Crying on the Sidewalk

My Neighbors are Awesome

Every Saturday in the winter I take a bicycle ride. 

My rides begin along Phoenix's network of canals to enjoy views of local architecture and our mountain scenery.

I don't ride for speed or distance anymore. I ride to get out, stretch and fill my lungs. Seeing an occasional roadrunner (last week) or a covey of baby quail (this week) is cool too.

Today, I opted for a different route to climb some hills and turned north on 44th Street. And, since 44th Street is really busy, I was paying attention to traffic (important since actuaries all agree that drivers in my state are among the worst, most aggressive and inattentive jerks to be found anywhere).

As I started riding up the hill, I passed a bus stop, where a lump of humanity in a tracksuit was sitting on the ground crying inconsolably.

My first inclination was to keep riding. 

But at the next corner I stopped, turned and went back.

At the bus stop, through tears, the lump of humanity became a person. 

A person for whom all things were bad. 

She asked if I'd call the police for her. I did.

Assuming she did not want to tell a stranger what had left her so desolate, I instead asked if she needed water (in Phoenix cyclists carry a lot of water). And, yes, she was thirsty. 

At that point a fellow cyclist (with his 3 year old son in a little bike pod) stopped to join us.

We all just talked, waiting for the officer to arrive. We asked her name and where she was from. 

Her breathing became regular. Her tears stopped.

At that point a man walked up. He touched her shoulder and asked if she was hungry. She was. He left to get her a meal from a nearby fast food joint.

She was from Illinois having arrived in Arizona just two weeks ago. She was at the end of her rope.

The Phoenix Police officer rolled up and professionally began her assessment.

I bid Daniela (I now knew her name) goodbye, advising her to visit Andre House (a homeless services provider my church supports) and, knowing she has a really tough road ahead, quietly said a prayer for her.

In the space of 30 minutes a complete stranger was no longer a stranger. She was comforted, fed and knew that she was loved, even if it was by total strangers.

My weekly bike rides always nurture me physically.

Today's ride, in a nation that feels increasingly hateful, restored my faith in the human race.

When in doubt, stop. Get out of your comfort zone. Offer a hand and a heart. 

Trust me, the benefits flow both ways.

Roadboy's Travels © 2018