it was already dark , and I took the wrong road , taking a side road on a motorway under construction that turned into hell due to a thick layer of dust of more than forty centimetres on the rough road , full of bulldozers , cut bridges and other obstacles . I was balancing so as not to lose control of the bike and metres from reaching the paved road , I fell . La Más was practically buried in forty centimetres of thick ground dust .
The night was warm , the sky starry , and the lights of houses could be seen in the distance . I was tired , very tired , after travelling in the rain for long hours , on one-lane roads full of trucks . On the ground , in the dust , with the bike lying on its left side , I looked up at the stars . Tears of helplessness welled up in my eyes . I had to unload La Más , that is : remove the aluminium paniers and as the bike was on the left side , it was going to be exceedingly difficult for me to lift it by myself .
As I was about to remove the rightside case , I heard a voice . It was a Polish peasant who appeared out of nowhere with a torch and without me understanding a word , he helped me to straighten the bike and get it out of that situation , until I managed to reach the paved road , about fifty meters away . A miracle .
I continued to the house of my friend , the sculptor Piort Twardowski , where his whole family were waiting for me to share dinner Golabri ( cabbage rolls ), a cucumber salad , Placki Ziemniaczane ( potato pancakes ) and a delicious Sernik ( cheesecake ) all accompanied with Tyskie beer .
After four days enjoying familial warmth and grandma ' s tasty Polish food , long conversations about the world of steel sculpture , and getting drunk discussing art , I decided to start planning the next stage of my journey .
I had to change my mind about the route I was going to follow , which
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