Editor’s Note: The author lives in the Florida Keys and writes for the Key West Citizen. She is a friend to this editor and now to a man named Doc.

By Jill Zima

On this rainy day, I hopped on a bike to go pick up the Free Press… My usual Wednesday morning ritual. I had to ride to Payfair because the Marathon gas station at MM (mile marker) 90 is torn up (undergoing transformation).

I saw the silver-haired guy who pushes his metal basket around MM 90. You’ve seen him if you live around here… shuffling along, pushing his basket, moving so slowly I always wonder how he safely crosses US 1. In the rain, sitting on the bench, I stood six feet away (thanks Covid), and started talking with him. Seemingly homeless, he showed me his blue tent (or tarp) in his basket. Payfair didn’t open until 9 a.m. and he said he was waiting on a bus that came at 9 a.m. We chatted and he mentioned how with the gas station closed, and McDonald’s in Tavernier also torn up, there’s few places around here to get a cup of coffee. Made To Order was down the road apiece… yada, yada.

Given that coffee brings me much joy and comfort, this was a bit of a crisis. I understood. Still chatting, he told me he had ridden a bike from Cleveland to Albany, N.Y., and when I expressed interest in the Cuyahoga Trail, he advised to allow a few weeks. He camped along the route when he did it.

I asked him his name; he said, “People call me, Doc.” I introduced myself, and said I lived in the area. I pedaled back home with my newspaper. Well, I got to thinking… When I had spent a couple summers riding my bike throughout Europe, gestures from strangers were godsends. And I poured that last cup of coffee from my pot into a to-go cup I had in the cupboard, slapped together a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and drove back to Doc… I had to beat that bus now. And I did.

He sipped that hot coffee, and accepted the zip-locked sandwiches I put in his basket. (I asked him if he takes sugar — which I had brought in packets; he does not, in case you ever bring Doc coffee!)

And then I thanked the good Lord for my message today. No matter how difficult things are, someone always has it a little (or a lot) worse. And since I am emotional lately, I have to keep things in perspective. We all do.

I can’t wait ‘til a future bike ride when I see that same guy I’ve seen so often, shuffling along with his basket. I look forward to being able next time to acknowledge him by name… and to shout out, “What’s, up Doc?”