Monday, January 12, 2015

"gee Mister, you must be old..."















I watched as an old friend of mine, just turned 70 but still working parts, was hassled by a young kid, impatient with him.  He was taking too long it seemed to him, what this young kid didn’t realize was the depth and wealth of my friend’s memory and experience.  But yet I am just as guilty, as when I get the new kid at the parts counter, and he takes forever to look up a clutch cable, when my old friend knows the part number by heart.  Bob Dylan was right 50 years ago, “the times they are a changin”...” and maybe we haven’t changed with them as fast as it takes to keep up.  Eric Clapton turns 70 this year, how many remember him in the Blues Breakers with John McVie of the first Fleetwood Mac?  Before EC was in Cream, not the The Cream as I have heard them called.  At the tail end of many old timers when at Mercedes Benz, not Benz’s or Mercedes, but Mercedes Benz as they are properly called, we referred to 107, 126, and 116 cars.  We knew them by chassis, and could order parts quickly, if we got the older parts man.  Today there are S, E, C, and too many others to remember.  Same with motorcycles, only the older ones remember the first Honda 750 in 1968, priced at $1245, but quickly changed to $1495.  How the first Z-1’s were $1895, and there was a shortage of oil filters, and although the Honda one would fit, we waited.  How BMW was imported by Butler and Smith, the company named after the intersection where their offices were.  And BMW cars were imported by Max Hoffman, the 1600 putting BMW on the map.  British what was what we heard, no one knew that the B stood for Bavarian, or what a Bavarian was.  We all could tell the difference between a Chevy 327, a Mopar 383, a Ford 352, or a Pontiac 455 just by the way the exhaust sounded.  Motorcycles didn’t have sound systems, cars had AM with rear seat speakers, and Triumphs ran TT pipes.  Wide ovals were the tire of choice if they fit in your fender wells, and a tune up was parts, plus, and points.  Maybe a condensor, then set the dwell and timing.  Racers on Friday nights would dial in their distributors.  Uncork their headers.  The smell of Sunoco 260 in the air, a far cry from geeks today with laptops downloading tunes into a small motor in a four door sedan.  Made in Japan.  Or South Korea.  So when sharing with older guys, guys my age, and the younger guys are listening intently, eventually one will say “gee Mister, you must be really old...”  I rather think of Jimi Hendrix reply when asked “have you ever been experienced?”  and I can say “I have.”
It seems I remember those who we used to refer to as characters more.  My old friend Joe, who used to tune for Cal Rayborn, before he went national and became a hero.  Joe with his wooden leg, with a Castrol sticker on it.  Tuning by ear, and making bikes run better than the gauges showed.  He knew just where to set a BSA twin, a Triumph single, or a Sportster for maximum power.  A real tune up, not just a parts swap.  Done very 6000 miles per the factory.  But learned on the street.  I had a tech at Ford in the late seventies, who started after WWII, and could still change out a clutch in a Mustang in 90 minutes.  I watch John Wickham our worship pastor tune his guitar by hand, while another hooks up a box and lets the box tune it.  Which one is really a musician?  But the time is here now, where as I am retired, I hang out with the old guys, where we tell the stories of how it was, and the younger ones listen intently.  As we talk of our first bikes being 100cc or maybe even a 250, they cannot believe we rode anything that small.  How we had to kick start them, change tube type tires, and replace inner cables when they broke. The outer casing was still good.  How we mixed Castrol Bean Oil, and how good it smelled at the track.  How a ring a ding ding two stroke meant power, how a thumper meant torque, and they all vibrated.  And leaked oil.  Except for BMW’s, they weeped.  We took our bikes to the track in vans, and  would sleep with them amongst the milk crates full of parts.  A time when Harleys were made in Milwaukee, Triumphs in Meriden, BSA’s in Birmingham, and BMW’s in Munich.  All Jap bikes came from Japan, we couldn’t pronounce the cities, and few cared.  We were a small community who knew each other, who loaned tools and parts at the track or on the side of the road.  We stayed open late, solved world and social problems over bottles of Coke instead of on the Internet,  and we dialed our friends from home, on a rotary dial phone, owned by the Phone Company.  We smelled dangerous odors, mixed oil and gas, and used STP to lube cables.  Yet as I look back and so many are gone, I wonder what will my sons and their friends remember about their riding?  Their bench racing sessions?  And somehow I don’t feel old, just blessed.  I have great memories, and still make new ones today in retirement.  A place I only thought old people existed, and a place I thought I never get to.
It goes on in the church too.  Today we have Pastor Ray or Pastor Doug.  No more Reverends, or men addressed by their last names.  Formality has given way to informality, but somehow respect is still here.  When I first got saved 40 years ago the Jesus Movement was still going on, and many felt the church was hypocritical.  And maybe it was, for they taught things, and said things, then did the opposite.  They talked great words, but had little meaning behind them.  We had been told to love in church, but it took Jesus to show love to us.  Religion was on the way out, and Jesus was on the way in, and many old, established churches felt threatened.  They  had traditions, and this new generation was different.  They loved, they read their Bibles, and we even wanted to go to church, we weren’t forced to.  We met in strip malls, in classrooms, or even in homes, and abandoned church buildings.  We were the church, and soon the Jesus people were growing and the world changing.  And for the churches who talked love but didn’t, and who say they cared, but didn’t show it, or didn’t accept our new generation, they fell by the wayside.  Dead and soon abandoned by all but those who hung on to tradition, who never did it any other way before.  Who had never been involved.  Who filled a pew, and left a pew after they were gone.  Religion had externalized them, whereas Jesus made it internal.  It came from the heart, and hearts were changed.  Lives changed, and the unwanted became the leaders, and Jesus became Lord.  And while many subscribed to the prescribed external form of worship, we wanted more of Jesus.  But found the same death can overcome us, as new traditions begin.  As a new generation is growing to take our place, we all need to look to Jesus, and follow him in the spirit.  Putting away our new traditions as they become old and a hindrance, and let the spirit lead.   We need to get excited again as we once did, and watch as Jesus changes lives.  Including ours.  We need to put away our self righteousness, and realize just because we do them, that doesn’t make them right.  We need to welcome the younger ones, encourage them and lead them as they become the new leaders.  We need to keep Jesus first no matter the generation, or suffer from hardening of the heart.  Which is death, both physically and spiritually.  A place no one wants to be.
We need to follow Jesus and his spirit rather than the rules of men.  To truly worship from the heart, and watch as old traditions die, and new ones begin.  I still don’t get excited over a Honda car with a big muffler.  But today’s kids do, and as software replaces hard parts, I am learning to still follow Jesus.  But old traditions are hard to break, having a good foundation is the basis needed.  For motors it will always be fuel and spark, we need Jesus to always be that spark.  And it is up to us, for no matter the horsepower, or memory bytes, it is still up to the person behind the handlebars to decide how much throttle to give.  And how much power to use.  Meekness it is called, power under control, only useful if it connects the tire with the pavement.  And only when we are connected to Jesus.  As one generation dies and another is raised up, we all need Jesus.  The only tradition to follow.  For many the day Buddy Holly died was the day the music died.  Elvis has left the building.  So have John and George.  Joe Cocker, Karen Carpenter, and Jim Croce.  Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Pearl.  Otis Redding, Jerry Garcia, and even Michael Jackson.  Their music lives on.  What will you leave behind for the next generation?  Anything less than Jesus is meaningless.  Anything less than shared while alive never was.  Consider that at your next bench racing session.  Times change, but Jesus never does.  He only changes us.  If you ever wonder what we will talk about in heaven, remember you must get there first.  And Jesus is the only way.  “Gee Mister, you must be old.”  But I am assured of where I am going, are you?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com