Jason Fulford

I was unloading my bike in the parking lot of a motel somewhere in Louisiana, on my way to New Orleans. It was the middle of nowhere. I had just quit my job in New York and found myself on a month long trip, zig zagging down the Mississippi River from top to bottom. A guy came up to me out of the shadows and said, “Nice bike,” in a long drawl. I don’t remember what he looked like, but he was pretty loaded. “You’d better take that inside,unless you want somebody to take it.” I don’t think he was a good samaritan — I think he himself was tempted to steal the bike and wanted it to be out of reach for his own sake. He helped me carrying it up a flight of stairs and into my room. I had to get it down by myself the next morning.