People met along the way
58 years old… 58 years young
A 22 year old soldier with a big heart. An 87 year old with no more motorcycles to ride
As the sun turned a rainbow of orange against the horizon, I noticed someone sitting on a lawn chair in front of the ocean, so close that the water lapped up over his bare feet. He was all by himself, far away from others, gazing out at the waves. That drew me to him, sure he had a tale to tell.
Coby was a 22 year old ex-soldier, just out from a mandatory three year stint in the Israeli army. Every young man has to give that time; the women give less, two years.
“I want to work with horses” he told me. “I’m heading out to Montana to find a job.” Then he laughed “At least that’s the plan for now. It could change. I’m in no hurry.”
He had a pony tail and warm eyes and offered me a toke of his weed which I passed on. “Cigarette?’ Thank you but no. Finally, I accepted a bottle of water as he seemed eager for me to accept some gift.
“Lahaim!” We clicked plastic bottles and looked out at the orange glow of a now sunless sky over small rapid waves that lapped up over our feet. The birds had gone to roost and if we didn’t look back across the wide beach to people huddling around small bonfires, we were on our own.
He was staying with friends of his parents for a few days; his next steps in his journey vague. He’d saved enough of his military pay to coast for several months.
Again he told me: “I’m in no hurry.”
He was entrepreneurial, which gives him even more confidence and security. “A friend of mine and I ran a business on the side putting on events.. I can cook so I prepared the food. Some day I want to open a restaurant.”
But he most wanted to tell me about his desire to help others. There’s some Peace Corps like group that young Israelis can join. They go all over the world and help impoverished people in rural areas. He showed me several photos taken by a friend of his in Uganda who was helping build schools there.
“I’ve always loved helping others. When I was 16, I worked with four ‘special needs’ teenagers. I was with them twice a week for almost a year.”
Like most confident people in the first forty years of their life, he preferred to talk then listen. That’s fine with me as I’d rather hear their stories than tell mine. I did though share my Round the World motorcycle journey which he gave a hearty thumbs up to, but, I was amused to see, only held his interest for a few moments. Let’s get back to me.
A great kid and I think he would have enjoyed talking for a couple of hours but I needed to send some emails to the family, figure out next steps on this pandemic-aborted journey, so I finally bid him good night. We went to hug but remembered the virus so gave each other a hearty fist bump instead.
As I walked away, I thought of him, at 22, with 60 plus years of life ahead of him. A kid with a lot on the ball, with big dreams, with a huge heart. A guy who had enough self-awareness at such a young age to know how magic his life really was. Youth will not be wasted on him. One of the few. I wish I’d been that prepared and that self aware at his age.
I walked in the dark, along the old promenade that lines the beach in Seaside, Oregon, built more than a century ago, peopled by generations that had their time in the sun and then passed on. I suddenly felt envious of Cody. God, to have so much time in front of you! To be able to wander the world for ten years, and still have hardly moved the needle of time, of life to go. I wondered if after I’d left he’d thought the opposite: “He’s nearer to the end than the beginning.’
I’ve got to make these years, these years of more delicate health and fitness, these years before my 70s set in, really count. I have no time to waste.
I felt old for a little while, could almost feel my bones creak , my no longer elastic muscles strain.
This isn’t typical of me, thankfully. I usually tend to look ahead and see and appreciate the times still to come, the not so short length I still have to go. And in reality, I do, but next to a 22-year-old, it didn’t look long at all.
The next day, at a supermarket I pulled into, I parked next to a red SUV with a very old man sitting in the driver’s seat. As I unloaded my bag, he asked me some questions about the mechanics of the motorcycle and quickly reached the end of my mechanical expertise. After telling him it was a CRF250L… 2019… and that it rides well… He asked me: “Is it water-cooled?”
“Water-cooled?” Jeez, I don’t know. I know it runs on gas. I took that as my cue to go. His wife joined me as we walked to the store and explained that he’d fixed up and ridden motorcycles for most of his life.
Later, when I came out, the old fellow was still there, sitting in the car waiting patiently for his wife.
“I fixed up and owned at least a dozen bikes, including…” And then he named a few and as I’m not a true bike aficionado, I can’t remember any names except that one was an antique that they eventually sold for $20,000.
“I finally had to give up riding though. Too old for it. I’m 87.”
He wanted to know where I was going so I told him about my plans to ride around the world and he nodded his head in approval. Makes sense. One life. Go for it
I wished him well and he wished me safe travels and as I drove out onto the Oregon Coast highway, I thought about how young I was, and — -if good fortune held — how much sweet time I still had ahead of me. I wondered how he felt just then as he reflected on his years of riding, now all in the past, and on my years still to come.
