09/16/2025
A Chance Encounter
by David Cannon
Photos courtesy of
Zachary Groves & Andrew Saffell
My riding partner, Zach Groves, and I have been spending the summer riding and exploring the back roads of Belmont County as mapped out in the Eastern Ohio Back Road Biking brochure. Recently, we have been parking at his brotherâs trucking business, SLC Trucking. The shop is on Hendrysburg-Freeport Road, just west of Hendrysburg, and sits at the intersection of two of the major northern routes on the map. They work on diesel engines, motorhomes, big rigs, and employ a fleet of dump trucks. Itâs a pretty good size operation.
Usually, when Zach and I arrive, most of the trucks are out on the road. By the time we pull back in at around 6:00 or so, the trucks are back on the lot and the employeesâ cars are gone. We seldom have contact with any of the employees.
A few weeks ago, 8/6/25, as we were preparing to head out, a rather large, burly gentleman climbed out of his rig and approached us like he was mad at us.
âWhereâd you get that bike?â he asks me in a challenging tone.
My mistake. Apparently, he is only mad at me.
âI promise I didnât steal it from you, big guy,â I reply, trying to put on my best friendly smile.
âThatâs a Mongoose, DX 5.3, built in 1998 by the BMX bike company in Madison, Wisconsin.â The trucker, who looks like exactly what he is, a truck driver accustomed to hard work with a beer chaser, does not look like the kind of guy who knows the lineage of a bicycle probably built before he was born. He proceeds to educate me on my bike and its components, pointing out and naming each component, right down to exact specifications and ratios. I stand looking at him, dumbfounded.
âWhereâd ya git the bike?â he asks again in a little softer tone.
âThere used to be a bike shop in Saint ClairsvilleâŚâ I start, a little sheepishly.
âThe Bike Zone,â he offers up, not letting me finish.
âYeah, I think that was the name of it,â I reply, wondering if maybe I knew this guy in another life or something.
He thrusts out a big, hard-calloused hand in friendship. I grip his hand, happy that he no longer seems mad at me.
âIâm Andrew Saffell,â he introduces himself. âThat was my mom and dadâs store.â
âReally!â
âI mustâve been seven or eight when they put that Mongoose in the window. I wanted that bike bad, but I already had two BMXs and my parents said the bike was too big for me.â
For the next ten minutes, we talk about bicycles, races weâve raced in, the bike shop, and his parents. They are both still with us and doing well. His mom keeps the books for another area business, and his dad is almost fully retired except for working on a few bikes for old customers, from time to time.
âHey! Can I get a picture of you and your bike?â he asks excitedly. âMy dad âll git a real kick outâa that.â
No one has ever had to ask me twice for a picture.
We try to set up a bike ride with Andrew and his dad. Andrew was quite the BMXer in his day. But he admits, with a little sadness in his eye, âI donât think I could make it a mile up the road.â He confides that he and his dad are both far out of cycling shape and neither of them has been on a bike in years.
Zach joins in to try to convince the truck driver to bring his dad and maybe just ride up to Hendrysburg and back. All I can think is what a great honor it would be to go for a ride with the guy who sold me my bike thirty years ago. After five minutes of coaxing and begging, we get a firm, âWell, weâll see.â
As we pull out of the parking lot, I hear Zach gearing down for the hill in front of us as my mind starts to wander. I am wondering what the odds are that I should run into the son of the folks that sold me my bike all those years ago. The thought strikes me how small a place the Universe is for a traveler on a bike.
The End
Special thanks to SLC Trucking, Andrew Saffell for approaching me, and Mr. and Mrs. Saffell for selling me my favorite time machine.