Eivind picked himself off the highway. I was glad he wasn't hurt. Together, we frantically began clearing the wreckage from the road. We lifted the couch into the ditch, and pitched all the bags on top of it. When we went to move the bike itself, I noticed one of the wheels was no longer touching the ground. We moved it across the intersection to a dead-end lane for closer inspection. Even standing on the frame with all my weight, and jumping up and down to flex the rear suspension, I couldn't bring the fourth wheel in contact with the ground. I feared the frame had become irreparably mangled.

Before sharing my fear, I racked my brain for a euphemistic way of saying irreparably mangled. I continued to puzzle at the contorted bike. Eventually, I realized that the telescoping tubes of the frame had simply twisting inside one another. Greatly relieved, we loosened up the pinch bolts in the frame and everything settled down straight again. As I began tightening the bolts on the frame, a pickup truck pulled up and the driver leaned out the window.

"You know what I'm going to ask..." he said, "What the heck is that?"

Eivind, who felt he could field this question, responded by stating it was a bike.

"Where do you sit?" was the next question.

"On a couch", replied Eivind.

"On a what?"

Eivind turned his head to look across the intersection at the large piece of furniture resting by the roadside. "On a couch", he said.

A period of stunned silence ensued. This would prove to be a typical encounter. From there, more questions would be asked. The central theme tended to be "why?" This was a line of questioning to which we could never offer a completely satisfying answer. But as long as people were smiling and laughing, then we knew we were on the same wavelength and that's all we could really hope for.