The little one didn’t have tattoos up and down his arms as the big one did. The big one wasn’t wearing a helmet and elbow and knee pads like the little one. But they were their own bike parade, little followed by big.
On a tiny country road, the oncoming lane filled with scenic drivers offered no way around the bikers (without giving them a decent-sized berth). So I slowed and followed them as they lollygagged along — parades don’t go too fast when led by a toddler.
Some would grimace, whine about time being wasted, the drive being delayed. “I’m in a hurry to get nowhere. I don’t have time for your biking.” But I just idly moved forward at a snail’s pace, noticing the trees the parade was passing, the flowers blooming in a nearby yard, and the two bikers in front of me having a grand old time.
A few feet later, the big one raised his tattooed arm up and out to the right. The parade would turn off on an upcoming side street. Just a bit further until I could go a little faster and continue on my way.
Little led the way as the parade turned right. The big one turned back towards me, smiled, and gave me a thumbs up. I waved and went off in the opposite direction.
I’m still smiling from being part of an impromptu parade, one of those little moments that matter in a big way.