This reminds me of something that left an indelible impression on me growing up; I was about 12 at the time and the memory is still very vivid. My father used to give rides to hitchhikers and other random folks. On this occasion he picked up a man who must have been somewhere around 70. He had nothing but a bicycle and the clothes on his back, and was moving from the midwest to California like that, just riding his bike the whole way. My father invited him to our house for dinner and gave him a place to stay for the night. The man had at one time been a professional pianist who played in "colored" nightclubs in the days when they were still segregated. After dinner he played for us; he was still a very good musician.

We lived in Denver, and the Rocky Mountains were still blanketed in snow at that time of year. I don't think this man had ever seen the Rockies, and did not realize he would have to cross 12,000 foot passes in sub-freezing temperatures. My father gave him an overcoat and warm gloves, and in the morning, drove him and his bike to the other side of the mountains, a round trip of about 5 hours. I sometimes wonder what became of him. I hope he made it to California and found a happy life there.