Bob Thomas Writes

(Published in; “A Fifth Portion of Chicken Soup”)

Hurricane Bertha left me in a bad mood.
I had managed to maintain my sour disposition for several days in spite of the attempts of almost everybody to cheer me up. After all, I had a few leaks in my ceiling at the gallery, the floors were flooded, the show cases were dirty, I had over one hundred artists calling me to see if their work had been damaged and I had no air conditioning or electricity. On top of all of that, I had to drive over to Jacksonville, NC in the pouring rain and the air conditioner in my truck quit working!
I was not happy.
As I motored along Hwy 24 to Jacksonville, NC, my faithful truck was trying to tell me something . . . something important like . . . YOU FORGOT TO BUY GAS! . . . I had run out of gas for the first time in my life! I’ve always smirked at the friends and family who have done this in the past . . as if to say “how can you be so stupid!?” There’s a gauge on the dashboard to tell you that your tank is empty and all you have to do is read it!
I was right! . . .There is a gauge and it said “EMPTY.”
I coasted to the side of the road . . .even less happy . . . I said several things about my own mental abilities . . . several things about Hurricane Bertha . . . and I decided to sit there until that damned truck rotted and fell apart!
As I contemplated the possibility of getting a job with the French Foreign Legion, I heard a motorcycle pull up beside me . . . a big, throaty, rumbling, growling Harley Davidson. I opened my door and was face to face with a throwback to the 1960’s! He was wearing a full face shield helmet. The helmet had snakes painted all over it, the biker had snakes tattooed all over his body and he wore the traditional Harley Davidson denim jacket, jeans and biker boots. Chains were hanging on every available hook or loop. His hair was so long that he had it doubled up and tied to keep it out of his wheels. The Harley was straight out of “Easy rider.” Extended front fork, suicide rack on the back, black, purple and green paint job and the gas tank painted to look like a skull with glowing green eyes. “S’wrong?” He said. I’m out of gas, I said. “B’right back.”. . .and he rode off. About 15 minutes later he returned with a can of gas. When I offered to pay him He said, “Wait ’till ya’ get to the station.”
I started my truck and drove the two or 3 miles to the station as he followed along (In the pouring rain!). As I started filling the tank I again offered to pay him. He said “Pay the guy inside. Everything O.K. now?” I said “Yes”. He said “See ya!” and he rode off down Hwy 24 toward Jacksonville, NC.
After pumping $24.00 worth of gas, I went into the station and gave the attendant $30.00. He said, “It’s only $4.00, the other guy paid $20.00 and said to tell you to, “pass it on Brother.”
His face was hidden behind his dark face shield and helmet. His license plate was from Florida and as he rode off his hair had come undone and was flying in the wind. His Harley was roaring and throwing up spray from the pavement. I will always remember the kindness of a stranger and I will never again judge anyone by their looks , ( a promise I have often made to myself) and I will always wonder “Who was that masked man?”
As for the $20.00. . . I passed it on.
Previously Published in:
“A Fifth Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul”