“Just One Ride”

It was supposed to be just another afternoon — a casual ride with a group of friends through the hills of Clay, West Virginia. The kind of day where the wind in your face and the roar of the engines drowns out the noise of everything else. We’d pulled into the Go Mart parking lot for a quick stop, nothing special. Just gas and maybe a snack before hitting the road again.

But then she approached us.

A woman, maybe in her sixties or seventies, with a soft but certain voice. She came right up to us and asked a question that caught all of us off guard:

“Would one of y’all give me a ride around the parking lot? I’ll pay you twenty dollars.”

She held out the money like she was dead serious. And then she added, almost shyly, “It’s on my bucket list. I want to send a picture to my son — of me on a motorcycle.”

I smiled and told her she wouldn’t need to pay a dime. One of us would be more than happy to give her that ride. I asked her to follow me over to the bikes.

That’s when she said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“I’m blind,” she said gently. “Can I hold your arm?”

She wrapped her hand around my elbow, and together we slowly made our way across the lot. Each step was deliberate. You could feel how much this moment meant to her, how much trust she was placing in total strangers to help her chase a dream most people wouldn’t understand.

When we got to the bikes, I asked if she’d like to ride with me. She reached out, running her fingers along the seat and the side of the bike. I told her again — no money needed. But she was firm. She insisted I take the $20. “Yes,” she said. “Just keep it.”

She said it like she was giving more than just money. Like she was saying thank you in the only way she could.

I explained that I’d back the bike up and my friends would help her on, and once she was settled, I told her how to hold on tight. She was shaking — not from fear, but from excitement. When I asked if she needed to tell her friend where she was going, she simply smiled and said, “No, she’ll see us!”

Just then, her friend came out of the gas station, so the woman called out:
“Quick! Get the camera!”

As we started to roll forward, she let out the loudest, most joyful “WOOHOO!” I’d ever heard in my life.

We didn’t go far — just around the lot — but you’d have thought we were tearing down Route 66. When we pulled back into the spot, she was still smiling so hard I thought her face might not ever relax again.

And truth be told?
So was I.

Because what started as just another ride turned into a memory I’ll never forget. Not for the roads we covered, but for the joy we helped bring to someone who had carried a dream in her heart for years — and finally lived it.

It reminded me that sometimes, what seems like a small gesture to you can mean the world to someone else.
And sometimes, giving someone else a reason to smile… is exactly what you needed too.