carnival in Venice
I rode a motorcycle for the 1st time ever on the island of Corfu, age 23, while vagabonding solo about southern Europe. I paid dearly for my inexperience, falling hard on my right hip. limping under the weight of my backpack and recent injury I trudged with urgency toward the ferry dock to catch the next boat to Piraeus, Athens. out of nowhere a young lady on a bicycle appeared and having understood my injury offered to pedal me to the ferry. backpack and all I sat braced on the bar running from the handlebar stand to the seat post, a bar generally missing on “ladies bikes”. the maiden peddled with steadfastness under the destabilizing load and delivered me on time to my dock of departure. I have absolutely no memory of the face of my “savior” whose act of grace was fitting to be placed with that of Rebecca in the “original” testament.
the lady in red graciously posed with me in her Carnival adornment. besides this picture I have no other memories of her. how many tales can be spun from these brief but indelible encounters by a man seeking love.