White Starling

The wind whipped across Haro Strait into our faces and white caps feathered the water. My friend and I waited patiently to hear the boarding call so the Sidney ferry could take us back to Anacortes and our car. It was 1115 and the ship should have sailed at 1100. I bided my time playing with Rosemary and staring off into the water and gazing at the green jeweled Gulf Islands. An old woman with a light blue cotton outfit walked up to my friend and her bike and started a conversation. I couldn't hear all she was saying over the wind, so after a minute I walked over to join them.

My friend immediately brought me up to speed with what the old woman was saying. She was inquiring about our trip and telling us how much she loves riding her bike as well. She was 86 years old and rides her bike almost every day, and mentioned how much she loved riding around Orcas Island. She lamented that she can’t do something as strenuous as Orcas anymore, and I joked that she’d have to settle for a ride around “flatter” Lopez Island instead. We smiled and laughed as the woman with the white hair and deeply wrinkled face told us a story of how she celebrated her retirement with other people her age. They went to Australia for 2 months and rode around, then took a boat to New Zealand for another 2 month tour. They camped the whole way. She was 60 at the time! She had that lively, British story-telling vive to her, reminiscent of all the old adventurous explorers long gone.

She continued about how even when she feels down, she insists on getting on her bike and going for a ride. Any time she can ride she feels so much better, so alive. She lost her husband a few years ago, which left her with the deep heartache of loneliness. But this old woman drove home the point that when she gets on her bike she doesn't feel so lonely any more. It keeps her alive.

I was staring at this beautiful, vibrant woman of 86 years, with healthy white hair and wrinkled porcelain skin thinking, "I want to be riding a bike when I'm 86 years old. I want to live to be like her, to tell such passionate stories of my years. To be strong enough to break through the loneliness and sadness with the help of my bike and to become a wise, aged woman like her." And I cried a little, like I always do, but hidden behind my sunglasses staring into the morning sun.

She told us to have a lovely trip, and as soon as we met her, she was gone. I didn't get her name. She left before I could grab my camera out of my bag and capture her picture, her essence of how I want to grow old. I cried a little more, thinking of her long life with her beloved husband into their wrinkly old age and how he must have beamed at her beauty and love of living, how they must have created such wonderful stories together. But now she was alone, and looks to her bike as her salvation, her best friend to carry her through the lonely times.

I can’t help but think I met her for a reason. Thank you, white starling, for visiting me and whispering your message. I was listening.