The importance of a name

There are already so many stories from this trip, but I know this story will be in my head for a long time.

It starts with me running out of gas this morning. Stupid, rookie mistake. I asked if the rental had a full tank... we checked to make sure. It didn't, so they said they would fill it. I believed them. I also asked what the MPG was, as older bikes don't have gas gauges. He said "50". I said 50 per gallon, or per tank? He just repeated "50". I figured I would play it safe and fill it before it hit 50. Except that I ran out of gas at 35. Lesson learned, check your own tank before you drive off!

So I am near the top of a very long hill somewhere in Malibu on the Pacific Coast Highway. I can't see anything in either direction, and for a moment I'm lost. It's 7am, and the few cars that are around are driving by pretty quickly. As I'm looking around, I hear a voice from across the way. It's a homeless guy walking down the hill on the opposite side of the highway. He asks if I'm ok. I laugh and tell him I'm out of gas. He crosses over and tells me he was a biker, and he'll always help another biker out. I asked if he knew of a gas station anywhere nearby. He said there was one back down the hill. He offered to help me push the bike up the hill to turn around at the intersection, but I said I was alright.  The bike was light, and the intersection wasn't far. He wished me luck and crossed over again to continue walking.

After pushing the bike 50 yards or so to the intersection and turning it around, I started coasting downhill towards the gas station. I quickly came upon the same guy walking. He had been so kind, I couldn't just pass him. I asked if he wanted a ride down the hill, and he could show me where the gas station was. He smiled and hopped on the back of my bike, and we coasted down probably a mile until we got to the gas station. He hopped off and wished me luck again, but we ended up chatting a bit. He told me about a bike rally nearby to help abused and abandoned women and children. He shared that he had been abused and abandoned, but that he still had his faith. I thanked him for being so kind and gave him a $20. He thanked me then and told me his name was Marty. And then he walked on.

I've thought about him all day. Walking around Venice beach the other day, I saw so many homeless people. It's amazing here, I've never seen so many. It's a hard thing to see, but once you walk past you tend to put it out of your mind. Nameless, faceless strangers.

But they aren't nameless. I learned that from Marty today. We talk about 'the homeless population', we read about them on the news, we wonder what can be done. Maybe just knowing their names is the first step.