The heat was becoming more penetrating, and when I stopped in Bolton to fill my water bottles I poured a couple of them on my head before refilling them again.

Interstate 20 was terrible, not so much because of the traffic, but because of the shoulder. After leaving Edwards it was particularly rough and felt like I was riding on rumblestrips. I kept stopping to check my spokes, thinking one of them might be broken, but none of them were. My bike felt so unstable that I wasn’t even able to let go of one of the handlebars to grab a water bottle for a drink.

My speed was now down to about one mile per hour. At this rate, it would be a while before I reached Vicksburg, and I could only hope the shoulder would improve. At one point, when I saw there weren’t any cars, I moved over onto the road because it was smoother than the shoulder. It helped, but not much.

At that point, my tire began going flat.

In all honesty, I thought I was going to have a flat long before now. Some of the things I unavoidably rode over looked like they had spent millions of years evolving towards the ultimate goal of being able to puncture my tire. 

I walked my bike another fifty yards to the shade of a large tree and began repairing it. I combined the repair with lunch and nibbled on my apple pie as I worked.

As it turned out, the flat tire was serendipitous. Had I not stopped to fix it, I might not have noticed that the bolt holding my rack to the left side of my bike near the hub (aka the seatstay) had come out. It was causing the rack, with all of my gear on it, to wobble wildly when I pedaled. 

As I was sitting in the relative cool of the shade, a guy with Georgia plates stopped to ask if he could help. I asked him if he had a bolt that size but he didn’t, and after a few minutes of visiting he left. 

I was just pumping up my tire when another car stopped. The driver’s name was Steve Wilhelms, and he happened to be the president of the local bike club. After some brief introductions, he said, 

“Did you know that there’s a GREAT road for bikers that parallels I-20? No one drives on it anymore because the interstate is faster.”

I just shook my head… Of course there is.

Steve gave me a few options:  
1.  We could throw my bike and bags in the car and he could take me to Marcia’s, the friend with whom I planned to stay for a few days, 
2.  I could stay with his family for the night and do the repair at his place this evening, or 
3.  He could carry my bags to Marcia’s and I continue the ride.

I selected Door Number Three, and Steve dropped off my bags. I still have the map he made about how to get to his house, along with his phone number.