I never thought I would need a good Samaritan

by Alastair Smith (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Spain

My body stirs at first light. The sea and sky are differing shades of psychedelic mauve, noted but not appreciated in my chilly and weary state. As I move pain shoots up my spine as I joltingly recall the hammock collapsing, fearful it is more than just bruising from when my back hit the stone seat above which I slept. Twenty minutes later with bags packed I push the bike across the sand and up to the coastal path zigzags up from the bay out of sight. I carry the bike up stony steps, legs annoyed at being asked to work more after the previous day’s efforts. So began a challenging day in the northern hills of Mallorca. By nine o’clock I had been on the move for three hours and was eager to establish my whereabouts and have a drink. GPS was forthcoming, but my water was all but gone, and I agonised over the most efficient route to a pueblo with a shop. Route decided, I picked up my bike and felt a punch– I realised one tyre was completely flat. Not to worry, I thought; the bike rental shop had provided a repair kit. I found the pump and vexingly couldn’t open it. Snap! The pump broke asunder. Sucker punch. Suddenly, as I trudged onward, the sun felt more intense. After more clambering up and down and my throat parched, I finally get to a bay with a track leading inland eventually back to tarmac. I spot an old boat house and approach undecided whether to be hopeful. There’s an outside tap that splutters into life, but a foetid sulphurous odour repels me. A few cars passed in the opposing direction but no other signs of people except a single house up a steep driveway. I knocked and hailed but no answer. Then a small Suzuki SUV overtook then stopped. An excited dog in the back bounces around trying to evoke a reaction from me. A man with thick-looking skin, darkened and leathered by the Mediterranean sun, swiftly clambered out. Then a teenage girl emerged with the same friendly eyes but paler skin, emphasising the effect the elements had had on her father. The man is pleased as he thinks he can bring luck – after handing the dog over to the girl he produced a spare bicycle inner tube from the car! I sheepishly took out the broken pump from my bag and we both feel disappointment- he does not have a pump. He then thinks for a moment, glancing back and forth between bike, daughter and vehicle. Then he says what I feel he knows I am hoping to hear: “We can put the bike in the back and take you to the town.” It is wondrous music to my ears. We bump along the track and I understand why the vehicle is so dusty inside. I feel guilt at putting these people out. They had insisted I sit in the front; the daughter was remarkably sanguine despite having the impish salivating dog now squeezed in next to her. The dogs hot breath on the back of my ear stops me falling asleep. My knights in shining armour, Joaquim and Carla, did not even ask probing questions in return for this generosity. They showed no judgement, despite my embarrassing predicament. Nevertheless, Joaquim was clearly popular; a few miles down the track were some men and a small truck with whom he spoke and left laughing as we drove off. Sometime later we entered the whitewashed narrow streets looking for the bike shop. An encounter with a dustcart and another car blocking road revealed more about the patience of this family – I had already disturbed their timetable for the day. The bike shop was located but was closed thanks to a local fiesta. “Esta bueno aqui!” I blurt out as we pass the town square a second time. But no, he makes a detour back to his house on the edge of the town and together with Carla still helping, we fixed my bike. Ten minutes later we shook hands. For them it was not a big deal, but I took away a great deal.