"ALL I REMEMBER was doing this organic gymnastics routine, and I ended up in a ditch," Ritchey said, somewhat dazed, an hour or so later in Butare. "Everything kind of went backward from there." He wiped his head wearily. "Anyways, it's good to see you guys."

Butare was a scene. The main drag was crowded with trinket shops and restaurants, the biggest of which was the Hotel Ibis, a loud, outdoor café and mzungu magnet serving hamburgers and French fries. The Ibis was the headquarters for the weekend's events, which included a mountain-bike race, a coffee-bike race, a single-speed race, and, finally, the wooden-bike extravaganza.

In town were a gaggle of well-groomed executives with World Vision, a massive Christian relief organization based in the U.S., there to discuss various programs related to Project Rwanda. Also in attendance were some of the bigger wallets in the realm of Christian giving, including Chicago investor Joe Ritchie (an adventure pal of the late Steve Fossett) and Dick DeVos, the Amway scion and a failed Republican candidate for governor of Michigan. With them was a stern posse of bodyguards from Blackwater Worldwide, the controversial private security corporation founded by DeVos's brother-in-law Erik Prince. Having them there in sleepy Butare was like toting a bazooka to a baby shower.

Still, the moneymen did signal more change in Rwanda. As weird as it sounds, the country is on the verge of becoming trendy. Rwanda was recently the topic of a panel discussion at the Tribeca Film Festival. Shortly after my return to the U.S., a sprung-from-prison Paris Hilton would announce that she, too, plans to pay a visit to Rwanda. A friend of Ritchey's would e-mail me to see if I know Hilton's publicist—Ritchey is hoping the heiress will lug a few bikes over.

Not everyone is so impressed by the rush to modernity. An American engineer I met in Butare worried that Rwanda is getting too many sexy, 21st-century ideas like Wi-Fi and isn't focusing enough on unglamorous pursuits like infrastructure. "There's a lot of guilt money here," he said. "But I can't find people to pour concrete. They're shitting in streams, and they all want to be Java programmers."

It's fair to say that Ritchey's project combines both practical and whimsical ideas. There's no question that his coffee bikes can have an impact on small farmers. And while the bike team is not a utilitarian venture, it can afford Rwandans the luxury to dream.

Indeed, helping Rwanda dream again might wind up being Ritchey's true legacy, which is kind of amazing when you consider that he's one of the main reasons people on this earth ride singletrack on wide, knobby tires. A man who made his name doing something a little insane a few decades back has been reborn by doing something a little insane again.

Which, naturally, brings us back to that wooden-bike race.