The Old Man and His Bike

Now that my bike's been stolen, I walk a lot more. I walk to school. I walk home. I walk to friends', and neighbors', and, well, everywhere really. But because I walk, I really get a chance to notice things a lot more.

Every morning on the way to school, I've noticed this old man riding his bike. Every morning it's the same man. Every morning he's riding the same stretch. This wouldn't be that odd except that I don't go to school at the same time every day. He's there at 9. He's there at 9:30. He's even there at 11, riding away with glee.

This man must be in his 80s. He's tall for an older Korean man (about my height), but he's really thin. He always has on a tan jacket. He always has on a plaid shirt. He always has on a cap.

What I love about this man is too much to describe, but I'll hit the highlights. His bike is old, very old, but it has a brand new bright red paint job. He takes pride in that old bike. The bike has a bell, and damn if doesn't get as much use out of it as possible. He rings it at pedestrians as he slowly creeps by them. He rings it at speeding cars as he slowly creeps in front of them. He even rings it at empty sidewalk as he crosses over it.

But what I love most of all about him is that I only ever see him on the same stretch of sidewalk. He loves his bike. He loves riding. But he obviously doesn't like to go far from home.

When I'm 80 years old, I hope I'm riding a freshly painted bike down the sidewalk somewhere and ringin' my bell like a Salvation Army Santa. If I can at least get that, I'll have done fine.

Ryan