Precious

The evening sun shines brightly behind a thin veil of rain clouds, the usual gold of approaching sunset replaced by glittering silver. I walk up the hill, enjoying the sensation of a light yet chilly breeze caressing my fingertips, and openly stare at a beautiful motorbike, complete with leather-clad rider, descending the hill. The visor of his helmet is tinted but he turns his head and I know he is watching me gazing at him and his wonderful machine. In a second, he is gone. What did he see?