On every journey, every ride, there is a point of no return. Looking back
we see the places provided where we could turn around and go back, but kept on
going regardless of the outcome. I had passed that point by a few hundred
miles, despite the rain and the cold. Even to the point of picking up a hitch
hiker while filling up along I-80, something I never do, let alone on a
motorcycle. In the rain. But he insisted, and I gave in, and for an hour he
got soaked like me. I finally let him off, he resisted, I guess he really was
going somewhere or being chased, and on I went. Into Ohio, and looking for gas
got off the interstate and got lost. Only to be led out of a wooded area by a
county sheriff, who told me “this is the kind of area people go in and never
come out.” Like I said, past the point of no return. But on I rode, the sun
coming up behind me, blinding me in my mirrors. Still early, but now dry and
cold, a Porsche comes up behind me, then pulls aside of me and wants to race. I
engaged him for awhile, but it was no contest for my R90S. And at over 100, I
ducked behind a truck when I saw the Ohio State Trooper, and he went by,
flipping me off, thinking he had won. An hour later when pulled over by the
same trooper, he was handcuffed in the back seat, yelling “that’s the guy,
that’s the guy” in reference to me. I claimed I never saw him before, and the
cop let me go, reminding me the speed limit in Ohio is 55, not the 110 mph the
Porsche owner had been arrested for. And on I rode...
Until just outside Columbus I was making time, drying out but cold. The
two jackets I was wearing soaked, and then the second trooper appeared. I saw
him first, so I rode directly over to him in the center median. As he rolled
down the window, I asked him, “I’m lost, is this the way to Dayton?” As he
answered yes, he also wanted to see my license. He had clocked me at 111, and
with no Porsche driver to blame, I told him to help me pull off my glove. Which
he did, my hand stained black, looked like Herman Munster’s with black
fingernails, and all shriveled up from the rain. I was shaking, and he let me
off. Reminding me to drop my speed again to 55. Which I assured him I would as
I struggled to put on my glove. And rode off, only an hour to my destination.
I arrived around 9am, in time for breakfast, and I was glad to be there.
After eating with the family, and her mother asking “when are you going to tell
him?” a few times, off we went to the lake. With no sleep, I went sail boating,
and was OK all day. But Ginger was acting aloof, not herself. Maybe it was me,
maybe the ride, maybe nothing. I would have a bombshell dropped on me by her
later that night at dinner. And find out why her mother kept asking “when are
you going to tell him?” Exhausted physically, that was about to be joined by
emotionally too.
Not much is said about the conversation between Noah and his family when
God asked him to build the ark. He was 600 at the time, and faced with the fact
he had been given a job from a God you couldn’t see, to gain protection from
rain that had never occurred, it must have been tough on them all. We know that
Noah was given a hard time for the 120 years it took to build the ark, but what
his wife. I can hear the gossip, “Hey Mrs. N, how’s the weather today? Going
boating?” Or the things not said to her face, and how even her closest friends
may have left her under pressure. How would you feel if your daughter came home
and wanted to date one of his sons? “No way, that old man is nuts. So are his
kids and wife. You stay away, I forbid you.” But yet three women did, and
married into Noah’s family, and would join him on the ark. How sad that his
in-laws came so close, they were family, but rejected his message. And when the
rains came, it was too late.
Twelve men, who came under fire for following Jesus, and would ultimately
be martyred stayed loyal. One didn’t, and often he seems to be remembered
most. How often we talk of those who died and had rejected Jesus, but fail to
rejoice about those who are saved and follow him. How many times have we been
asked by others when dealing with a lost friend “when are you going to tell
him?” My experience is to let the spirit guide me, but others tend to rush in,
Bible in one hand and a Jesus stick in the other, wanting to beat them into
salvation. When we neglect or are taught improperly to be that witness for
others to see Jesus in. To show love, compassion, respect, and courtesy. To be
light and salt, yet many come at us with their high beams on blinding us, or
dumping salt on our wounds. Remember it wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark,
don’t wait until it is too late. We all must know at least one person who needs
love and affection?
But yet Judas is remembered even more, or rather his death is. How many
know of how the other 11 died? 10? Even one? But yet we all know how Jesus
died, and for what. Shouldn’t that be enough to want to share his love with
others, the same love that changed you? It may be as close as the in-laws of
Noah, who rejected God, don’t you. And love on your wife and kids too, don’t
preach at them. There is a reason they stray, don’t you be it. But be there
when they fall, and the rains are knocking at the door. Do not block them out.
Jesus knocks not be let in, but because he was locked out of the church. And he
threw up because he was sickened by it. But yet he knocks today...
Skirts and wheels come in all shapes and sizes. Tomorrow find out what
Ginger was going to tell me, and how it affected my life. My walk, and my
ride. I had escaped getting ticketed for riding over 100 mph twice, would I
again? Would I even be so foolish? Would I ever get any sleep? Would I get on
the ark or make fun of it? Would you?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com