Two years ago this August, Jill and I found ourselves standing in the rain along side a nearly abandoned country road in Ontario, Canada. Our tandem bicycle--along with the bags of camping gear we were depending on to keep us sheltered, fed, and clothed for our two week bicycle tour--was laying in the ditch along side of the road.The bike had already taken us over a hundred miles that day (108, if I recall correctly), but we knew that it wasn't going to take us any further--at least not without a little help. Due to on unfortunate set of circumstances (involving the previously mentioned rain, a metal grate on bridge, and some bad advice) our rear tire was damaged beyond our ability to repair it. And so we stood on the side of the road, looking at our wounded bicycle wondering what to do--and where to go--next.
We didn't have to wonder for long. It was only ten--maybe twenty minutes--before a man (whose name I've sadly forgotten) in a Chevy Silverado pickup pulled unto the shoulder next to us. "Where you folks from?" Before we could answer, he went on, "You look like you could use a little help." We seized the opening and explained our precarious situation. And before we could ask him what we really wanted (Did he know of any towns nearby that had a bike shop? Could he help us get there? Or at least a campground nearby), he tugged at his beard and said: "Well, I happen to own a marina in the next town up. I'd be happy to have you stay with me for the night. Then tomorrow morning we'll see about that tire."
So that's what we did. We loaded our gear into the back of his truck and a half hour later we had not only met his wife, we'd also met another woman (also a complete stranger) who offered us the exclusive use of her camper--warm shower, stove, clean sheets and all. For a couple of dirty, worn out bikers, she was a Godsend!
The thing that always strikes me about that story--and the others we have like it--is the way people treat you when you're on a bicycle. There's something about people on bikes--especially people on bikes who have clearly traveled a long way using nothing but their own horsepower--that breaks down the barriers that are usually erected between strangers. Maybe it's the funny outfits. But for some reason, when people see a couple of strangers roll in on their bicycles, they seem much more prone to let their guard down and strike up a conversation. And therein lies the brilliance of bicycles. And the brilliance of the Sea to Sea Bike Tour.
I'll admit, I wouldn't always have characterized Sea to Sea as "brilliant." In fact, I'll confess to being rather cynical about it all. That's not to say I don't like the idea of a cross country ride. I do. In fact, it's something I've personally wanted to do for a long time. So as a cyclist, I always thought it was a great idea. I was not convinced, however, that the tour was really going to be all that effective in pricking any one's conscience about issues of poverty, or that it would do much (besides raise a fair chunk of money from people who might give it any way) to "stop the cycle of poverty." 
But that changed yesterday. Yesterday, I had the privilege of riding along with the tour for a day . I pedaled the tandem (this time with a biking buddy from my youth, Barb) from Denver to Fort Morgan. And a long the way, I was reminded of what I had learned on the tours Jill and I have done--when you're on a bike, people want to talk to you. In coffee shops and campgrounds, I got to see my riding companions speak with complete strangers. And not just about the route, or the weather, or the other mundane details of their days. But about things that matter. They got to talk about why they were doing this crazy ride from Seattle to Jersey city. They got to talk about poverty. I know there will probably be debates about how effective this tour is in doing anything about poverty (although the 2 million bucks they've raised so far should but some of that to rest) or if all the riders should just sell their bikes and feed a hungry family with the proceeds (who of us couldn't stand to sell something?). But I'm convinced. When I got to see the bikers in action--chatting it up with locals and nudging them to think about issues that ought to be of concern to us all--I recognized how tremendously valuable this tour is. It takes a lot to move people to action on atrocities we all grow too easily accustomed to, but it seems that this grass-roots, one-on-one bicycle tour is a fine--perhaps even brilliant--start.
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