Back in 2000, one of those skipped over the seawall (in Ft. Lauderdale) and headed west up Oakland Park Blvd.
I just happened to be riding my Harley EAST on Oakland Park Blvd, and smacked right into it.
I leaped off the bike, and lay sprawled in the middle of the street as the bike spun round and round on its side looking just like a food processor.
Two Rastafarian guys with dreadlocks down to their waists, picked me up, peeled off their white T-shirts, and wrapped them around my road-rashed arms. Then they righted the bike (which was stuck in 2nd, as the gear shift lever, clutch handle, and left mirror had been sheared off), pushed me down the street until the engine was engaged, and I puttered home at 10mph in one gear with torrential rain and hail falling down on me. The 10 miles took over and hour, but I couldn’t stop anywhere because I would not have been able to start up again.
The next day, after laundering the T-shirts, I went back to the place and asked around for the two Rastafarian guys who were very distinctive-looking and should have been easily identified.
Nobody knew who or what I was talking about.
The bike, a 93FXR, is still my ride to this very day. I just keep fixing it and it keeps running, even though we are both little old ladies now.
You KNOW I’m telling the TRUTH because you can’t make this stuff up.
That is a great story!! Sounds like accounts of tornado victims, in Joplin, MO for example. Victims look for their rescuers with distinctive features who pushed a wall off them, for example, with no one known to fit that descriptions.
I think angels can come in all sizes and shapes and colors. Depends upon the need! Great story.