The Fallen Angel

Dedicated to the memory of Jerry Cook

By Jeffry L’H. Tank

With the advent of winter quickly approaching I decided to take a final ride along the top of the Blue Ridge Mountains before winter fully set in and many sections of the parkway would be closed until next spring. I set out early in the morning with the intention of riding the southbound slab until I reached the southern most entrance of Skyline Drive. I rode for several hours through the crisp morning while the temperature slowly rose from just above the freezing mark to the mid 40’s. The chill air felt invigorating against my face, cold but not unpleasant. The heat from my electric vest kept my torso amply warm as the bright sun beckoned me on to my first destination, the junction of route I-64 and I-81 where I would head west up the mountain to the south entrance station of Skyline Drive.

I’ve always felt life is best when I’m out riding and that day was no exception, the bright sun overhead, the barren trees with only a few leaves still clinging to their branches as though in some vain attempt to stave off the advent of winter and the coming of nature’s deep sleep, drew me down the road and toward the day’s adventure. Being mid-week the traffic on 81 consisted of mostly 18-wheelers bound for distant locations to deliver their cargo, the driver then grabbing a few hours sleep before loading up for yet another destination. With the drone of the highway providing the backdrop to my thoughts I quickly settled into the ride and the miles flew by without incident and I soon found myself at the exit ramp to I-64.

A quick break for something to warm me prior to climbing the western slope of the Blue Ridge and I was off again, bound for the entrance to Skyline Drive. While the temperature had risen to the mid forties during my ride down the valley on 81, as I climbed the western face of the mountain it once more dropped back down into the lower 30’s as I reached the 3000-foot mark. With the temperature being what it was at the top of the Blue Ridge I think the Park Service personnel was somewhat surprised to see a motorcyclist appear at the gate, but with a quick flash of my yearly park pass I disappeared around the first of the countless curves of the parkway leaving her to ponder as to what kind of fool rides a two wheeler in such temperatures. I have to say that I’ve always gotten a somewhat perverse pleasure from the odd looks I get from the non-riding public in the winter months; that “he must be totally looney to be riding on a day like this” stare that all of us who ride year round are so familiar with. Like many of you I’m sure, I’ve come up with any number of smart-alecky responses to those stares of disbelief or the offhanded comment as I walk into the office, or am out riding in near freezing temps. Yet after so many years I mostly ignore them and go about my business, all the while smiling inwardly to myself “you have no idea what you’re missing”.

Once on the parkway, the rhythm of the endless curves and valley views that opened up among the barren trees lining my route pushed out any extraneous thoughts and cleared my mind of any lingering worries that might turn me from complete emersion in the day’s brilliance. The almost hypnotic effect of the stripes of stick-figure tree shadows intermingled with slivers of bright sun on the roadway worked it’s magic and I had soon become one with the ride and surrounding splendor of nature preparing for its long winter’s nap. Each twist of road, each bend, reveled new sights, sights remembered from past rides yet each holding some new, as yet unseen, vision of splendor. As the sun rose to its mid-day prominence, it sparkled off the water of the Shenandoah River that wound its way through countless bends along the valley far below. The hours slid silently by as I followed the mountain ridges, sometimes traveling for a half an hour or more without encountering any other traffic as I rode the pre-winter wind along the top of the world. Stopping often to enjoy some view of mountain treasures hiding among the rocks and thick forest blanket I could hear the songs of those birds that choose to stay and enjoy the winter paradise of the Blue Ridge. Their calls mixed with the rustling of leaves as some small forest creature scurried to find the last of its winter hoard of nuts and berries before joining the forest in slumber.

As the hour approached 4 o’clock I found myself nearing my favorite rock outcrop along the length of Skyline, a place I had named Philosophers Rock, that overlooked the town of Luray and Thornton Gap situated just north of the Route 211 entrance station. I parked my machine and headed down the short path to the outcropping to rest for a spell and enjoy the view of the sun as it sank slowly toward the next mountain range that comprised the northern end of the George Washington National Forest.

As I sat soaking in the last of the sun’s rays I spied some motion in the brush a 100 or so yards down the mountain slope from where I sat. After a moment it ceased only to happen again several minutes later. This continued to reoccur every few minutes and from the size of the effected area I assumed that it must be due to the presence of one of the larger creatures that inhabit the area, the first thought being that of a bear. While not overly concerned as it was a good distance away and there was a sizable area of clear rock between it and myself, I have always believed discretion is the better part of valor so prepared to beat a retreat should the creature prove curious as to my presence on the rock face above. As I rose to leave, the setting sun glinted upon a bright object below and slightly to the left of where I had first noticed the movement in the brush. Getting out my binoculars in order to get a better view of the area where I just seen the flash of light I was surprised to find that it appeared to be a reflection off of one end of a set of motorcycle handle bars! From the angle of the bar end I could easily ascertain that the machine was not in an upright position but rather was laying on one side. Being fairly familiar with the surrounding area I knew there were no roads or fire trails in the vicinity, so how then had this machine arrived at its present location on the slope of the mountain? Knowing I could not leave without further investigation, I picked up my belongings and headed down the mountain to where the machine lay. While I had not noticed any further movement, I nonetheless decided to circumnavigate the area where the movement had occurred in hopes of avoiding an encounter with whatever large creature that had so recently been between myself and the machine.

As I neared the location where the machine lay my foot stuck a hard object hidden in the brush and reaching down I uncovered a motorcycle helmet! The fact that it was of the variety mostly favored by those who ride cruisers only added to the puzzle of how the machine had come to be here. Since a cruiser is not well suited to such terrain I couldn’t fathom why anyone would attempt to ride one though such dense foliage as I found myself in. How then had this machine arrived at it’s present location? I could see no evidence that it had run off the road above as surely it would have left a trail of debris and crushed foliage as it tumbled down through the underbrush and across the bare rock between the road above and where it now lay. Now again there was movement to my immediate right, this time accompanied by the sound of a human voice! A voice of someone obviously in great discomfort! I rushed in the direction that the sound was emanating from and shortly came across the (presumed) rider of the machine that lay just below me. His position immediately indicated that at least several bones were broken and I could only guess at the extent of his internal injuries. I knelt beside him and speaking gently so as not to startle him, informed him that I would first try to make him as comfortable as possible before setting off to arrange for a rescue party and medical assistance. His eyes were only partly open but he seemed to be aware of my presence and his breathing became at once slightly less labored as though my mere presence was reassuring to him. I sensed too that he had lain there for some time judging from the large stain on his shirt, leather jacket and chaps that were torn in several places exposing his flesh. While I could still not fathom how he had come to be here, my more immediate concern was to try and make him as comfortable as possible before mounting a rescue effort. Removing my leather jacket I laid it across his chest to help keep him warm then rose to depart back up the mountain to where my own machine was parked in the hopes I could contact someone on my phone. I again informed him I would return with help as soon as at all possible, but as I turned to depart he grabbed my ankle preventing me from leaving. As I looked down his eyes locked onto mine and he seemed to be desperately trying to speak, yet no words were forthcoming. Again I tried to leave but he refused to let go. I was, quite frankly, amazed at his strength considering his present condition and there lingered that look in his deep-set eyes, pleading with me not leave him alone. Torn between my sense of duty to try and mount a rescue and his obvious need for company I sat back down and tried to calm and reassure him while I pondered the best course of action to take. The moment that I stopped trying to depart and squatted beside him his grip on my ankle relaxed, but I suspected that if I attempted to rise his grip would tighten again preventing me once more from going for help. As I stared into his face I could see he was a man well into his years, years that had not been kind. The deep set wrinkles, weathered skin and numerous scars told a tale of a life of hardship and suffering, of long days in the saddle and countless miles on the open road with not much to anticipate at days end. A man that had known little in the way of friendships for perhaps the better part of his life. How then could I leave him alone here, even for a little while with night rapidly approaching and temperatures dropping even farther?

In the end his silent plea for company won out as I had a feeling that he knew what was becoming all too apparent to me; that he would not, in all likelihood, survive the night with or without medical help. I therefore determined to renew my efforts to make him as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. After reassuring him I would return shortly and that I would make no effort to call for assistance, I quickly returned to my machine where I had a thin blanket and matches among my small emergency kit that I kept with me while riding should I meet with some untoward event. Upon my return to his side I stuffed my stocking cap with dried leaves to use as a pillow to place under his head. Since most of his wounds were beyond my ability to do much of anything about with my limited supplies and as he seemed to have stopped bleeding, after propping up his head I covered him with the space blanket to provide an additional layer of warmth. I then left to collect some firewood trying my best to remain within eye or at least ear shot of him so he would not think I had abandoned him. As he lay right on the edge of the rock clearing I deemed it safe to build a small fire since I would need its warmth were I to survive my nights vigil. The mere thought of spending my night thusly chilled me more than the cold air of the encroaching night, yet I knew that I had committed myself to this task so I was determined not to let that fear turn me from the path I had chosen and the unspoken commitment made to my fellow rider.

I soon had a fire going and sat down directly across from the fallen rider so that he could see that I had not left him to pass away alone on some lofty peak on a cold pre-winter’s night. Thus I settled in as best I could to await the morning and bear witness to his final hours.

As the evening deepened into night his breathing became even less labored, the firelight and warmth of companionship having, I believe, the greatest effect, enhanced by the modest blanket and what small amount of heat the fire provided. We continued thus through the remainder of the night, his eyes wondering from mine, to the fire, then back again. At some time during those hours a series of images started forming in my minds eye. At first they were rather vague, as if seen through a screen covered with Vaseline, a view similar to that technique used in old movies to soften the image of a woman face and make her appear more beautiful or set a romantic mood. These first semi-formed images were of a young boy in his early teens being taken on the first of many motorcycle rides. The young face grinned from ear to ear as the driver of the machine leaned hard around corners while the wind whipped the young boy’s face and his friends looked on in envy. Soon he appeared riding his own machine, an old off road machine that had obviously seen better days, yet the sense of exhilaration was ever present as he learned to ride this wondrous two-wheeled contraption. Soon these images faded to be replaced now with the faces of a young man and woman, their love so readily apparent as they stared into each others eyes and strolled through green mountain meadows beneath a warn summer sun. A couple full of youth, sharing the wonder of the first kiss, the first embrace, the first expression of love shared and bodies revealed to one another beneath the bright sky orb. All the while the images became more and more distinct and now I could not only see images but also became a party to their whispered conversations, even the smells of that lazy summer were revealed to me as the days drifted into fall and beyond.

Now I found myself sharing each adventure/emotion as though I had become the young man whose vision I shared. At times it was as if I was looking down from high vantage point, while at others it was as if I were looking though his eyes and sharing each moment as though they were my own memories. As the fall and winter progressed his/my love for the young woman grew and blossomed into a longing to share every aspect of their/our world together and thus that spring they were married and the young woman was soon with child. The years rolled forward and I now saw a small, friendly, newly built cottage perched on a mountainside at the very place where the young couple had first shared their most intimate moment. In front of cottage a little girl, not more than four years of age, was running and playing among the fields of bright wild flowers. Often she would stop to pick a handful of color, then running to her mother offer them up for her to arrange in the vases that graced the interior of the small house. Intermixed though all this were memories of long rides taken together by that couple, I could sense the soft curves of that young woman’s body pressing close against me, I could feel her arms around my waist in a warm embrace and hear her giggles of delight as we sped along the mountain roads encased in the joy of each others presence.

Then suddenly, without warning, the bright, warm memories turned ugly and dark and the house in the field of wild flowers stood no more. In its place was a smoldering pile of embers, with the form of a man broken by loss and tragedy kneeling before the unplanned funeral pyre. From the image thus formed it was readily apparent that the occupants had perished in the blaze and the figure knelling before the pile was the man whose life I seemed to have become so intimately intertwined with during the past hours. I felt his grief, indeed it was my grief as well, and the tears streamed down my face in uncontrollable torrents as the awful scene filled my awareness. Gone now were all the wonder and love he/we had shared with the family now lying among the smoldering embers, the joy replaced by an ever deepening sorrow as the embers slowly died, taking the last vestige of love and hope with it.

From that point on the rest of the night was filled with nothing but a rush of half formed ghostly images and dark thoughts of endless days spent riding aimlessly with an abandon that spoke of an unfulfilled death wish, a longing to end the misery of loneliness and depravity of grief. Long tortured nights spent in bouts of heavy drinking or spent in the company of a “loose” woman when there was money or bar room brawls when the money ran out followed by drunken nights spent in dingy jails in any of the countless one horse towns that line the roads between nowhere and nowhere else. These episodes were interspersed with periods of minimum pay piecework to fill the lonely hours in between, buy gas to escape yet further down the road and buy another round at the end of the ride. All the while the tears poured fourth, freezing on my cheeks in the bitter cold of the night and there seemed to be no end to the gray images that filled those final hours before the coming of dawn.

Just as I thought I could not possible endure another minute of those dark, horrific images the sun broke above the mountain top behind me freeing me from those dreaded images. I looked up to see that the fire had long since died and the eyes of my companion were now shut. It was quite apparent that he had passed away, there was no need to feel for a pulse or signs of breathing, he was gone but at least he had not passed on alone and thus his final wish had been fulfilled. I rose and started walking around to get the circulation flowing back through my almost frozen body realizing that I had not moved for the greater part of the night so overpowering had those mind-images become. I realized too that the coming of dawn had saved me from joining my companion as there was almost no warmth left in my body. I therefore gathered up some additional firewood and as the flames leapt up once more the first rays of the morning sun reached my encampment where I had spent the night. As the sunlight just touched the forehead of the fallen rider his whole frame shuddered once then was still. As I stood there watching it began to fade and by the time the place where he lay was fully sunlit he was gone! I rubbed my eyes and looked again but he was indeed gone and there was no evidence that he had ever lain there through the night, no depression in the brush, no area darkened by the copious blood that had flowed from his multiple wounds, nothing to so much as suggest he had ever lain there on the far side of fire!

I began to wonder if everything I had experienced these past hours were merely a dream, the fallen rider some phantasm brought on by hypothermia from having spent the frigid night in some abandoned place high in the Virginia Mountains? Was I in jeopardy of losing all sense of reality, was I in fact as looney as those looks received during the winter months of riding would suggest? Was my very sanity in question?

I turned to stare up the mountain in an attempt to reassure myself that I indeed was where I had perceived myself to be these past hours and felt some small relief when I recognized the rock outcropping just above me. As I stood there reacquainting myself with what I perceived was reality, I felt a growing warmth, more than could be accounted for by the rising sun I faced and the fire at my back. When I moved my fingers they moved without pain and touching them to my face they felt warm and without any tinges of the past nights cold. I turned again to stare at the place once occupied by my nights companion and in his place there now stood a shinning angel clad all in white leather. I realized instantly that he was the source of the warmth I now felt and I recognized him to be none other than my companion of the past night risen from death and now prepared to begin a new adventure. There before me stood my fallen angel, fallen no more. As I looked upon his face, now shinning with the light of a thousand suns, all the lines of pain were gone, the former sadness in his eyes no longer in evidence and the years of toil and grief that had hardened and twisted his continence were now gone as well. In their stead were all those aspects of the human soul that make life worth living, the daily struggle worth the effort, so that the human spirit may grow and learn the true meaning of sharing and love.

He smiled and the last of the chill was washed away and the warmth I felt was a warmth that I knew would last a lifetime. Then as I watched his wings spread wide and he rose to the heavens, but this time his departure left me not with sorrow but with hope.

I turned to look where his machine had lain a short distance down the mountain and was not surprised to see that it too, was gone. Exploring the area around where it had been I found no evidence that it had ever existed, like it’s rider, it had vanished leaving behind no trace. No trace, that is, except for a small golden key in the shape of an angel’s wing strung on a thong of white leather. I picked it and before placing the thong around my neck I noticed that on each side a design was embossed. On one side the design consisted of a crest, pinched slightly in the middle, with a horizontal bar running though the center centered between a pair of wings. On the other side the symbol was comprised of a circle depicting a spinning propeller on a sky-field, again with wings spread wide to either side. Other than that it was devoid of any printing or insignia yet I immediately understood it’s significance and the reality of it’s existence as it lay there in the palm of my hand gave meaning and truth to my nights adventure.

To this day that symbol of brotherhood hangs around my neck, and I live each day in remembrance of the lesson learned that frozen November night. As I have taught myself to look beyond the color of man’s skin, so too, do I now look beyond his choice of machine and see him simply as a fellow rider in the wind.

Thus it happened that frosty November night and regardless of whether you choose to believe these events as they transpired or view them simply as a fiction of an overly active mind the lesson remains the same, the truth equally self-evident, the underlying message irrefutable, we are all my friends Bothers in The Wind.

So may I wish all my Brothers a most Joyous Happy Holidays and may you all ride Forever in Peace.

© Jeffry L’H. Tank

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