As you know, or don’t know, or don’t really care, I’m a motorcyclist who does not own a car. Which means my daily trek from downtown Denver to Louisville (~24 miles each way) is done on a bike, my cane bungee corded to the side and my backpack on the back seat. On really hot days, it’s absolutely miserable, a 15 pound helmet crammed on my head, wearing more layers than I’d like, thick leather gloves, my legs mere inches from a 650cc engine pumping out oodles and oodles of thick heat.

But one of the joys of being a motorcyclist is the wave that is shared between two bikers headed in opposite directions. Often on the highway it is difficult to get a return wave, as people seem to be hesitant to take a hand off controlling the bike at 75 miles per hour. But there are two people I get a wave from each and every work day.

It’s like a changing of the guard. I leave downtown Denver to head out to Louisville, where these two do the exact opposite. I see them both on my way to work, and on the way back. One is a somewhat diminutive woman who waves by, oddly, angling her arm to 90 degrees and pointing her index finger to the sky. It’s like she’s warning me that the sky is falling, or there’s low clearance ahead or something. She rides a necessarily smaller bike, maybe a Honda Shadow, and she never misses her chance to wave. The other waver is a tall, lanky fellow on what appears to be a dirt bike. Really high standing, big plastic hand guards, neon orange. He waves just as strictly, perhaps because he’s afraid his bike is about to fly apart at the seams.

Regardless, they both make my ride to work enjoyable, whether they know it or not. In between the straddling my bike in 90 degree weather, standing on the highway, inhaling the poisonous toxins emitted by the Hummer in front of me, swerving between Civics who can’t be bothered to signal their intent or check to see if there’s anyone where they want to be… My two commute friends make it a little less unpleasant.

It’s amazing how the smallest thing can make your day better.