He was lying on his back under an overpass, boots set beside him, feet bare. I bicycled past. It was none of my business. He might be offended. Angry. As I rode on I tried to dismiss an unease. A thought. I can’t let this pass. I did a quick U-turn back to him, laid my bike down in the rocks. He stirred and gave me a concerned look which faded to curiosity; I am after all an 80 year-old in funny bicycling clothes, not very threatening.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I said. Dumb.
”Ok. I guess.” He nodded to the direction he’d come, “Long walk today.”
”How are your feet?”
”Hurt. But I can go some more.
”You got water?” “Yeah.” “Food?” “ Uh huh.” I didn’t believe him.
”Money?” He avoided my eyes. “Some.”
I took out my emergency stash, “It’s only twenty.”
He looked at the folded bill in his hand. “I never imagined I would come to this.” He paused. “Two years ago I had lots of money. Lots.” He looked away. “Lost it all.” He tried to shake away the memory.
“Thank you for this,” he said.
“You didn’t ask.” I smiled.
I listened to his story. Not all of it I’m sure. The pain was in his eyes.
“Do you have a place to go tonight?”
“Kolb and Golf Links. I hope I can make it before dark.”
”I’m eighty.” I had his full attention. “I’ve met a lot of people in my travels, business. I can read people.”“You will make it past all this.”
I picked up my bike to leave, “I believe in you.”
His eyes glistened, “I needed that.”
That twenty won’t make much difference, but maybe when the struggle is almost too much, he will remember that one person looked at him, listened to him, and offered encouragement. Hope.
I love where my bicycle takes me!
