everyday that i ride my bike through the outskirts of denver, my mind often wonders about the day’s events, people i know, or things i have yet to do.  it’s difficult to recall everything i think about because my mind rarely stays fixed on any one thing.  i guess this is what keeps me from getting bored day in and day out.   blindly and somewhat arrogantly i zoom along the path with my head down and sunglasses pulled tightly across my face so no one can read my thoughts.  occasionally i wave at other enthusiast, or offer a “good morning” if eye contact permits.  fortunately i have a bad memory for faces.   i’ve probably seen some of these people 20 -30 times in the past six months and our civil bonds are getting tighter… but to me, today is the first time.

although i didn’t realize it, my thoughts began to diverge about three months ago when i noticed this one inauspicious looking homeless guy on the bike  path. i guess i don’t really know for sure if he is homeless.  i can never tell if he is wearing the same clothes from day to day or not. however i do notice the same shoes.  not that wearing the same shoes everyday is an indication that someone is homeless, but his shoes were something that i noticed.  they were these light colored high top work boots they looked very rugged, practical and solid like they’ve gotten some use.  if fact this guy looked the same way.  in fact he could probably be a metaphorical clone with his boots.

this guys is always in the same 2 mile stretch of bike path.  i never see him walking, just sitting on a table staring out into the river.  i never had contact with him, only because he always seems to be looking away from me.  he seemed a little scary, but only because he was a bit weathered his spirit seemed to be broken.  i normally don’t spend time trying to figure out the life of a homeless person, but this was different since i passed him almost twice a day…everyday.  i wondered if he had just lost his job because of the bad economy, or if might have been a traveler, and this was his life, or maybe he was a man running from the law after killing his family.

the closest i ever came to having contact with this guy was when he was sitting on a picnic table next to a long stretch of bike path, i could see him watching me from the distance.  as i got closer he looked out over the river once again.  this story has no ending really.  the guy just stopped showing up after that day.  maybe he found a job, or moved on, or got caught, i’ll probably never know.

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