Last Saturday afternoon, Joe and I were driving down Main St. and we happened upon the aftermath of a terrible motorcycle accident. Traffic was backed up and being redirected down a side street. There were several police cars, fire trucks and ambulances blocking the area. The bike was on its side in the middle of the street with debris scattered around. Dozens of people had come out to rubberneck.
On Monday I passed by the area and saw that a cross had been set up on the corner of the road, with flowers all around it. The only word I could make out on the cross was presumably a name: Falco. "Shit," I thought. "He didn't make it."
On Tuesday it rained all day. I noticed someone had taken the time to put up a tent over the cross and the flowers to protect them.
This morning traffic was backed up in front of the funeral home. A cop was in the street letting one lane go at a time. As ours crept through, I saw that the parking lot was packed. At least 30 motorcycles were parked in a row out front, standing sentinel, including a few from the Watertown and Waltham police departments. Bearded guys in Harley-Davidson gear were milling around the sidewalk, giving each other manly hugs.
It was beautiful, all those biker guys gathering to mourn their friend. No dark suits, no solemn sedans. The guy was clearly someone who had touched a lot of lives within his circle. I would have liked to sit at the back of the service and listen to the eulogy. Hope you're at peace, Falco.
On Monday I passed by the area and saw that a cross had been set up on the corner of the road, with flowers all around it. The only word I could make out on the cross was presumably a name: Falco. "Shit," I thought. "He didn't make it."
On Tuesday it rained all day. I noticed someone had taken the time to put up a tent over the cross and the flowers to protect them.
This morning traffic was backed up in front of the funeral home. A cop was in the street letting one lane go at a time. As ours crept through, I saw that the parking lot was packed. At least 30 motorcycles were parked in a row out front, standing sentinel, including a few from the Watertown and Waltham police departments. Bearded guys in Harley-Davidson gear were milling around the sidewalk, giving each other manly hugs.
It was beautiful, all those biker guys gathering to mourn their friend. No dark suits, no solemn sedans. The guy was clearly someone who had touched a lot of lives within his circle. I would have liked to sit at the back of the service and listen to the eulogy. Hope you're at peace, Falco.
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