A short time ago in a large Canadian city, on a day with bitterly cold temperatures, the wind making it feel even colder, even into the -48*C range, my friend and I called a halt to our shopping and took shelter in a small cafe. Sitting directly beside a large window overlooking the street, we lingered over huge mugs of hot chocolate.

Outside our window we had a grand view of the street and the most striking, well cared for, shiny, adorned bicycle. It was chained to a light post next to a small bench. Even the cord that chained it was bright red dotted with various polka dot colours, clearly somebody really loved this bicycle.

My friend has a terrific eye for visual art and was enthralled by the sight of this two-wheeled wonder. Soon we were both involved in an in-depth discussion of this magnificent piece of machinery.

The handlebars, cross bar and frame was entirely covered in tightly wound gold colour garland. The fenders were covered in silver garland. Interspersed throughout the decorative covering were all sorts of costume jewellery, such as beads, buttons, earrings, hair bows and colourful bits and pieces of every size and description. The shiny crystal like buttons glittered and sparkled in the cold December sunshine, and the little Canadian flags on the axles and seat, and the edges of the basket mounted on the bike fluttered in the wind. The whole bicycle was transformed into a brilliant work of craftsmanship and art.

Passers-by stopped to scrutinize the remarkable creation, mystified at where it could have come from obviously. But nobody was around claiming ownership to the masterpiece. Some people took photos, and everyone passed remarks to one another.

Who did own this beautiful bicycle? And where were they? Was it maybe a piece of art placed there by the city as were many other such pieces that dotted the downtown core. Was it the project of an art class from a nearby college? Or did the bicycle in fact have a very caring owner?

We discussed it, questioned it, and not being in a rush we lingered over our mugs of chocolate and ‘people watched’. This ‘people watching’ was a favourite activity of the two of us since long ago student days. We would choose a particular character and see which one of us could come up with the most bizarre life story of the individual. We had played this imaginative game when we were bored students waiting for a bus, while we were young mothers sitting at playgrounds, and now, into grand motherhood we just could not stop it. Our imaginations had produced some very weird and wonderful stories over the years. And inevitably our exercise would end in gales of laughter.

But we were stuck on the ‘Bicycle’. This definitely called for a ‘brain storming’ of giant proportions. One or the other of us put out countless scenarios but none seemed quite right.

Then seemingly out of nowhere came a slightly bent, slight, elderly, poorly dressed, obviously cold and down on his luck, gentleman. He approached the bike, and started to hang bags of recyclables on the handlebars and fill the basket with an odd assortment of bags and garments. Once he had weighted down up his bicycle he sat on the bench beside it.

We watched in silence and then a young man who worked at the cafe came over to look out the window at the gentleman.

“I just wondered if Jack was back yet,” he said to us.

Then the young waiter returned to the kitchen area and brought forth a brown paper bag, opened the door and went outside to the elderly man, giving him the brown bag. They shook hands, and the youth returned to the warmth of the restaurant.

We called the Good Samaritan to our table and asked about this ‘Jack’ and the decked out bicycle.

“All I know is that he is well spoken, well educated, polite and kind. He loves his lunch bag we give him every day. He is homeless because he chooses to be, but he shares what he has with others. We have seen him do that. He lives on the street and goes to the shelters only when it is cold like today.”

That was all he could tell us. He shrugged, smiled and walked back to his work.

Later the young waiter came back and told us that ’Jack’ collected the goods to recycle to give him some pocket change. He did not drink, and he tied his bicycle to the same post every single day without fail. He posed no threat to anyone and was always polite and quiet. He also told us that the bicycle was always adorned out like it was today and he did it in holiday themes and colours to suit the seasons.

“It is always so beautifully done!”, he said with a surprised voice.

‘Jack’ finally rode away on his lovely bicycle, and none of our stories could describe the reality of what we had just experienced.

This man was an enigma to us. And to everyone whose life he touched. But exactly who is he?

He is, we concluded, a lesson for us all, and a different lesson to everyone, all is individually defined in this instance.

I tell you the story; each reader of the story of ’Jack and the Bicycle’ will draw his/her own conclusions. As for me I choose to believe, without question, that there are Angels among us. They may ride with wheels and not wings, they may be elderly and not young, they may be poor and not comfortable in their lifestyle. I believe they are sent to touch our lives and give us cause to reflect. These special Angels teach us to appreciate the lives and possessions we do have, and they test the milk of human kindness.

‘Jack and the Bicycle’; both gives us cause to really take a good long look at ourselves, that much is certain. It makes us reflect upon our lives, just as the shiny jewelled bicycle reflected the rays of the sun on a cold city street. And a young man fed someone in need.

Now I leave it with you. I really do believe there are Angels on Wheels, especially since my ‘Bicycle’ experience.

Do You?