When I was around 18, I had an old 71 Harley Super glide. It was well riden with probably a hundred thousand miles on it, and used more oil than gas, and leaked even more. But it ran good and rarely left me on the side of the road. When it did just sorta quit, I would install a set of new plugs that I always carried, and she fired up and would run another 1000 miles.
I came through Fort Smith Arkansas, and had been riding from Memphis. I was friggin starving. I had long hair, dirty leather jacket, and had not had a shower in 4 days. I looked like a Hells Angels reject but never thought about that once while parking my bike in front of the little greasy spoon diner just over the Oklahoma border.
As soon as I walked into that place, I started getting the looks, and could hear people mumbling under their breath and heard the word scum 3 or 4 times.
I sat in a booth as far into the back of the diner as I could get and just returned all of the dirty looks that I was getting.
An old waitress came to my booth, smiled, and ask me what I wanted. I ordered a burger, fries, and a root beer. She said, we aint got no suds, how about a coke. I said yeah, that'l work.
When she brought my food, she sat down right beside me in the booth and said, it's time fer a break. She began telling me that she had a son, that was killed on an old Harley and stated that I looked so much like him. She then began crying and just kept saying that she could see and feel his presence in my eyes. I held her hand and told her that I was sorry she lost her son.
She sat there for at least 30 minutes smiling, and then crying, all the while holding my hand. Her name was Shirley and she seemed to be a warm hearted but lonely women. I finally finished my food and walked to the cash register to pay up.
I told her that I would stop and say hi every time I came through, and that her son must still love her with all his heart.
As I was walking out the door, Shirley hollered out, God bless that biker scum! I rode away with a tear in my eye, and stopped many more times to see old Shirley. She worked at that old diner for another 12 years until she finally passed away.
To this day, I stop and visit her grave, and the only reason I know her last name is because it is printed on her head stone.
It is amazing how close you get to an old lonely person in 30 minutes worth of conversation, a little crying, and some smiles. I think of her all the time almost like she is my mom that has gone on to the great beyond.

There is no need to comment on this story, just show a little love to an old person when they really need it, and see what happens. Take it from Worlok, you wont be sorry!

 

thanks for the story bro. you're right.

 

Thanks lock,, +1


P.S. after reading this I rmemebered your encounter with a bee on your bike lmao)