I heard the motorcycle approaching from my left when I was about twenty paces from the crosswalk.

The pedestrians ahead of me had paused to let a few cars go by – something that actually happens on occasion in this small New Hampshire town – resulting in the Harley becoming the caboose of a slow-moving but short train of traffic.

The man driving the motorcycle was bearded, approximately middle-aged and looking very relaxed. He wore sunglasses, a military-style helmet and a particularly bright, multi-colored paisley jacket.

I didn’t hear his music until he was just past the crosswalk.

“Saw my baby down by the river. Knew she’d have to come up soon for air.”

Perfect.

I watched, smiling, as he drove off up the street, and walked on into the sunshine daydream of a now very cool April afternoon.