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The Day I Almost Quit — And the Strangers Who Carried Me Through

A female cyclist in a dress speaks to an exhausted older man resting under a tree with his bike during a long-distance ride
Some rides don’t test your legs — they test your heart.

In 2016, I was cycling across the country from Lubbock to Florida. I had already put in long, hot, humid days through Texas and Louisiana, and I was somewhere in the middle of central Louisiana on a road that felt like it might never end.

From the start of that day, something felt off. My legs were dead. And when your legs go, everything else starts to follow. My neck ached. My shoulders were tight. My spirit was worse. I was days into the tour and starting to feel completely isolated. Even on my worst rides, I usually know I have the physical ability to grind through — but this time, doubt started creeping into my head. The kind of doubt that whispers, “Maybe you don’t have it today.”

I had about 60 miles left to ride. I pulled into a convenience store to refill my bottles, mentally counting down how far I had to go — and not liking the number. That’s when I met them.

Two large young men — I mean big guys, built like NFL linebackers — approached me as I was walking out. In my mental state, I wasn’t sure what they wanted. I braced myself a little. But what I got instead was one of the warmest conversations I’ve ever had on the road.

They just wanted to know where I was coming from and where I was headed. Then they told me about their late brother — a touring cyclist like me. They missed him. They loved what I was doing. They told stories. We laughed. I listened. Thirty minutes passed before I even noticed my mood had changed.

As I said my goodbyes and thanked them, one of the brothers jogged back to his truck. He handed me two bottles of ice-cold water and said, “Our brother always said he never had enough water out there. Stick these in your trailer.”

I left that parking lot with something more important than hydration — I had hope again. And that water? It came in clutch later in the day.

Here’s a list of the 5 most important items I never ride without — cold water is just the beginning.

But this day wasn’t done with me yet.

The heat and humidity pressed down harder. The aches returned. Around mile 40, I started rationing that water they gave me. The convenience store I had mapped out as my next stop was nowhere to be found — permanently closed. Now I was hungry, thirsty, and running on fumes.

I had 25 miles left, and only half a bottle of water. That’s when fear started to creep in again.

I pushed on for five more miles and spotted a big tree on the side of the road. I pulled over, laid my bike down, and just sat in the shade. I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it. That’s when a car pulled off the road and stopped.

A woman got out.

She asked, “Is something wrong with your bike?”

I told her, “No — something’s wrong with me.”

I explained about the closed store, how I was running low on food and water, and how I was just trying to summon enough strength to finish. She looked concerned but smiled gently. “I don’t have water or snacks with me,” she said. “I’m actually running late for an appointment… but I had to stop. I’m a long-distance cyclist, too.”

She didn’t have much time, but we talked briefly. She told me about the multi-day ride she was training for along the Mississippi River. Then she gave me a gift I wasn’t expecting.

She said, “You’re in luck. About two miles from here, if you turn right at the intersection ahead and ride toward the highway, there’s a store and a restaurant.”

Back then, Google Maps wasn’t as accurate — and that place hadn’t shown up in my search. But sure enough, I followed her directions and found what felt like an oasis.

I ate. I refilled every bottle I had. The last miles into town were tough, but tolerable.

And strangely — the next day? Effortless.


Looking back, that horrible no-good day became one of my most cherished rides — not because it was easy, but because it reminded me why I ride.

After 50 years in the saddle, I’ve learned that it’s these moments that define the journey.

These three complete strangers — two brothers honoring their late sibling, and one cyclist on her way to an appointment — gave me something you can’t pack in a pannier: kindness, encouragement, and just enough hope to keep pedaling.


If you’re reading this and you’re facing a hard ride — or a hard day — I want you to know something:

We all hit the wall.
And we all need help sometimes.
But what’s on the other side of that wall?
Sometimes, it’s the memory that keeps you going for years to come.

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