The Smell of Dirt, McDonald's Coffee and a Raleigh 20

The shop is a place where, if your lucky, you meet an individual that really stands out. In your mind at least. These particular folk you seldom forget. They become legends and it seems that you can retell their story 100 times or more without tiring. I have one of these, and his name was Rod.

I say 'was' because I have no idea if he is still with us. Here or in Rod's place. He seemed to come from many different places and when he rolled through the door, it felt an old friend comin' home from a 20 week stretch in the woods. The long scraggly beard, the army edition green wool pants and Stanfield's shirt that was chocked full of pine needles and wood chips, the handmade light weight loggers and the sweet smell of Pacific Northwest dirt. That was Rod.

The conversations were light at first and usually revolved around our interest in trading a more usable part for a less usable part. We always made sure it worked out in his favor. I would guess it was due to the fact that he loved to ride Raleigh 20's. Really, who could blame him. I thought he was pretty cool. The bike definitely wasn't as clean or pristine as the one bellow. The fenders where removed for better mud clearance and the paint was always rough. No wire basket or milk crate either. It was wood all the way with Rod. On top of it all, if there was any chrome it was polished and shiny.

A few visits into our relationship Rod's interest in our 'donated' bike pile was growing. "What are all those bikes doing out there?" he would ask. "Um, I saw a brake lever on the white one. I think it would work well with the Raleigh brake." Everything had a place and a purpose for Rod. So started the ever present tradesies for coffee.

Now for all those unclear on this comment, trading coffee trumps most everything in the shop. Even food. Even beer. Coffee will get you stuff. Rod tuned into this pretty quick when he would ask "how much" for the rusty seized brake caliper, a tire, left hand pedal and 3 used tubes. All for his girlfriend's bike of course. The response was always "how 'bout ya zip down the street and grab some coffee's".

He would smile, then get all funky in his step and slink out the door, often leaving his bike leaning against the wall outside. I soon learned that in Rod's world coffee meant McDonald's and he didn't guarantee it would be that day. Sometimes 4 or 5 days would pass, then the door would open and in would walk Rod. Two hot McDonald's coffees in hand. "I didn't forget" he'd say, "Just had to run home. The girlfriend had some trouble". I eventually found out that "home" was a 1.5 hour ferry ride followed by a 3-4 hour ride on the "20". That was Rod.

After a few years the visits became less frequent. The time lapse between the offer to get coffee and the return with said coffee became weeks then months. Then the visits stopped altogether. I would think of what happened to him from time-to-time. It seemed that I was the only one. More than 5 years rolled by, then one day this figure appears in the store. It looks like Rod, kind of smells like Rod, different ride though and looking a bit off center. After a few moments I take the plunge and say, "Rod, is that you? Man it's good to see you." At first he seems surprised and in shock. Then his eyes turn cold and I'm met with hostility. "Rod" had apparently passed a few years back. "They" made him do it (in reference to the government) stated his identical "brother". I hit a nerve or struck a chord or exposed some one who had gone away. I felt bad.

I offed my condolences for his loss and attempted to return to my task. The rest of the day was a right off. I got excited, ran and told the crew and was met with the 'ol "huh", "who". It was then that I felt it. It was between Rod and I. Some days I feel lucky.