The Car Blew a Tire Right Beside Me — And a Young Woman Stepped Out

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I was on a bike tour from Lubbock, Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico, and on this particular day, I was riding from Clovis to Fort Sumner — about 65 miles, short but needed after 100 the day before.

The ride itself wasn’t anything dramatic. Not a lot of scenery yet — that stretch of New Mexico is beautiful in its own way, but it hadn’t really opened up yet. It was long, hot, and mostly quiet.

I was probably about 7 miles outside of Fort Sumner. The finish line was in sight — not literally, but close enough to start thinking about cold drinks and a motel bed.

I was riding the shoulder, like I always do. Cars passed by now and then, same as usual — nothing too close, nothing unusual.

Until one of them did.

I heard a loud pop. Not just tire noise — this was sharp. Sudden. Serious.

I looked up and saw the car that had just passed me beginning to slow down. It pulled over onto the side of the road, maybe 50 yards up.

I rolled toward it, cautious at first, but then I saw her — a young woman, college-aged, stepping out of the car and walking around to the passenger side.

She looked shaken. Really shaken.

As I pulled up, she glanced at me and said, “I had a blowout.”

“I heard it,” I said. “You were right next to me when it happened.”

She looked at the shredded tire, then at me — and her eyes welled up.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” she said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m out here in the middle of nowhere.”

I told her not to worry. “I’ll help you,” I said, without even thinking twice.

She popped the trunk, and I got to work — checking for a spare, grabbing the jack, sorting through the usual mess that collects in a college kid’s car.

It turned out she had a doughnut spare — not ideal, but enough to get her to the next town. I started swapping the tire while explaining that those little spares aren’t meant to go far.

“You’ll need to get this fixed once you hit Fort Sumner,” I said. “Definitely before you go much farther.”

She nodded, still rattled but calming down as we worked.

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She told me she was headed to Albuquerque, and I smiled. “That’s where I’m going too — just a little slower.”

We chatted while I finished up — small talk, just enough to make her feel okay. And then I asked her where she was from.

She said, “Lubbock, Texas.”

I stopped for a second. Then I just looked at her and said, “I’m from Lubbock too.”

What are the odds?

Out here in the middle of nowhere, 170 miles into a solo tour, with nobody else for miles — and the one person who has a blowout right next to me is from the same hometown.

Kind of funny how the road works sometimes.

As we kept talking, she mentioned she was a student at Texas Tech.

I laughed. “I ride through Tech’s campus almost every day on my training rides,” I told her. “We’ve probably crossed paths at some point.”

She nodded and smiled. Then she added, “I also wait tables at one of the Capital Pizza in Lubbock.”

Turns out it was one of my favorites.

“I’ve eaten there more times than I can count,” I said. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.”

We both laughed at the idea that we could’ve been just feet apart in our regular lives — me sitting at a booth after a long ride, her refilling drinks — and never known it. Yet somehow, a blowout in the middle of nowhere brought us face to face.

When I finished up, she was genuinely grateful.

“Can I pay you?” she asked. “I don’t know what I would’ve done out here.”

I shook my head. “No need. You just gave me something exciting to talk about today. This ride was shaping up to be kind of a boring day — now I’ve got a story.”

She smiled. “Well, when you get back from Albuquerque, come by the pizza place. I’ll make sure you get a free pizza.”

I laughed and thanked her. It was one of my favorite places to eat, too.

But in typical me fashion, I never took her up on it. I never went back, and I never saw her again.

Still — what a great story.

That’s the thing about long tours. You go looking for distance, for peace, for quiet. But sometimes, what you find instead is a single moment that makes all the miles worth it.

Kind of like the time two strangers at a McDonald’s helped reroute my entire day with a paper map. You can read that one here if you missed it.

Cyclist’s Book Pick of the Month

Epic Bike Rides of the Americas — Lonely Planet

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