He doesn't comment on the 'on foot' thing since his speed on foot could outdo any machine, but he catches the helmet. It's pushed down on his head before he offers a faint smile of thanks at the other man; a bit of finagling and the duffle and he are both settled on the bike.

"Thank you," he says out loud, voice soft and low. Quiet. The voice of someone who doesn't speak often, but smooth enough.