Dubuque- I've died and gone to Walmart

8/1

After a fine breakfast at the local Spirit Lake diner, I set out for Chicago to visit a few friends as my last stop before heading home. I decided to take smaller highways east through the remaining portion of Iowa. The drive reminded me of Indiana as the landscape flattened and corn rose up on either side of the road. I was enjoying the pleasant sunny day and dreaming about home when a terrible "pop" sounded from beneath and behind me. The sudden outburst was immediately followed by a repeated loud knocking coming from the same direction.

I knew immediately what had happened and quickly but steadily guided the bike to the right shoulder. I got off and looked down at my rear wheel. The chain had broke as I had thought. I had not, however, expected the battering it had done to the rear fender. Instead of unraveling from the sprockets after breaking, the chain became wrapped around the spacer between the sprocket and the hub of the rear wheel. This left a portion of the chain free to whip around and cause a tremendous amount of damage.

I hoped that the damage was merely cosmetic because I had a spare chain and sprockets packed on the bike. I was in a bit of shock and stood back to take a deep breath and assess the situation. I was unhurt and the bike was still upright. The road was busy, but the bike and I were safely on the gravel shoulder. I checked my phone. The service was limited, but I had two bars. I walked west to pick up the splintered pieces of yellow and chrome from the road and to determine my exact location. I was about 35 miles west of Dubuque, IA on Highway 20 near 285th Ave.

I returned to my bike and gave it a closer examination. I had to pull the rear fender away from the wheel. The chain had smashed it to bits even tearing through the supporting metal frame. The damage exceeded the cosmetic, though. The support between the swing arm was smashed and the chain had also torn trough a good deal of the electrical. The damage was beyond what I could fix on the side of the road with the tools and parts that I had.



I phoned my parents, explained the situation, and told them I would give them a call when I had a plan. After calls to AMA Roadside Assistance (thanks Dr. Esclamado :) ), the insurance company, and many friends in the Chicago area, I was picked up by a big, orange flatbed truck and dropped off in the parking lot of a Walmart in Dubuque where I was to wait for my parents who were now on their way up with a trailer. Prodigal son... parents get the call... meet the son on the road... hmm.

The tow truck pulled away and I sat down in a heap on the curb with my bags piled around me. This was not in my master plan. I loaded my belongings haphazardly into a stray cart and walked solemnly through the electric, sliding glass doors announcing my arrival in America's heaven.

Saint Peter sat watch holding the keys, a blue sticker gun. She took one look at my dishevelled self, thought I was a homeless wanderer, and kindly explained that I couldn't be in the store. I gave her this empty stare for a few moments and then relented explaining my situation. She pointed to a separate room outside of the kingdom's walls, a Purgatory, which, by the way, conveniently sells subs and is decorated with posters of the savior, Jared.

There I sat reading my bible waiting for redemption.