I guess the old saying is true:  "If you cheat once, it becomes easier to do it again and again."  Take ME for instance.  A couple of days ago I accepted that ride when Aaron's bike was broken down and, sure enough, that made it easier for me to let The Feeshko drive me from her folks' house to the edge of the city, thereby avoiding a couple miles of washboard gravel.

She got her punishment for aiding and abetting though.  I had forgotten my wallet at the house, so she had to drive back over the washboard gravel to get it for me while I pedaled north on Highway 2.  I hope she learned a very valuable lesson about the evils of helping somebody cheat.

Lest you think I got away Scot-free (I wonder what the origin of that phrase is) for my transgression, you should know I got my punishment in the form of a flat tire in the town of Newport.  In itself, a flat tire is no big deal, but what WAS the big deal was the discovery that my pump was broken.  Damn, it worked when I lent it to one of Aaron's friends on day one.

I walked a couple of blocks to the Chamber of Commerce building and asked the woman at the desk, "Do you have a bike shop in town by any chance?"

"No, we don't," was her answer.  "I think the closest one would be in Sandpoint."  Then she added, rather condescendingly I thought, "That's about 30 miles away."

"Bummer," I said.  "Well, thank you."

"What do you need specifically?" she called out, apparently hating to see me walk away unsatisfied.

"I need a tire pump for my bike."

"We do have a hardware store that might carry some bike supplies."  She gave me directions.

I was skeptical but I gave her idea a shot anyway.  I found my way to the hardware store and the clerk tried to sell me one of those little air pumps with a needle attachment that's used for pumping up kids' toys or, at best, a basketball.  She seemed sincere so I didn't make a sarcastic comment like I wanted to.

I walked back downtown to my locked up bike and dug deep into my pannier for a presta adapter so I could at least use the compressor at a gas station to pump up a new inner tube.  I was mildly shocked at the cost of Newport air.  It cost me four quarters to use the air hose on the side of the gas station.  Once the repair was complete, I pedaled across the Priest River into Idaho, taking a big chance that I could ride the 30 miles (thank you, Chamber of Commerce lady) to Sandpoint without another flat. 

The spectacular Priest River accompanied me all the way to Sandpoint where I bought a new pump from a bunch of helpful guys at a bike shop on the edge of town.  They were envious of my adventure.

Sandpoint is the ultimate tourist town.  It has the trendy restaurants, plenty of hotels and Bed & Breakfasts, bike trails, gift shops, fudge and candy shops, some historical assets, and, most importantly, a gorgeous setting next to a sparkling lake and big, daunting mountains all around.

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