Blogaria

The peace was suddenly disturbed by the sound of very loud exhaust pipes. I, as many others, turned to see where the sound came from -- it turned out to be an approaching motorcycle. The driver was a big mean looking fellow: he wore a motorcycle helmet with dark visor, which totally obsured his face, a leather suit, and one of those cut off Jeans jackets where the sleeves were removed. On the back side of the jacket was a faded logo that had become unreadable.

The guy drove up sidewalk near the station entrance and revved his huge engine, which was a true Harley. An uncommon sight in the Netherlands, and especially so with the pipes that were custom made to produce the roar. I'm sure that he enjoyed the noise and the disapproving looks of all bystanders.

One of those bystanders was a little kid, no more than 8 years old. In total admiration, with his mouth slightly open, he gawked at the cycle and its driver. Then, very slowly, the motorcycle driver turned off his hellish machine, dismounted, and slowly took off the helmet. Contrary to my mind's image he turned out to be sixty-ish, with grey hair and a trimmed beard. The boy who so admiringly observed, couldn't hold it anymore, shouted, "Grandpa!", and ran to him to be caught in a big bearhug.

It dawned on me that my mind's image of a Hell's Angel preparing a train robbery might've been off. I observed the scene for a bit, turned away, and entered the station to buy my train ticket. Later, while waiting for my train, I saw grandpa and his grandson one more time. I also overheard a snippet of their conversation; grandpa saying that he had sooo looked forward to going to the zoo again with his grandson, and he wondered whether that old fat rhino would still be there. But even better than overhearing this, was the look on their faces: the grandson, glowing with happiness, admiration and anticipation, and the grandfather, glowing even more.

That day was a good day.