A few years ago while out training on my geared bike. I had to answer a call of nature while riding through a small country town, so I pulled into the rest rooms at the local park. I noticed him sitting by himself with his old heavily laden bike near a rotunda so I went over to have a chat and a bite to eat.

His bike was an ancient SS with a back foot brake, upturned drops and homemade pannier racks B & F for his plastic gerry cans which he used to carry water, food and clothing.

He was a little guy, his face, arms and legs were etched and tanned by years in the sun, wiry and fit and not a scrap of fat on him, a real friendly likeable fellow. He greeted me with a warm welcome so I sat on a log next to him and we traded stories of life and cycling. I sat in admiration as he told me of his journeys from Queensland (Australia) to Victoria, his tales of sleeping it rough with his swag, ( I don't know what you Americans call swags, they are a canvas bag that you crawl into for camping). He had lost his wife a few years before this, so he sold everything he had, loaded up his bike and started riding, he went where he fancied, slept where he wished and harmed nobody.

He was very concerned that people considered him as a bum or hobo and went to great pains to appear clean and well presented, I assured him I saw him as a nice old guy and wished him well on his journeys as we parted.

I left him, thinking to myself, never judge a man by appearance because your life can be made so much richer if you take the time to listen to other's life stories.