During our travels in Florida we saw a lot of motorcyclists enjoying the warm weather and sunny skies. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle myself, but I have a handful of relatives with some beautiful Harley Davidsons and a penchant for the open road. In the parking lot of Solomon’s Castle I was admiring a lovely specimen of a bike when I saw a bell strapped between the fork (at least that’s what us non-motorized cyclists call it). It was small, delicate and spattered with a bit of rust. I couldn’t imagine why someone who sported a black and chrome behemoth bike, smacking of masculinity and devil-may-care attitude would attach something so wistful to the hulking vehicle.
So of course I googled it.
Before I’d finished typing “bell on m..”, google auto suggested the word motorcycle and took me to this page, where I read the following:
“It has been a tradition among some of us for a long time to attach a brass bell to our left swing arm, to remember our brothers and sisters who have gone down riding.
It’s a small thing, but the reason a brass bell is chosen is that, as we ride, it gets dirty and tarnished. Every time we get down to wash and polish it, we are reminded of friends lost, and our thoughts turn to the meaning of being in the wind.
As we ride and hear the bell ring, we know that our brothers and sisters are riding with us, and how easy it would be to join them with a single mistake.
And maybe, just maybe, the next time a situation comes up; they will be there to help us…as long as we remember them by polishing the bell.”
I suppose the lesson I take with this little bell today is that maybe, just maybe, I should think before making judgment. Despite knowing many a motorcycle aficionado (my mother used to run with some Hells Angels type in her younger days) it’s hard to imagine these rugged, long haired, “others” may really be family-men, sons, mothers, doctors, or who knows what. They’re just like me and you, people who have loved and lost, looking for a little Angelic guidance along the way.
