Steve Carter lives in Tupelo, Mississippi and has served for over 50 years in Christian ministry. He had peddled across the continental United States, twice. Steve may be contacted by email at: Msroadkill@bellsouth.net
Saved By The Mailman By Steve Carter
After leaving my hotel and peddling across the street, which still radiated yesterday’s heat, I turned east onto a bridge to cross the Mississippi River and leave Keokuk, Iowa. My faithful steed, a recumbent trike, was running smoother than I felt. The threewheeled machine, with a wide seat, sat low to the pavement. It was built so that my weary legs did most of the work. No tears stained my face, as today’s eighty-five-mile journey marked the end of my week-long ride.
Traveling on rough dusty gravel in a climate-controlled car can be a problem, no doubt about that. But, when sitting down low on a tricycle, in the choking dust, with eight-foot-tall corn blocking any hint of a breeze, the agony is tenfold. Getting traction enough to move forward with tires spinning and sliding towards a ditch is a long way from fun. Then there is the wayward soul in a large truck looking for the likes of me to spray with gravel!
I peddled onward, hoping against all odds that I would soon be back on the pavement, with a tail wind at my back. With my natural optimism fading, I heard a car slowly pulling to a stop beside me. While we waited for the dust cloud to drift past, I realized the driver was a mail carrier. He said with a grin, “you took a wrong turn, didn’t you?” After learning my next road had been washed out, I was crestfallen until he laughed saying, “follow me down to the fork in the road and I’ll get you out of here.” After precise Just north of Lima, Illinois, my telephone bid me to directions were given, I took off like a scalded turn left onto a narrow, paved road. Not keen on dog trying to make up lost time! being led astray again, but short on options, I headed into another massive corn field. After peddling Several miles later, as I sat alongside a beautialong and enjoying the ride for about five miles, fully paved road, eating, this Good Samaritan my heart sank as the breeze and pavement ran out pulled up and stopped. I enthusiastically called out my appreciation, and we parted ways, better simultaneously. for having met each other. While he could have driven by me and laughed at my predicament, he took the time to rescue me. Experience has proven that there are very few willing to go out of their way to help a stranger. To God, I am thankful for this kind-hearted man, and those like him. While gliding off the bridge into Hamilton Illinois, I noticed on my right a road running parallel to the river and thought, “that looks like where I should be riding.” Meanwhile, my GPS ran me into town and through a series of exhausting hills. This “side trip” hurt my feelings by wasting cool morning riding time, while failing to get me closer to my goal of Louisiana, Missouri. As I headed south on Illinois 96, the unrelenting heat steadfastly sapped my strength.
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