Yesterdays ride...a first person narrative

bullet boy

Brain Dead
Glenn Park.

I was riding up the LONG flat section before Five Points when I first see him.

He is about 50 yards ahead, in the middle of the trail; I would HAVE to acknowledge him as I pass.


As I approach it becomes apparent that he was in fact “one of them”.

His hair was unkempt, his pants had fallen down to expose his lack of undergarments, and he was waving a stick at the nearby rhododendron.

As I approached he hailed me in a surprisingly clear voice:

“Have you seen my bag?” he asked, genuine hope in his tone…

“No” I replied…”how did you lose it?”

“I hid it in the bushes”…gesturing toward the rhododendron with his stick…”now I can’t find it.”

I have slowed but have NO intention of stopping…I have had “encounters” with these people before, and I am alone today.

”Well I haven’t seen it, but I’ll be sure to keep my eye out for it”.

By now I have passed him and am accelerating up to normal speed…he shouts “It’s got 20 dollars in it! And my ID...”

I don’t look back, but shout “Keep looking, you’ll find it!”

I felt bad for the guy; he didn’t seem intoxicated, just disoriented, and a bit frustrated that he had lost what he had himself hidden.

I keep riding toward Five Points.

As I arrive at Five Points there are a bunch of Motorcyclists leaving in the direction of the homeless man.

I warn them that he is firmly planted in the trail, just about the point they would be hitting the top of 4th or 5th gear…they thank me and tear off in a haze of blue two stroke exhaust.

I turn right up the hill and climb up to the power station

As I stop to eat some blackberries along the way I find myself contemplating the fate of his bag.

I wonder to myself whether the homeless know the berries are ripe…

I ride down the ridge heading west past the big rock drops, and head over to the log ride.

I wind up heading east again, back toward where I first saw him.

Sure enough he is still standing just about where he was when I last passed him.

Only now his pants have completely lost their battle with gravity, and his bare ass is looming as I approach.

I intentionally make some noise to warn of my approach and offer a silent prayer of thanks that he is turned away…

He startles at my sound, and pulls up his pants as he turns toward me.

I notice that he has the previously missing bag on the ground nearby.

“I found it!” he proclaims as I near. “Sorry about my pants; this rope keeps comin’ untied!”

I wish him well and keep on pedaling…he shouts something else as ride out of earshot. I don’t turn back.


entirely thrilled
ah the homeless. they make such interesting conversation. when bored at night living in philly, i used to go hang out with some of them. great friggen stories.


Shop: Halter's Cycles
Shop Keep
This is the most interesting this I have read on this site all summer.

I can't wait for winter shoes.

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