JUNE 14: New Philadelphia, Ohio, to Bellview, Ohio. 57 miles via Ohio 39 and Ohio 97.

The grade was as steep as any we’ve seen so far on the trip. Pine forests surrounded both sides of the winding road. Looks more like Northern California than Ohio, I thought, after cresting the late-afternoon grade.

I grabbed my camera, hoping to get a shot of Ben climbing, when a torrent of cursing erupted from his direction.  For the second time, his derailleur blew up, an apparent victim of heavy torque and a heavy cross-country load. The rear gear changer hung bent and useless off its mooring.

It was once again clear: This was no roadside repair. A bike shop would be necessary and, as it was already after 5 p.m.  Saturday, we realized it may be Monday or even later before Ben’s bike could be repaired.

Not only that, but we were still six hilly miles away from the next town, which did not have either motel or a bike shop.  The nearest bike shop was maybe in Mansfield, a good 30 miles away.

Our ride, up to then brisk and uneventful, suddenly looked pretty bleak.

“Zero,” said Ben after losing his second derailleur (the first failed on a hill in New Jersey).  “My enthusiasm for this ride had dropped to zero again.”

Instead of hanging with his college friends in Oregon, he was sentenced to a summer-long ordeal by pedal with his 62-year old dad. Except now even the pedals did him no good.

We stuck our thumbs out as pickup trucks approached, hoping for a ride to civilization. But given the results, we may as well been using another finger. A good dozen trucks passed, not giving us a second look.

After walking our bikes over two miles of slopes, another plan emerged. After seeing a “KOA Kampground –1 mile ahead” sign, I suggested that Ben wait there with his bike while I cycled to Mansfield, rented a truck, and returned to get him.

A Samaritan driving a compact truck saved us from this folly. The guy instead drove us to the outskirts of Bellview, where an Interstate interchange had spawned a tacky mélange of motels, restaurants and fast-food joints in the heart of Amish country.

“There’s a bike shop just a couple of miles up,” he said as we hoisted our gear from his pickup bed in the Quality Inn parking lot. And what’s more, a phone call disclosed, it was open on Sundays.  After dinner at a nearby rib house, things were looking up.

The episode was more evidence of the thin threads on which this journey depends. Weather, mechanical problems, pulled muscles and more can all sabotage the trip. Under the best of circumstances, for instance, repairing Ben’s derailleur will cost us a day.

Also sabotaged were our moods. While I spent much time trying to cheer Ben up and put a spin on our misfortune, I too was bummed. Once again we were behind our target 60-mile a day average.

The day had started so much better: We began pedaling from New Philadelphia under cloudy, but dry skies and within miles found ourselves in the schizophrenic tourist country of central Ohio.

Sugar Creek was a case and point: The place billed itself as a “Litte Switzerland,” but this weekend was hosting a “Fifties Fling” that attracted hundreds of classic cars and thousands of gawkers and spenders.

“Have no idea,” said a T-shirt sales girl when I asked how a 50s festival jibed with the Little Switzerland schtick. “But now our Fifties Fling outdraws the Swiss Heritage weekend.”

Then there are the Amish, whose cooking and crafts have made this part of Ohio into one big homespun mall, complete with billboards and neon. There’s even a market for metal sheds crafted to look like Amish farmhouses. Buggy rides go for two bucks a shot and tourists throng to Berlin, Loudonville and other towns in Ohio’s hill country for a piece of the old world action.

Although the roads roller-coasted up and down the hills for much of the day and we got a little rain, we were covering ground. Outside Berlin, I lost a screw from my bike rack, and the rack’s arm fell onto my gears. But a run to the local True Value Hardware solved that problem.

We congratulated ourselves on the quick repair and rode on, little knowing what trick the trip gods had in store.