Sometimes it only takes one... sometimes six

I know it isn't conventional wisdom to chat with men who are laying face down in a ditch, but I was desperate. At least he was talking to me, so far this was the best lead I had on getting my bike fixed.
After we had done some introduction and discussed how beautiful I was for a while I was able to steer the subject towards maybe getting my bike fixed.
Of Course, of course he knew exactly what to do. I gave him the innertube for the bike. He tried placing it into the tire. When I pointed out that I had done the same stupid thing and that you need to take the wheel off first, he agreed with me and than continued to do the same thing. Pyetr than asked for all my tools. I handed him the swiss army knife. He banged around with it about the same way I had. He realized he needed a bigger wrench and went to a neighbor ladies house to get one. By doing this he had alerted the masses that there was an American with a broken down bike in the area. All of a sudden there were lots of people. Where had they been before? Pyetr had done exactly what I had hoped, he got some people out to help me.
Pyetr was totally useless at fixing the bike and hit on me the whole time. I know his type: drunk, old, face down in a ditch... These kind of men love me and will always hit on me. Pyetr's wife and son even joined in on helping fix the bike. Pyetr son was actually the most helpful. They did eventually get the wheel off the innertube blown up.
There became a problem with getting the wheel back on the bike. No one could quite remember how they got it off. While we were trying to remember exactly how the wheel went on Pyetr tried to...well for having no nicer way of putting it... tried to kiss my bussom... I made it very clear to him that he was never NEVER NEVER NEVER going to be thanked that way. He was so upset he went off and sulked. We were finally getting somewhere with my bike, it had been 6 hours since the original puncture, so I really couldn't care and I let him wander off and sulk. Once the wheel was on I had all these extra parts that no one knew what to do with. I put the extra parts in my backpack and thanked everyone and rode off.
They did exactly what I hoped they wouldn't: they watched me ride off. I had to go back for my bags that were hidden in the field. So, when they saw me head off in the wrong direction Pyetr's son and a village girl who"spoke English" came to tell me I was going in the wrong direction. I pointed out my bags and thanked them again.
The 15kms to the city felt incrediably long. You learn to curse every bump in the road when you hear parts of your bike, that were on it only hours before, rattle with every bump you hit.