A motorcyclist’s ordinary day,

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I have traveled across the US via motorcycle for well over twenty years along the two-lane asphalt, dirt and gravel roads tying the small towns of America together, like knots of a rope.

During all of my travels, I have seen and encountered a lot of amazing people and sights to accept every day I ride will be filled with adventures of visual sights, sounds, and smells.

On a sunny summer afternoon in mid-July with temperatures and humidity fighting to see which will get to one-hundred.
I was riding along a two-lane road in the flatlands of Eastern Colorado, where the road ahead disappears into a mesmerizing shimmer on the horizon.

At 85-mph, I came upon a motorcyclist with its emergency flashers on, stopped on the shoulder headed in the same direction, so I slowed to a stop to assist.

I became concerned when the rider did not turn to acknowledge my presence, even after stepping from my motorcycle. I felt a feeling of dread when the motorcyclist who had yet to turn around and recognize me.

My need to assist a fellow rider began to wane as my suspicious nature became aroused. To be safe, I conquered my suspicious thoughts yelling several times, “Hey, are you alright?” from where I stood about twenty feet behind the rider. The rider never turned around, and I continued yelling.

The rider appeared to be a male wearing a half moon helmet with a long gray braided ponytail with a leather wrap on the end of the braid. He wore a black t-shirt, blue jeans pants with a black leather vest with the phrase, “Born to be Free,” on the back. The belt looked like it was either alligator or snake skinned matching his riding boots. He sat on top of a black “Harley Davidson Heritage Soft Tail” with an all black finish on the motor and handle bars.
I’m slowly approaching trying to capture his attention while looking around to see if there was anyone else with him when I saw a very short shapely young lady who stood barely five-foot tall stood up from the ditch on the side of the road. She recognized me and began waving her arms at the rider on the motorcycle who recognized her movements.
When she started pointing towards me, I quickly realized how I would be perceived when he turned around to see me, a six-foot-six motorcycle rider dressed in all black with an open face helmet sporting my dark mirrored sunglasses.

When his head turned, his eyes brows raised above his sunglasses, and he lowered them revealing shocked light-brown eyes the size of drink coasters. Knowing, my presences was imposing, I raised the face shield on my helmet, lowered my sunglasses, raised both of my hands with the palms open facing towards him, and I smiled in relief as the nervous tensions eased when he returned the smile and a nod.

The little lady walked over to stand in between me and her biker companion giving me a thumbs up, letting me know all was ok.

I told them I stopped to check to see if everything was ok when they began pulling their ear plugs from their ears, and I understood why he did not hear me.

They explained why they stopped, and we all laughed, and I continued on my way as they geared up.

As I rode away on an ordinary day immersed in my thoughts while riding, I was quick to label the old guy as robbing the cradle with such a young lady.

However, I would never imagine encountering a celebrity in the middle of the US on a two land road who stopped to let his 18-year-old great-granddaughter relieve herself.

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