Recently, I stopped alongside a two-lane road on my bicycle to answer a phone call. Within a couple of minutes, a woman drove her car onto the lawn of the home where I had stopped to check on me. And, yes, I was startled to see her drive up beside me on a stranger’s lawn.
“Are you okay,” she asked. “I see you riding all of the time, but I have never seen you stop. It looked like you might not feel too well.”
I assured her that I was fine, that I had stopped to answer a phone call. (My iPhone is on a bracket mounted to my handlebars.). With a smile and a wave, she drove on off across the lawn of someone who, fortunately, was not home.
Other people have checked on me, occasionally. On an especially hot afternoon last week, I stopped under the shade of some big trees on a rural road. An old fellow (about my age) stopped his pickup and asked, “You alright?” I said I was taking a shade break. He threw up his hand and drove on.
I have several of these stories. I think people check on me, in part, because they feel like they know me, in a way. They have seen me on my bike plenty of times. There are roads in my community I have ridden on hundreds of times. I am a familiar face. Sort of. I don’t know how well they can see my face due to my helmet and sunglasses. They recognize me, anyway. You get the picture.
It is a regular occurrence for drivers to wave at me as they drive past me. Same with people out working in their yard, washing their car, and so on. They do not really know me, usually, but I am that fellow who is around so often that they see me as a neighbor, perhaps. For some, I am a neighbor, of course. We at least live in the same area of the county.
I have experienced some bike mishaps when people offered to help me. Several years ago, I “flew” over my handlebars, landed on a road and got banged up a little. A couple on their way to a nearby church stopped and asked if they could help me in some way, including driving me home. I told them that I was feeling well enough to ride home. I made it home. And, I had a cast on my left arm a couple of days later.
On one funny occasion, my saddle (seat in regular folks’ language) came off while I was cruising along a rural road. I looked all around for the @#%& bolt that popped out and I could not find it. So, there I was with no seat. I mean, saddle. A nice old fellow (my age) stopped in his pickup, offered to drive me and my bike home. I happily accepted. It turned out that his daughter and mine had been in high school together.
Some people in my community probably realize that I am the same man who ran the roads around here for 20-something years. They saw me as I ran thousands of miles up and down roads in my county. After a while, the miles add up.
During those years, as I ran past them, children in our area would shout, “Hi, Tyler’s dad.” Or, “Hi, Cassie’s dad.” Years later, those children were grown and driving past me with a little child of their own strapped carefully into a car seat.
I heard some funny comments from people when they would recognize me at a grocery store or gas station. “Hey, you run really well for someone your age.” Or, “I recognize you. You’re that dude who runs up and down our roads wearing nothing but shorts and shoes!” I will add that when it was 90 degrees and blue skies, I left off wearing a shirt. Okay, even if the temperature was in the 60s, skipped wearing a shirt.
I appreciate all of these people. I like that they see me as part of their community. Many do not know my name, have no idea where I live, and do not know where I am going, but they accept me. It is fun being recognized as a member of the community. That is what I care about. As the years have gone by, I have learned that I love being part of a community. It keeps me going. Up and down the road.
It's KPC Again 