Leaving Anderson, Ind. with every intention of putting in back to back 100-mile days. Have to make time as rainy weather is forecast and the closer I can get to Wisconsin the better.

Riding 12 miles north to start the day is relatively easy, the wind is behind me. Turning west on to Hwy. 28 is a different story as the next 30 miles I'll have my friend the wind in my face. The temps are also becoming an issue. I started the morning dressed head to toe in spandex, two shirts, jacket, earmuffs, booties and mittens. I'm comfortable, but experience has taught me that if I stop I'll be sunk. The sweat and temps in the 40s are a risky combination and stopping would mean a start of the chills. Illness could bring a quick end to the tour.

I've made it about 35 miles and decide to take a break in Tipton, Ind. How could someone not explore Sherrill's Eat Here and Get Gas? The diner shares the same four way stop with a service station which had regular unleaded at $2.15 a gallon.

Sherrill's was a comfortable diner with decor lost in the '60s. A 5-ft. tall, antique wooden statue waitress greets everyone at the door. She's holding a tray full of local tabloids and dressed in a micro mini one piece, black and white waitress uniform with an apron set apart by silver trim. The long eyelashes and red, pursed lips mimic Betty Boop. "The owner shipped her here from Atlanta," said Nancy, a bustling waitress who wore blue bifocals atop her head and greeted a majority of customers by name. Nancy had worked at the diner for 30 years and when I mentioned I was from Wisconsin, she said she had a pen pal from grade school who lived in Janesville.

More in need of a couple minutes out of the wind then a menu, I ordered a simple cup of homemade chili, coffee and an eyeful of ambiance. Big, orange stuffed booths were backed up against wood panel walls covered with framed Coca Cola puzzles. A black and white checkerboard ceiling hung above and a clean counter, complete with an old Kelvinator refrigerator sported a pair of malt mixers and two pies, a full pumpkin and an obviously popular remaining slice of sugar cream.

Most folks at the diner were there for lunch, which included a healthy piece of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy and an ice cream scoop of whole kernel corn. Everything sat in a pool of yellow butter. "You can skip the spinach," joked one customer about the recent e-coli scare.

Although there were a number of empty seats, the diner was busy. Lots of threesomes and families, everybody kept to themselves and nobody seemed the least bit distracted by "the biker." "Where you headed," said one man in his fifties. "Wisconsin," I said happy for the conversation.

"On a bike?" he hrumphed, with a "you're never going to make it" tone. "I've come out of South Carolina," I said. "I'll say a prayer for you," he responded and picked up a toothpick as he paid his bill and headed for the door.

After 36 miles of winds out of the west I turned north on Hwy. 29. Fresh off a break and out of the wind I thought the remaining 36 miles would be significantly easier and for some reason I was wrong. After 17 miles I slowed in Burlington, Ind. and stopped at the side of the road to ask two women the location of their local library. "Well, the library is closed today," said a white haired woman named Mary Bush who explained she worked at the public library. "What do you need anyway?" I told her I took my biking breaks at local libraries so I could rest and check my messages.

"Well, you're welcome to rest here," she said walking towards her garage and setting out a folding lawn chair. The next thing I knew I was sitting out of the sun and Mary was coming out of the house carrying a diet Coke under the crook of her arm. In one hand she had a glass filled with ice and in the other she had a bowl of cut up cantaloupe, watermelon and a few red grapes. "My daughter and I didn't eat our fruit salad for lunch," she said passing me the bowl and a couple of moist fig newton cookies wrapped in a paper napkin. "That's good fiber in those cookies," she said pulling up a folding chair and sitting down for an unscheduled break.

"My mother is the energizer bunny," said Geri who was trying to keep up with her mom in the yard work department. "She's 80 years old and wears me out." The mother and daughter duo asked few questions. I spoke little of the bike trip and the two took over talking of family and Florida. You would have thought they hadn't seen each other in months.

Pulling out of Burlington I had new life. The kindness of strangers combined with another 21 miles and I'd be done for the day. Too bad my rear wheel decided to fall apart.

Pedaling should just not have been that hard. I pulled off the two-lane highway to see if my tires were losing air or if I had broken a spoke. Wheeling the rig forward I could tell the rear wheel wobbled and touched the brake on each pass. Then, I saw it. One of the spoke nipples had completely pulled up from the rim, like a tree branch pushing up a slab of sidewalk. There was a dime size crack in the wheel and that was causing the wobble.

I carry a lot of parts and I can fix a lot of things, but not this. Assessing the situation the good new was I COULD ride the bike, but I decided to push it for a bit to see if anybody slowed to help. No such luck. Then, I tried flagging people down. I'd wave, and pleasantly enough they would wave back. I tried less of a "Hi there" motion and used the two handed, above the head "look at me, I'm drowning" pantomime. Still nothing but 55 mph salutations to the friendly biker. I would have thought it amusing, had I not been in such a tight spot. I climbed back on board and started pedaling, remembering "this is ALL part of the adventure," but at the same time wishing for a white piece of paper, black marker and the letters H-E-L-P.

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