A gentleman of mature years, with a few grey hairs that "are the fault of experience, not years", he says. Like any young boy in his early twenties, his youth was full of dreams.
His passion was motorbikes and speed. He also loved to spend his days in his garage, located a short distance from the block, which his late father had bought with his then-worker's wages a few dozen years ago. He kept a close eye on every screw and chain, and the smell of oil and petrol was his favourite everyday "perfume", which he loved endlessly. He loved nothing better than the wind in his hair as he drove his "mopi", as he affectionately called it, along the country roads around Slovenske Konjice. He drove all the way from Pristava to Škalce.
He was no stranger to kindness - he grew up with it. His parents, simple and warm-hearted people, taught him that what you do for others is the most worthwhile thing in life. His father showed him how to fix a neighbour's rickety cupboard or fence, and his mother left a plate of soup on the doorstep of an old woman who could barely afford a hot meal. Lojze drank it all in and learned as a child that happiness is not about how much you have, but how much you can give.
But fate had other plans. One October evening, he was returning from a meeting with friends. There were four of them in a car driven by one of his friends. The rain was pelting and biting the asphalt, the darkness was thick as smoke, and the driver, coming from the opposite direction, was speeding.
The impact was violent, throwing the vehicle several metres away. He woke up in hospital a few days later. The injuries were severe. A blood vessel had burst in his head. The world as he knew it had collapsed. At first he fell into an abyss of despair, and months of rehabilitation passed in pain and silence. After several months, he left the hospital after an approximate recovery and returned to his home environment. For a long time he did not know what to do with himself. But one day, as he watched a neighbour's child helplessly trying to fix his bicycle at the side of the road, the chain having fallen off the bike, something inside him stirred. Slowly, with care and kindness, he approached him and offered to help. With clumsy fingers, he tightened the chain, adjusted the handlebars and wiped the tears from the boy's forehead. "It'll be all right now," he told him. The child stretched out his arms and hugged him. In that moment, Lojze knew - he still had something to give.
Neighbours quickly learned of his skill. They arrived with broken bicycles, twisted prams and rickety furniture. Lojze repaired, advised and taught. His garage became a workshop and his heart was full again. Although he could never ride a motorbike again, every repaired object and every smile from a child made him feel as if he was once again skidding through the curves.
"It hurt the most when I had to sell the garage," he says. "But unfortunately, the disability allowance is too small, and my health doesn't allow it anymore."
The place where he once spent countless hours and where his dreams were born has become a memory.
And although he lost his place under the sun, for which he literally breathed, he has not lost the feeling that he can make a difference and help others. He is still repairing furniture, but he has changed his work location.
Zala Krupljan, 14. 2. 2025
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