The Kindness Of Strangers

It’s not every day you roll into a driveway in rural West Virginia and see twenty-five people in spandex—dancing.

I suppose I should tell you the back story.

The team rolled out of Bridgeport, WV bright and early. I planned to join them after they negotiated the narrow, winding roads leading out of town. So they left, we packed the vans, and off we went.

Turned out that the roads didn’t improve. After a few miles they decided the hilly, winding, two-lane was just too unsafe so they pulled into a small farmyard and called the support team. That’s where they met Earnest and Nina.

A gang of cyclists in strange uniforms apparently isn’t an ordinary occurrence, but these folks welcomed the company. Nina made coffee and Earnest invited the team to join him on the front porch. Soon the support vans arrived and the party was on.

While the leaders searched for an alternate route, someone produced some dance music. Becky and I showed up just in time to view the odd sight of our team mates dancing in bike shoes and shorts in Earnest’s yard.

Too many miles and too little sleep leads to strange behavior in even sane adults.

Nina and Earnest were delighted to play host, hear our story, and share our impromptu revelry. It’s the sort of kindness and generosity we’ve encountered everywhere.

Churches open their doors and offer sleepy cyclists a place to sleep and wonderful, home-cooked meals. People wait for us at gas stations to hear what we’re doing. Motorists stop and offer help with flat tires and mechanical breakdowns. It feels like we’re rolling along on a tidal wave of love.

We’re working hard to tell people about the horrors of violent oppression. Nearly everyone seems touched by the cause for which we’re riding and wants to help.

We’re surrounded, supported, and blessed by the kindness of complete strangers.

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