time travel

I have two pictures from the 20’s, the 1920’s, one of my Grandpa with his senior high school class at Mt. Vernon in June, 1924, and another hand colored photo taken in 1926 at Yosemite, taken by him when he hitchhiked across country from Pennsylvania, two years before he became a father to my father.  And his stories of that trip with a friend were always spell bounding to me, probably where I got my wander lust and desire to be on the road as much as I do.  He told of spending nights in jails in small towns in the west, at their request, no motels then, and how when they got to Tijuana and crossed over, there was only a gate, and no motels. I still can see him hanging onto the running boards hitching rides on touring cars, and the excitement he must have had.  And it all seemed so glorious, whereas today we take it for granted there will be gas and food and lodging at the next freeway exit, the first interstate was still 30 years away. 

But one of my most precious possessions is a diary he wrote in July of 1951, when he and my Grandma and her family drove from Pennsylvania to see my parents in Colorado, where my Dad was stationed in the Air Force.  Still no freeways yet, but a pioneering spirit setting out on 2 lane roads, battling traffic, stop signs, and not having to encounter fast food yet.  McDonalds was still a dream of two brothers in San Berdoo.  But eating at cafes, or fixing meals along the road, picnicking taking on a different meaning then.  But reading the journal, I can see America through his eyes, and know many of the places mentioned.  Staying at Busli’s Modern Motel, just 7 miles west of Roseville,  and 3 miles east of Media, Illinois.  Having a delicious dinner, in his words, of pan fried potatoes and onions, grilled frankfurters and tea-milk, and cup cakes.  A far better choice than any franchised meal. And the notes go on of horseback riding with my parents, I was still 3 years away, and packing lunches and seeing all of Colorado they could in a short trip that included his 24th wedding anniversary, celebrated at The Yucca in Denver, they packed and left the next morning for home.  Seeing Mt. Rushmore, and South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin which reminded him of home, and then home.  Almost making it to the top of Mt. Evans, highest point in Colorado, getting within 12 miles from the top when the altitude gave them motor problems.  Arriving home after two weeks on the road, and travelling 4700 miles.  What a summer it must have been!

And I have been blessed with two other memories from the trip.  One is the road map they used, courtesy of their local Pontiac dealer, Eight Street Motors in Bangor, Pa., phone 652.  With cities circles and routes traced they took, and of their next trip to see my parents in San Antonio, where my Dad was stationed next.  But the other treasure I have is the picnic basket, covered with decals from the trip, and also the ice chest and cooler for drinks.  How many meals must have been eaten using these items, I wonder if the plates they ate the pan fried potatoes on are these?  But memories of how things truly were, seen through their eyes over 60 years ago, when they were young, and so was America.  A much smaller America, less than half of who is here now, and a time of smaller roads and picnics along the side of them.  Ten years before Todd and Buzz were getting their kicks on Route 66, my family was travelling across America.  I wonder what they would think of it now?  And what they would think of how it is being remembered?

Just a generation ago we had no cell phone cameras, video was new and expensive, we still took Polaroids and used 110 film, until we could afford 35mm.  Somewhere between now and then our memories get fuzzy, but the photos and the journals like this bring us back to reality.  Words that form pictures, and pictures worth a thousand words when combined fill the time spent back there precious and fulfilling.  That special meal of pan fried potatoes and frankfurters still bringing a smile to the faces.  For it is in these special times, times not set out to be anything but just another night, it is where we find the treasures of the heart.  Times so special that a note is made, so when telling the story you brag about it, or get teary eyed.  A book filled with memories of how it really was, not changed over the years, but that gets better with each reading.  We call it the Bible, and it tells of times past, times of today, and times to come.  Times spent in exile from God, meals provided by God, and clothing and good weather all courtesy of Him.  A story of a 40 year trek across the desert, referred to as the Exodus.  A time spent with families, visiting other families, and having families along the way.  But another way to look at it is this.  The kids who were very young at the start, were in their forties at the end.  The old people, some never finished the trip.  And some born towards the end relied on the older ones relating the stories of how it was.  Times spent sharing a trip, you can just imagine the old men telling the young men, and how their eyes would light up.  Tales of a trip, not fully realizing that they were still on it, daily life excluding them from a different perspective.  But today we have the Bible to read Moses’ words, and his side trips along the way.  And can learn much from them, and how trusting God along the road, no matter where the journey takes you, is always best.  No cameras, but words so perfectly inspired by God that we can see through their eyes, and I for one am glad I travel now.  My manna coming in different ways, and having motorcycles to travel on.  My Exodus still in process, and the promised land, heaven, via Jesus Christ still ahead.

We are all on that journey of life.  Some times we will remember, and some we will try to forget.  But I am thankful God chose His to record them in His Word.  And the stories of Jesus, and when mixed with prophecies, poetry in Psalms, great advice in Proverbs, and the good news of the gospel, it becomes timeless.  And will continue to be timeless, because we will be too.  How we travel that route is our choice, choosing the route God has for you makes it that much more valuable.  Consider that on your next ride, walk, or trip to the store.  To some my Grandparents’ trip was just a ride to see their son, but it reminds me that the trip I am on is to see God’s Son.  For some just another day in the life, but for those of us who believe, a day that much closer to heaven.  Which takes patience, time, and a sense of who God is, and making it personal. 

And maybe the note from a repair in Lexington, VA., tells more about the trip than a postcard.  A verbally recorded testimony, putting our lives in perspective.  After having his horn and gear shift repaired, the mechanic told him “he never saw a ‘47 Pontiac is such good condition,” some 37,652 miles from new.  What does, and what will your testimony tell others?  Where is God in it?  If only I could spend an afternoon with Grandpa again, the questions I would have.  Maybe throw some frankfurters in with the onions, and potatoes, pan fried.  Some ice tea, to go along.  I’ll take the blue plate and cups like I always did....let the memories begin again.  On the road again, time travelling.  Eight Street Motors is long gone, no one answers at 652.  Plan ahead in Christ.  Only in Him will that trip never end.  And the maps are still free!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com