Lonesome Echoes

My summer morning stroll down the road
For exercise, fresh air and peace of mind
Took me not far from my comfortable abode
When I met a man of the easy rider kind

Seeming to have bike trouble, I offered my phone,
But he told me he stopped his Harley to rest
A brawny, clean cut man, on his own
Many hard times, his aged face would suggest

Briefly exchanging words, he said, "It's time to ride"
Like he had a special purpose to travel on
I couldn't perceive, no matter how I tried
Why I didn't see him as he passed by my front lawn

Observing the road, no tracks from the rear
A puzzling situation in such an eerie way
He went out of sight as he hit the last gear
And the mystery of the biker stands to this day.