What is Love?

Cyclists, companions, and the gentle bonds of time

I am spying on four men who regularly show up at Maynard’s Boston Bean coffee shop in their cycling gear. They are not young. Today one wears cargo shorts and a well-loved t-shirt. The other three are dressed in vibrantly-logoed spandex shirts and shorts that describe their older bodies in unembarrassed detail. The tall and thin one dons a wide sun hat with a floppy brim that clearly protects his very bald head. I am curious about them. I see them here often. What do they talk about? How often do they get together? How long have they been friends? They chat over their caffeinated beverages and pastries. Sometimes they sit inside, but now, as the weather has warmed, they often sit at tables along the wide, shady sidewalk.

Last week the white-bearded cyclist came hurrying in asking staff for a snow shovel before heading back out. It’s June. I raised an eyebrow in mild curiosity as he hurried out the door with the out-of-season tool, but went back to sipping espresso with my husband. Before long I started seeing other patrons taking notice of something happening on the sidewalk across the street in front of the CVS. Some even took out their phones, aiming in that direction. We would be leaving soon, so rather than be gawkers, I figured we would see what was up when we were on our way out; it had to have something to do with the shovel.

As we stepped out the door, we had a clear view. Two of the cyclists were engaged in a complicated choreography to get a large turtle out of the busy downtown by trying to encourage its 18”-20” body up onto the shovel. Just as they would get her in, the turtle would make a move that would send her off the side. This continued for a little while, and though I wanted to know that it would all turn out well, my husband and I needed to get to work. So along with being cyclists these men had now become “Turtle Heroes.”

Today when they arrived for coffee I noticed their bikes for the first time. Two had your typical road bicycles, but the other was a recumbent tandem tricycle, with two wheels in the front and one at the back. The man with the beard who had been riding the front of the two-person bike leaned to give his riding partner, the man with the floppy hat, a steady hand getting up from the low seat.

As they made their way into the café I noticed how three of them, the short man with the beard, the man with the cargo shorts, and the other with the curly white hair, seemed to be helping to support the man with the hat. He appeared slightly unstable in his gait, something that I’m sensitive to noticing given my own mobility issues. He didn’t need a lot of help, but it seemed clear to me that they were ready if he needed them. Headed outside to have their coffees in the sunshine, they held the door for him, hands subtly reaching out ever so slightly behind him without touching, ready to catch him if he lost his balance.

I cannot take my eyes off of them and have to apologize to my husband for my distraction. They have finished their food and are getting ready to leave, likely heading to ride on the Rail Trail. The wobbly man takes his seat on the tandem with help from his friends. Smiling and laughing, they fasten his feet to the pedals. Now the man with the cargo shorts trades to take his turn leading on the tandem, while the short man with the beard and the curly-haired man get on the road bikes.

I am entranced by their care, their kindness. Does anyone else see what I am seeing? Is it time that has made them so gentle? What does it take to get to this place of love and friendship, and how can we all find our way there?

I wrote this story in June of 2024. Since then I’ve had the chance to meet the cycling guys and get to know their names. I actually ran into them at the Bean today and asked if I could take their picture and add it to this story I’d be sharing about them.

Left to right: Russ, Peter, Roger and Roger at the Boston Bean House. Peter told me he wanted to look like he was saying something important. :-D