generosity and reliability of the people we meet.

John and I set up camp and, as usual, headed for the local bar and grill. I was in much better spirits than when we arrived in Stuart a few hours earlier.