Cyclist vs Walker vs Hitchhiker

I intended to bike to my band directors' meeting in Carman today, but 19 miles into the ride my rear tire went flat. Assuming that the local farmers would not have a patch kit on hand, I decided to walk the remaining two miles to the highway, then thumb it into town. There would be plenty of pickup trucks on the highway that would have room for a bike and rider. I even changed into my civilian clothes in the ditch next to a windblown cornfield so that I would appear respectable and hygienic.

Changing clothes in the warm wind of a sunny September day in the dusty anonymity of a gravel backroad was almost enough to make this whole experience something to write about. It won't be many weeks before skin and sun are separated by impermeable and sweaty layers, the sweetness of the wind turns its sharp edge, and the proceeds from the rustling cornfield are hustled away from hungry deer. I'm thankful for the unexpected pleasure.

Anyway, the two mile walk to the highway took longer than I thought it would in my stiff soled shoes, and the four mile walk along the shoulder of busy highway 3 took even longer.

If a tree falls in the forest with no one around, does it make a sound? And if a cyclist walks with his thumb out for an hour, is he a hitchhiker?

I think I was a hitchhiker today. I tasted the dust of uninterested traffic and attempted to look sincere and purposeful. I fancy myself a hitchhiker, but judging from the tension in my hips, ankles, and quads, I'm no walker.