Unexpected Cycling Encounter

On my last ride with Sam, we somehow got on the subject of "the homeless." I told him about a guy I met in Colorado Springs earlier in the year. This is a guy I saw all the time in the homeless "areas" while riding some of my normal biking routes, so I thought - seeing as this guy was part of my cycling adventures and I felt it warranted a place here on my site, but wasn't sure how I was going to approach him. I wasn't even sure if he wanted to be approached.

Here is how I met Virgil:

It was a cold, crisp Colorado morning, and it started with the intent to go down and capture some of the Trump protesters in the park. The sad part was how our country has turned so soft with an “everyone’s a winner” attitude that these folks forgot how to actually lose. The question for them would be: The election is over; why protest now? When I got to the park where this “huge” protest was supposed to take place, all I saw was a few well-dressed people in their fancy winter coats carrying signs of displeasure and two cops making sure it stayed peaceful - boring!

However, that was not all that I saw that morning. On the outer edge of the park was a few of our resident homeless wandering around trying to see what was going on. I’m fairly confident that they didn’t have a clue. Furthermore, when I looked at these two contrasting groups - the entitled privileged and the depraved underprivileged - I thought to myself, which was more sad?

Well, the homeless, of course, or so I thought!

Then I remembered the guy I used to see all the time when riding through the parks and trails. While Colorado Springs has over 1,400 homeless people, this guy really stood out. I wanted to know who he was and what his story was. I drove around the block to find a good place to park and observe the homeless to see if he would show up at his normal spot.

Sitting in my truck in a parking lot across the street from the local soup kitchen (next to the park), I saw him, this gentleman's gentleman, on a bench, dressed for the part, crutches to one side, leaning up against his bags and backpacks like a pillow on a couch. A few minutes later, he seemed to be searching for something - then distracted by a few goodies in his pack. This guy was the real deal, the whole works.

I don’t exactly know what it was about him, sitting amongst a couple of dozen other homeless, but this man, big and bold, strong, dirty, and distant - something about him compelled me to want to know more.

I took out my Nikon and a long lens and started shooting, watching - good shots, I thought to myself. I felt good about what I had captured - this is definitely a man of many stories.

It wasn't long before I got called out! The homeless are like squirrels; they all watch out for each other and hail the signal at the first sign of trouble. Time to head home.

That night, while going through the photos looking for that “one” shot for my story, I started noticing he was tinkering with something. A closer look revealed something that looked like an old cassette Walkman?

I had my photo; I’m good, right. But I didn't know any more about him than I did before, and then there was that radio thing that kept bugging me. If I wrote a story now, it would only be what I saw, not what he saw.

All day Saturday I felt like there was unfinished business. What was it about this guy, he’s just another statistical homeless person, or was he? I needed to know more. I had to know more.

I did get called out the day before. He knew my face; I needed an icebreaker. I know, I got it; that afternoon, I picked up a new portable radio at Walmart as clearly that old walkman he had, had seen better days. Even though I had my photo, I didn't have my story. I felt that maybe a new (working) radio would be a sort of "offering" to know more. I mean, an icebreaker was definitely in order if I was going to get to know more.

Ok, call it guilt in that I may be using him, or guilt that I am in a better “life position” than him; or my photojournalists need to just know more about who he was. If nothing more than a peace offering for disrupting his day the day before, I was ok with that.

A bit of doubt: Colorado Springs has over a thousand homeless people; what made me think that I would ever find this guy again? But I had to try. I remembered some of his normal hangouts. So the next morning, I headed back to the soup kitchen, radio and extra batteries in hand. I needed to know more about him (selfish, I know), and I needed some closure before I could use his photo. As I made the loop around the block, there he was, sitting in the exact same place he was two days ago. I worndered, had he ever never left?

Please meet Virgil "The Traveler!"

A world traveler in his own right (he did mention that he made it to Acapulco once), I introduced myself as a local photojournalist and had seen him in random places while riding my bike. I mentioned that I had taken some photos of him the Friday before and noticed that he was trying to get his walkman to work. He stated, "It was taken away from me and tossed into a puddle." I mentioned I felt that it was fair that if I was going to use his photo that I should offer something in return for using it and offered him the radio I purchased the day before. He smiled the biggest smile and reached out his hand, not to take the radio but to shake my hand and introduce himself as Virgil. No matter what life experiences and difficulties he may have seen - respect is one thing that has not eluded him.

We got to chatting, or should I say he got to chatting. The stories, blurbs of his life on the road and on the railroad tracks - here, there, this guy was everywhere. I told him I was creating a photographic story for my blog. I asked if he minded if I took a couple more shots - he was so appreciative that someone new was listening to his stories; he didn’t care what I was doing; he actually encouraged it.

Oh, the stories this man has! We talked about how he lost all his fingers on his left hand in a gardening accident in Canada. I asked about his foot (the one that was missing), and he mentioned it was an accident on a train. He was standing on a coupler between two box cars when the train backed up to couple them together - his foot was caught in between and was smashed; he lost everything but his heel.

I asked him, “Why Colorado?” and his answer was rather simple - between Acapulco, Alaska, Canada, Georgia, and Main - Colorado was the most dangerous, he said with a smile! He mentioned that he actually hates Colorado, but between the brutal homeless people here and the extreme winters, he does not get comfortable or complacent. He said that’s how you die; to survive, you must “stay awake and alert.” That’s why Colorado! Frick'n crazy, right? But his instinct to stay alive was not so crazy if you think about it.

The one thing that kept sticking in my mind the whole time I listened to him was how happy he actually seemed to be, smiling and laughing as he described how he had lived a full life. Not one that you or I may define as full, but one that he does. So I asked myself, did I get this right, or did he?

My time with Virgil was coming to an end, the dinner bell from the Soup Kitchen was ringing. I did give him some extra cash (I always do when photographing the homeless) for allowing me to hear his story and take additional photos.

As cyclists, we typically photograph our very expensive rides to post our successes online. As humans, I encourage you to occasionally look at the less fortunate. Go outside and find a story. Amongst, all your "bike" posts, learn about someone else and tell their story - not only with your camera but with words. And if you use a photo or two from someone less privileged than you, compensate them for it - it’s just the right thing to do!