Cycling along the ocean, most walkers seem to blend into the scenery: focused and brisk, their movements melt into the landscape like a tree or bush blowing in the wind. Consequently I usually just wiz right past walkers without really noticing them unless they’re in my way.
But today was different.
While every other walker faded into the abyss of Highway 1, one stood out like a sore thumb. Perhaps it was his swagger as he alternated between a jog-walk and a pant. Or maybe it was his tattered army boots laced halfway up his calves and his large cloak that he was clutching tightly across his torso in an attempt to keep it from fluttering wildly in the wind.
As the cloaked jog-walker and I grew closer, his gaze was straight ahead and focused, like he needed to get somewhere quick. Moments before I blew past him, he raised his hand in solidarity and extended a high-five offering, never once looking at me. Naturally I accepted and gave him a high five just in the nick of time.
This city makes me smile every day.