The homeless and the motorcycles
Filed in Bikers, BlogAs I put 3.34 gallons of gas into my 3.4 gallon tank today (oops), a woman leaned out of her car and said, with a big smile, “I’m impressed!”
This is not an uncommon occurrence.
I was returning to town on a blustery, cold-showers kind of day. My first errands had been run before the worst of the day’s squalls, but I needed to go back for extra stuff. I don’t know what it is about riders, especially riders bundled up in bad-weather gear, that draws admiration from others–but it does.
In the parking lot of Food 4 Less, there was a homeless guy munching on some McDonalds. When I came out of the supermarket, he wandered over, his speech a little slurred, but not from alcohol I think. I sat on the bike and answered his questions. He’d come over because he saw I was a woman on a motorcycle–a rarity, in his estimation, and worthy of note. (Actually, we’re about one in six of USA motorcyclists, but I don’t know if that figure is for “rides on back too” or “only rides her own.)
Most times when I’m on a motorcycle the homeless make a beeline for me. It’s exactly the same when I’m with any other rider. Usually they want money: it’s as though “biker” and “willing to donate spare change” go together like hand in glove. (I don’t mind a blatant request for spare change. It’s the made-up stories I don’t like–I need it for gas, for a bus trip home, my car has broken down.)
We seldom disappoint them and they’re usually ready with some compliment and a bit of conversation in return. It works out, but it’s noticeable.
This guy didn’t want money. He just wanted to talk about my bike, and to introduce himself with a crooked tattoo-covered hand as Sundown, who used to build bikes himself.
And in every encounter of this kind I am reminded of the other reason why I ride: it’s not just for the bugs in my teeth.
Thing is, I meet the coolest people because I happen to be on two wheels.
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