The Hotel Owners in Seymour, Texas — and the Wrench
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My first day on a tour out to the city of Pensacola was brutal — over 100 miles in just under 100-degree weather. My destination that night was a tiny place called Guthrie, Texas, where I ended up sleeping in a football stadium restroom.
The next morning, I rolled out early to beat the heat. I was headed for Seymour — only about 65 miles — where I had a serious upgrade waiting for me: a camper trailer instead of a concrete bathroom stall. I figured I’d arrive early, get some rest, and be ready for a longer ride to Bowie the next day.
But the universe had other plans.
Just five miles outside of Guthrie, I heard the unmistakable sound of a spoke snapping on my back wheel.
I’ve always said I ride better than I wrench — and while I had the tools and fear to fix it, I’d never actually replaced a spoke in the middle of a tour. I pulled off to the side, unhooked my 50-pound trailer, flipped my bike, and dug through my bags. That’s when I realized: the one wrench I needed most was the one I forgot to pack.
I had a decision to make. I could call my wife, have her drive 100 miles to get me, haul me and my bike back to the shop, wait for the repair, and then drive me back the next day to resume the tour. Honestly, I made the decision in about two seconds.
No way.
This was a good wheelset. I put the wheel back on — wobbly and all — reattached the trailer, and decided to limp into Seymour, hoping to find a wrench there.
That’s when the wind picked up. A 25-mph headwind blasted me the rest of the way, making every mile feel twice as long. Dragging that heavy trailer didn’t help either.
I finally rolled into Seymour hours later than I’d planned and made my way to a little locally owned hotel. When I’d called to reserve a room earlier, they were fully booked — but the owners had offered me a cozy camper trailer parked out back.
When I arrived, the woman — probably a few years older than me — took one look at my leg and said, “You’ve had a total knee replacement.” She turned to her husband and added, “If he can ride halfway across the country on a new knee, you can walk around here and help me clean rooms.”
We all laughed and talked for a few minutes about recovery, resilience, and what it takes to keep going. Then I asked if I could borrow a wrench to fix my spoke. I told them I’d buy one at the next Walmart I found, but tonight I just needed to make the repair and get back on the road. Without hesitation, they handed me a wrench — and told me to keep it.
I promised I’d send it back after the tour. They just waved me off.
After a shower and some bike repair, I figured I’d walk to a store a mile or two away for food and supplies. But just as I was heading out, the owners were sitting on the front porch swing. The woman asked where I was going. When I told her, she said, “You’re full of nonsense if you think I’m letting you walk there and back.”
She tossed me the keys to their car.
I couldn’t believe it. The trust. The kindness. The simple generosity of strangers who don’t stay strangers for long.
These are the kinds of people you meet on the road — the ones who turn a hard day into something unforgettable.
Oh, and I did end up needing that wrench one more time — when I broke another spoke just 65 miles from Pensacola on my last day. I sent the wrench back after the tour, along with a heartfelt thank-you note.
Their kindness helped carry me the rest of the way.
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