While out riding with a group of friends earlier today, something happened that I won’t soon forget. We were at Go Mart in Clay, WV — just a casual stop to stretch, grab some drinks, and regroup. The sun was warm; the day felt ordinary. But then, a woman approached us — and what she asked changed everything.
She looked hesitant, a little nervous, but hopeful. She said she had a dream: she wanted to ride a motorcycle, just around the parking lot. She told us that it was on her bucket list — something she’d long thought about but never done. She asked if one of us would take her for a ride around that lot for twenty dollars. Her reason? She wanted to send a picture to her son of herself on a motorcycle, to show him she had lived a little, even in moments many would pass by.
We spoke. One of us volunteered. I asked her if it was okay for her to just ride with me, and she mentioned she was blind, and would need some help walking over to where the bikes were parked. She clasped my arm gently, and step by step, with my friends helping, we guided her toward the bikes.
There was a girl’s laughter in her voice, a soft trepidation, but also excitement I could feel. When she got on the back of my bike, her grip firm but her posture light, I double-checked: “Are you sure?” She insisted she was. She even made me promise that she didn’t have to pay. I said no, that this was on me, but she kept trying. Eventually I told her, “Keep it; it’s on me.” She smiled.
Then came the moment we all waited for. My friends helped her settle. I explained how she should hold on. I backed the bike up, warmed the engine, and gently we moved. Around the parking lot, slow, easy. She let out a “Woohoo!” that seemed to echo inside me. Not loud — but pure.
As we circled back towards the bikes, things changed. Her face, even though I could see only what I could in the light, glowed with joy. She was laughing. When we rolled to a stop, or rather when we parked, she couldn’t stop smiling — broad, real, from somewhere deep. It wasn’t just the ride; it was that moment of feeling, of doing something that seemed small but was vast for her.
In that instant, I realized something: the biggest parts of life sometimes live in lightning-flash moments like these — ordinary places (a gas station parking lot), ordinary folks (a group of friends riding together) — but an opportunity to make someone’s dream, just for a few minutes, come true. It made my day too. It changed something in me.
At the end, she didn’t need to call anyone. She said her friend would see us. And when that friend came out, she yelled, “Quick, get the camera!” And she struck that image — the picture she wanted — mounted on the bike, smiling, alive in that moment. And yes — that’s a picture I imagine her son will treasure. But more than that, it’s a story I’ll carry with me. Because kindness, shared joy, and small acts matter more than we often reckon. Sometimes, giving someone a few minutes of something they’ve always wanted makes all the difference. And today, I’m thankful to have been a part of that.