if I were king for a day

We all have a point where we break, a line in the sand that when crossed, we react. We have a limit to what we can handle, and then we demand change. Some 250 years ago men and women began to act on the dream of a new country, conceived in liberty, we call the US of A. And we prospered. Russia some 100 years ago also had a rebellion, and Joe Stalin boasted “give me the children for a generation and I will change the world.” And we did, and he has. Two countries born in rebellion, but both reaching different ends. One based on the state taking care of all your needs, Communism, the other based on taking care of yourself and your neighbor. And we have seen how looking back in history how both have fared, how one based on God has prospered, while the other based on self and no God has seen God’s grace, but never prospered. Which upsets many, gets them involved in politics, and end up following a man, rather than the Man of Jesus Christ. We used to play a mind game, “If I were King for a Day,” and today may be a good day to vent, to be a king, for the day. If only in a kingdom of one.

As much as I hate rules, I would set some up immediately. First rule is obey all rules. Simple enough, worked in Mayberry. Second would be enforcement of all laws. All citizens would be required to carry a handgun, and would have to obtain a permit after rigorous examination to not carry one. Anyone caught driving while texting or on a cell phone would be mandatory loss of license, for one year. Second time, life in prison. Death if involved in an accident. All helmet laws would be abandoned, but those of us who choose to wear one would get a huge insurance break. Drivers and riders would have to pass a rigorous test to show they can drive, not just point and steer. Speed limits would be based on a graduated driver’s license, much like in racing. If you want to drive fast, you should be able to prove it.

English will go back to being our language. NO bilingual signs, if you are here, obey our laws. And find that a generation that has been held hostage by the bilingual atrocities, now can get out of the gutter by just learning English. Look how many fail because they don’t know the language. We have been deceived long enough. Schools would require Bible teaching, a time of prayer, and arithmetic, gym, language arts, and science. No special Latino, black, or other minority classes. We are all Americans, enough division in the name of equality. We would protect and enforce our borders. And to become an American be instructed on how when you lose something, you gain even more when you become one. You don’t bring your troubles for us, leave them behind. After all didn’t you come here for the American dream, or to perpetuate your nightmare? Governments-from local to federal would be required to stay within their budgets. If not, all responsible from the top down, face jail for 8 years. No more than one term for each elected official, and Congress and the President would be on a no salary, no benefit wage. Armed forces would have their salaries doubled, and held accountable-by the enlisted man, instead of the generals. Put some brass in the firing line and see how fast things change.

We would cheerfully want to find out about any government problems, and remember first and foremost we are Americans, rather than conservative and liberal. Whoever divided us by saying unity in diversity lied. Vote by your convictions, not what is good for you. Be willing to sacrifice for the common good, not turn for more welfare. We will be required to be responsible for our own actions, and all ill gotten gains will be taken away, and spread among the poor. All honest riches would be taxed evenly, with the emphasis on not over taxing the rich, but incentives given to want to be one. Rewards would be given for productivity, and life can be pointed back to a Jimmy Stewart movie setting, where we all are neighbors, and our brother’s keepers. Manners would be taught, and used, because we want to. The proper answer to thank you is you’re welcome. Not no problem. No slow cars in the fast lane, police will ticket anyone impeding the flow of traffic. BTW, it is the law now.

Church once again will be a place of worship, and open 7 days a week. Freedom OF religion, not from it. Jesus will be welcome in schools, look what has happened since God has been removed. Sundays would be days off, to rest. Go riding, or to visit. Nativity scenes would flourish at Christmas time. Christmas and Easter breaks will no longer be called spring and winter breaks. They are what they are for a reason. Men would treat women like ladies, and they would respond like one. And my list would go on and on. We would become a nation again of respect, of ourselves and each other. Laziness would be a felony...a lot of laws for one who doesn’t like laws, huh?

But it can be stated simply enough, as Jesus did. Love the Lord with all your heart, and love your neighbor as yourself. Imagine that one being enforced. And someday it will be, in heaven. No laws, only love. No divisions, they will be left behind. No cops, helmet laws, plea bargains, or taxes. It will all be paid in full. And heaven doesn’t have to begin when you die, but it starts when you let Jesus into your life. You get all the things of heaven here, ON EARTH, AS IT IS IN HEAVEN! So why don’t we follow Jesus now, and avoid the rush? Let the blessings fall where they may,and look out, the skies will be full of them. Take some time today and start the process. Let someone cut in front of you. Hang up your phone. Smile at someone while opening the door for them. Give a motorcycle some extra room. Go shooting. Welcome the stranger, show them the love of Christ, without words. Make them welcome by showing love. One simple law can replace all the man made ones. Remember, the more laws, the more chance to break one. So make love your only law, and practice it now. Don’t wait for some one else, start a new trend. Demand the truth, it will set you free. His name is Jesus. Make your first rule to obey His first rule, His only rule. If it works in Mayberry, SHAZZAM!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

to all Roys everywhere

I really didn’t care for te term “Old School,” until I considered what “New School” is, and suddenly I am glad I am “Old School.” But what about those who are older than “Old School?” Who are just “School?” That would be a guy Vnny I used to know. Vinny was from Brooklyn, grew up in the same neighbor hood as Gil Hodges, when he was still the first baseman for the then Brooklyn Dodgers. He would tell stories of seeing Gil walking up the street after getting off the subway after a home game at Ebbets Field, or an away game with the NY Giants at the Polo Grounds. He can remember Gil talking with his neighbors, and going off to work in the off season, where ball players sold cars, insurance, or worked in clothing stores, a far cry from the so called “professional” athlete of today. But Vinny , some 45 years later, and not the same teen anymore, still lives in 1955 Brooklyn. The year the Dodgers beat the hated Yankess in the World Series, and next year became this year for all the loyal Dodger fans. Who only a few years later would lose their beloved team to Chavez Ravine, aka Los Angeles, and the Giants would no longer be the cross town rivals, but the cross state rival in San Francisco. Life as Vinny remembers it, or as he conducts it today is all based on the National League of 1955, interpreted from Brooklynese into American, his second language. A world best described by one John Kruk, a first baseman of the Padres in the 90’s. He was approached one time at the airport by a woman who thought she recognized him, “Aren’t you an athlete?” she asked. “No man, I’m a ballplayer.” And suddenly Vinny’s outlook on life isn’t so warped, but provides a brief respite from the world of today, where ballplayers are entertainment figures, and would never sell insurance, but hype it on TV for you to buy. Welcome to Vinny’s world.

Now Vinny was a simple man, and in conversations he would tell how his mother raised him. Fathers went to work back then, mothers stayed home and raised the family, ran the apartment, and had dinner for dad each night. So Vinny’s mom had a great influence on him. And any conversation would end up in 1955, end in 1957, the last year for the Brooklyn Dodgers, and hear of his parent’s lament. Now Vinny was no big deal as a career man, he worked for the airlines, made a great wage, more than he was worth due to the union, and was able to squeeze, three, sometimes four hours of work into an eight hour shift. But his most endearing, or annoying habit was he called everyone Roy. Young, old, male, female, boss, or co-worker, they were all Roy. Which at first gave the impression he was either stupid or not paying attention. But as he would call across the shop “ROY!” the right person, or right Roy would always turn. Quite a communication system, one the FBI would have had fits with. Roy who? Who are all these Roys? Is this a code? In a way yes, but really it was just Vinny and why Roy no one asked. I could see Gil, he adored Gil Hodges, maybe a sacrilege to his favorite ex-Dodger, but the only Roywas Roy Campanella, who everyone called Campy. So the mystery continues in Vinnyland. You might say schools out on that one, just “School” to Vinny.

God refers to us in many ways. We are always the same person, but in different situations we can go from sinner to saint. Lost to saved, from child to adult, and from foe to friend. All in one decisive move, called salvation. And names mean something to God. I laugh when someone starts praying and identifies themselves to God. After addressing Him as “almighty Father, Heavenly Host, blessed redeemer,” and other adjectives, or names for God, they go on to introduce themselves and the situation. Just in case the lines got crossed, and in Vinnyese another Roy is praying. Then they go on and ask for things, help, and then cut Him off from the answer. And although it can sound intimate, many times it is just based on how we were taught, and reflects more of our relationship than we care to admit. So Jesus tells us to call Him Abba, or Daddy-make it that personal. We all have fathers, but not all are dads. And our Heavenly Father wants that and more. So get personal with Him, not just in prayer, but during the day in psalms, songs, and thought involve Him. Don’t wait until you drift off into “now I lay me down to sleep...”and you do. Talk with God, but listen also. Why ask if you don’t want to hear the answer? And His title is God, Heavenly Father, Almighty, but His name is Jesus. And we can be on a first name basis with the God of the Universe! Even if your name is Roy, and He knows each Roy by name! And maybe His answers will make more sense since now you allow them to be personal. One to one. Intimate, just like talking with an old friend who knows you, and all about you, and loves you anyway. Call Him Dad, thank Jesus, and let the Spirit guide your words, and when you can’t find them, He will intercede where words fail. That’s prayer, that’s Jesus. Stop and try it now.

Or end like I did one day with Vinny. I messed up some things he had sorted out on his work bench, and I heard he was mad. He was mad at Roy. So going back to apologize, and not finding him there, I decided to leave a note, saying it was me who had messed up is bench, and I was sorry. I was just starting my car, when the thought hit me I had signed the note Mike. He would never know who Mike was, so I went back, wrote another, and signed it Roy. He’ll know which one, and never have to wonder who Mike is. Just School, and just Jesus. The way things ought to be. No further intros needed, visit like old friends today. Before time slips away and you wonder what happened. No one ever thought the Dodgers would leave Brooklyn, today Ebbets Field is a housing project, the projects as they are referred to. Be yourself in Jesus, it is hard enough being yourself anyway, why not let God make your day better? And if He asks “who sent you?” Tell Him Roy, He’ll know who. Just school. Now you do too.

love with compassion to Roys everywhere,

Mike aka Roy

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

the parable of the gum balls

At the corner of Terrill Road and South Avenue used to be a grocery store called FINAST an acronym for First National Stores. My mother would shop there occasionally, and as a kid we got to know where the toy aisle was, how to look pathetic and get a free donut at the bakery, and where the gumball machine was, so when leaving you bought a penny gumball as dessert and a reward for being so good while your mother was shopping. Or more realistic, to shut you up until you got home, because you hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, and made sure everyone knew it. Guilty as charged. But as we got older, and were given an allowance, we got to be as wise as our mothers when it came to making purchases, we knew where the best candy was, where it was freshest, The Sweet Shoppe, not Crestwood Cupboard, and also where kids were tolerated, at least until our 15 cents ran out. And since kids sans mothers were forbidden in grocery stores, we rarely frequented them on our own, but still were always scouting the aisles for bargains so that we would inform our mothers that we couldn’t, and she shouldn’t pass up such a great deal.

We were about 10 years old, when my best friends, brothers named Bruce and Barry, made the big trip along South Avenue, via the railroad tracks we were told to stay away from. We got to see the back side of many businesses, including some small industrial factories along the way. After being systematically chased from most, we stumbled upon one where we found a pile of scrap, metal circles punched out in the size of a penny, a lot of money as a kid. So grabbing a handful, we headed to FINAST, and the penny candy machines. One wouldn’t work, although the diameter was right, but when inserted three deep, the machine took them for a real penny-a we were in gumball heaven. So going back we filled our pockets, returned to FINAST, planning to raid the machine of free gumballs. And it worked for a while, until some mother must have ratted us out, and soon the manager, confronted us, and wasn’t as impressed with our plan as we were. and we were thrown out, told never to come back, and they took our names, the same as being arrested when you’re a kid. But to us we had pulled off he crime of the century, even our friends were impressed when we supplied these free contraband gum balls to them. We were heroes, at least until the next Friday night, when Bruce and Barry’s parents went shopping, at FINAST. In a small town, people know each other, and when the manager saw their parents, informed them of their crime. Now Mr. Van Doren was never one for words, he was a hitter, and when I went by Saturday morning was told they couldn’t come out, and I couldn’t come in. We were busted, they were bruised, and I was scared. My Dad was, also a hitter, after the threats wouldn’t work, but this went beyond words. And it was months before my mother ever shopped there again, even longer for us to go with her. But after a few days, all was forgotten, but not forgiven, and we were out again, looking for things to do. But never did we ever pull that trick again, for we were assured our names and photos, along with our parents-a bigger no-no, were on every grocer store hot sheet in the Metro area. We even swore off gum for a while until we felt the situation had cooled down. A life of crime, nipped in the bud at age 10, before any further damage could be done. And I still try to avoid those gumball machines to this day, just in case the statute of limitations hasn’t expired from some 50 years ago.

Counterfeiting is not a new thing, almost from Day 1 in the Garden of Eden Satan tried to counterfeit the truth. And still does today, when reading your Bible note how much is devoted to counterfeits, false doctrines, and even false messiahs. Just because the coin works in the machine, doesn’t make it right, or even correct. And we are always looking for the easy way, or less expensive way, and our society today is out to blame every one except ourselves. Must be your fault, my kids would never do that. Yeah, but their parents would, and have, and may be today. Sometimes unaware, but sometimes using the old kid excuse, everyone does it. Which of course led to more spankings as a kid, because we did all do it, and our fathers did all spank us. But yet when faced with choice, knowing it may involve punishment, we still choose the wrong one, hoping today is the day God isn’t looking, or looking at someone else. But He better be there when I call!

When Eve had succumbed to the serpent’s wiles, and tasted of the tree, she would readily admit it later when God asked her. But when she offered it to Adam, his choice was different. He had to choose between God and Eve, between the creator and the creation. And when he chose to go with his wife, sinned against God, and the rest is history. Setting the precedent we still follow today, choosing the creation over our Creator. “Hey Adam, want a piece of gum?” See how close we can come. Born into it, we often choose the wrong way, as opposed to God, and suffer the consequences. But not all decisions are easy, I know of a woman who suffers from a disease for which there is no cure, but medicines are available to ease the pain. Yet she chooses to refuse them, waiting on God for a miracle. When I suggested the drug can be the miracle, she denied it. My thought being if I had a headache, would I deny an aspirin? And when it took away my headache, isn’t that a miracle? Particularly if I had never heard of them? Tough decisions we have to make every day. Yet we have an advocate in Jesus, to guide us by His spirit into ALL truth, so we don’t have to guess. But sometimes those counterfeits look so good, just ask Eve, or Adam.

It was our choice to enter the criminal world by using counterfeit coins-slugs. And we paid the price. Today you have been warned, what will your choice be? Choose Jesus, and when problems come fall back on God, or limp through life without Him. When an angel of the Lord touched Jacob’s hip, causing him to limp, who did he lean on? Who do we lean on? Some limping is more noticeable than others, some can be cured. Some are just the symptom of a larger problem. Today you may be wrestling with a decision, waiting for a touch from God. So was Jacob, in fact he demanded it. But not quite the answer he was looking for. Make sure you know of whom you are asking, the fakes are everywhere, and hard to determine. Only in Jesus do all things work out for good for you. Make the right choice today...for only a few cents I was willing to buy into a life of crime, limping through life I find it easier to lean on Jesus.

Jesus Christ guilty as charged, so we won’t be. Anyone for a piece of gum? Wait a minute, didn’t the Adams Company used to make gum? Should have seen that one coming.

love with compassion,

Mike

mathew25biker.blogspot.com

riding alone-only 13 more inches on the map left to go

On the map, it is only 13 inches from New Orleans to Albuquerque, or about 1250 miles, or a long 3 days @ 55mph. I was that close, and would spend the next night, uneventfully in Corsicana, Texas, my first night in a motel. After a good night’s sleep, I was off into cold, but sunny skies, more US 287 with another 500 mile ride ahead across Texas to Amarillo. All went well, but boring, a ride I now do in 7-8 hours easy, would turn into a nightmare. Any sane person would have pulled over, any even saner person would not have been on a motorcycle in late November in the first place, but I was and in the late afternoon, the temperature dropped 40 degrees in an hour, the winds hit in the 40mph range, and I rode sideways, freezing, and hanging on for life into Amarillo. I learned that tumble weed hit hard, as when I took off my boot that night, my left foot and lower leg were purple. Since Holiday Inn had been so good to me the night before, I chose the one in Amarillo, just before all hell broke loose. Ironically the same one that we would use in Torches Across America, they still liked bikes and bikers 30 years later. It had also started snowing, so much for the yet to be invented Weather Channel, I was riding into a blizzard. I was glad to have found Amarillo, it was right where the map said it would be, and in this pre-GPS, Internet, and cell phone world, I had made it just in time. And they were very cool, even letting me park my bike in the lobby, so it wouldn’t blow away. A good thing because that night the wind knocked my sliding glass doors off their rails in my room. It had taken a few hours to get warm, and the weather outside said no riding tomorrow when I woke up. But I woke up to cold, clear, non-windy skies, and with only 287 miles left, a ride I have no taken too many times, I was off. It would take all day, with the major stop in Tucumcari to eat, three bowls of vegetable beef stew to warm me up, then the last 200 miles to Albuquerque.

Now I-40 was not complete yet, and Tucumcari was all that the history books say it was. Busy, neon lit, even in the middle of the day, and signs before and after warning you of its presence. “TUCUMCARI TONIGHT” the signs beaconed, but Albuquerque tonight was my destination. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I was in an America where things still closed down for holidays and Sundays, and with so much space between exits, I found few places to stop, only the cold telling me I needed fuel and hot chocolate long before needed. I had travelled across much of America, three time zones worth, in November by motorcycle. And the old saying the closer you get the longer it takes was true. I wasn’t sure what Albuquerque looked like, was it tee pees and huts? How big was it? I knew nothing of its altitude, the same as Denver, or of the Sandias, the beautiful mountains to the east. I was travelling Route 66, which had not been decommissioned yet, and I was living history on it. I had no recollection of the Joads and others heading west to find their fortune, all my attention was on me, and my fortunes, and what lied ahead. History would have to wait, I was making it.

As I rode through Dead Man’s Curve in the dark, I was greeted by the bright lights of a big city, Albuquerque was huge! And it took me about 10 minutes to cruise across to I-25, then north to Montgomery, to 4401 NE-my new home. It was dinner time, I was hungry, and I arrived to an empty home, just like I had on my return trip a few months earlier. But John had left word with the couple downstairs, who warmed me up and welcomed me to New Mexico. I was home-I had made it, and tomorrow was Thanksgiving. I had much to be thankful for.

This would be my first Thanksgiving without family, and we ate up on the Crest, taking the Tram to the top of the 10,000+’ mountain. No seconds, no extra pie, but I was home, my new home. And I was thankful like never before. I had John, to share Jesus with, he taught me to pray, and we started attending Grace Church, where I actually got to hear Ray Stedman speak one Sunday. All was fresh and new, and our view from the apartment of the mountains covered in snow made me glad my ride was over.

I had reached my destination. I had finished my ride. I was home. It would be almost two years until I finally made it by motorcycle to California, and ironically on a BMW R100S, whose motor later would self destruct. God’s timing would be perfect, in that I would meet the girl of my dreams, and we would ride together, never alone, for the next 35 years, and we still do today. We were married in Albuquerque, and when I was life flighted their last summer, Theresa’s prayer was our marriage wouldn’t end there. And through the miracles of God, it didn’t, I’m still alive. So it is easy to see why Albuquerque has a special place in my heart.

I was 21 when I was saved, and took my initial trip across the US. And I rode across it three months later all based on faith. Guided by the spirit of the Lord, almost in ignorance, at least compared to what I know today. Today you may be asked to pick up your cross and follow Jesus. Not knowing where it will lead, but be assured it will all work out for you. When the blind man who received his sight, was asked about Jesus, he replied, “I don’t know if He is good or bad, all I know is that I was blind, and now I see!” See life through His eyes today, and never look back except to share your testimony. Find out how really good Jesus is. My ride was over, but the journey continues.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

riding alone, but never lonely inside the beltway

True to form, I had ridden 400 miles my first day out, arriving in Washington, DC only 200 miles away. I was staying with my friend Paul Sears, a world class drummer, whom I met thru Stu. They had met in college, and had talked Stu’s dad, a dentist, into supporting their dream for a year, while dropping out of school. Neither ended up going back, Paul moved back home and played locally, and Stu and his dad got arrested in one of the largest drug busts on the East Coast. And both did time. God’s timing on my leaving was great, as I knew many of those arrested, and may have gone down with them by being a known associate. This was a big deal, as it made the front page of the NY Daily News, and the drug pipeline from Florida to New York was interrupted for weeks. Paul had moved back in with his parents, and sister, Marianne, and they lived in this huge old house where their side of the street was Chevy Chase, Maryland, and the other side Washington, DC. The trip was boring except for being paced by a cop in Baltimore, who pulled me over and tried to bully me for going 58 in a 55. When I asked for his sergeant, he got upset, and like I told him, “we both were there, I’m sure he would like to hear why you waited so long, and were traveling over the speed limit yourself.”

From a 30 degree morning leaving, I would spend the next day in DC riding around on bicycles in the 80’s. It was beautiful, and Paul took me all kinds of places tourists don’t get to see, and we even got in to see the pandas at feeding time, who were on loan from China. Great day, great time, and great friends. But I found out the next morning why they call it Stormy Monday, and why Tuesday can be just as bad. We had stopped for donuts before I left, and when I came out, the bike would go into gear, but not move, and it made some horrible noises. And in the era of bike shops closed on Monday, it would be Tuesday until I could get it to Capital Cycles, and almost a week later until I would head south. The driveshaft bolts had come loose, which could have happened at speed, but didn’t, God again was watching out for me. But I spent that night out drinking heavily, with Marianne, in her new Chevette. And got very sick from it. The drinking. No way to impress a pretty girl who next year would be in Playboy, July 1976. But she was kind and took care of me, while my bike was nursed back to health. Paul was a real friend, good people we used to call them, and I heard from him for a while after I left. If ever again in Washington....

Now the I-95 corridor wasn’t completed yet, it was more like the Jersey Turnpike, I-95, IS 1,17,301, and I-16 corridor. So it was slow going, and my destination that night was Gainesville, Florida to see my old girlfriend. But a new section of 95 had just opened-no cops or any traffic, and I raced along at over 100 for a while. Speeds the road and my R90S were both designed for, just not legal. And I made the 810 mile ride in great time, including a late lunch at South of the Border. Pedro sez...and I was off.

Now Paula and I had been boyfriend and girlfriend for four years, then broke off when she went to school. And we reconnected after I got saved, and she fell in love with the new, improved Mike. She had an apartment with some other girls, but I was welcome, on the couch, my choice, not hers, for the two nights. It was odd watching them get high without me, but I had no desire, and while they studied, I sat on the sofa and read my Bible. The next day while she was in class, I went by the local BMW shop, where they informed me Butler and Smith knew about the engine problems, and were repairing them under warranty. Good luck getting my money back, besides Jersey was in my rear view mirrors, not ahead over the handlebars. It was nice and warm, as Florida should be, and the weather down had been comfortable, but the next day would be my last day of good riding weather. So saying our good byes, we would keep in contact, but we would never see each other again, my new life headed west.

Now Florida is almost like two different states, snow birds and blue haired old ladies south of West Palm, and rednecks across the panhandle. I was going west on I-10, when I was stopped in DeFuniak Springs for speeding. Seems the revenue enhancer who stopped me saw my Pennsylvanian plates and wanted to add to their coffers. Also I was scared, as we had been forced to leave Fort Lauderdale the year before, when our apartment was raided. I was clean, but what would the record show? I was let go with just a ticket, and told to appear in court on November 31st. When I wrote the court from Albuquerque that no November 31st existed, I never heard back. Either the cop had goofed it, or done it on purpose, either way I was clean, clear air to New Orleans.

Now having been in New Orleans in extreme heat and humidity just three months earlier, I was expecting Florida weather. Hey, I was still on the Gulf, and it was pleasant until the sun went down, and all the humidity turned to fog and a biting cold. I was staying with another friend, Ronny Cohen, a medical student at Tulane, and his girlfriend’s parents were planning a big dinner for me. Now start with a new area, in the dark, add fog,and the accent of his girlfriend, William David Parkway sounded like Wiggin David, and I was late, by only an hour and a half, trying to find Wiggin David. So close, yet so far. But they were gracious, the roast beef hot, and Ronny showed me New Orleans much like Paul had shown me Washington. I ate a Po’Boy, beignets, café au lait, and came within inches of meeting Paul McCartney and his band Wings. They had done a concert the night before in Fat City, and when we went to breakfast, parked in back of a limo. Smiling faces waved from inside, and we nodded hello back. Inside all the talk was that an ex-Beatle , Paul had just left in the limo out front. Paulie had waved to me, for him just “A Day in the Life,” for us conversation for the meal. After a great two days with the future Dr. Cohen to be, I was heading towards Houston, and then head north on US 287 to Amarillo. No more friends until Albuquerque, I was riding alone in the cold, but never lonely. I had been inside the Beltway, inside the limo, a college campus, and done the Big Easy. Texas weather would change everything... good thing I knew God, and He was with me.

to be continued.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

riding alone, but never lonely-the long good bye

After a few days back from my trip, it had become evident that the new Mike in Christ and the old Mike in Jersey would not mix well. My heart was somewhere else, as was my only Christian friend, and some decisions would have to be made. I wanted out, and only my job, no money, and selling my van were the only obstacles. But as I wanted more Jesus, the world wanted more of me too. John had planned a Welcome Home party for us at his parent’s house. His dad was a special products manager at Bell Labs, and they had gone away for a month, leaving John in charge. They lived in a private town outside of West Caldwell, home of Tony Soprano. It was down a long drive through the woods, about a 1/4 mile, then opened up to a big house, which reminded me of Mt. Vernon. It took longer to walk through than driving across Texas. It had a huge brick patio, then another terraced level with a huge pool, then another lower level with a pond, with a dock and fishing boats. I was busy trying to take this all in, looking for a place to park among all the high end sports cars, when John came out, with a group of girls. Wearing one piece bikinis, without the upper part, they all ran up and embraced me, and I was overwhelmed. And they all wanted to meet me, and so we all jumped into the pool-there were even more in the house, such dreams of a mortal man, and a dream only months before-now it was somehow not as attractive, but I was still attracted. One girl, Debbie, her dad made TV commercials, and I became good friends, until her best friend, Tracy, who was in Gallery, March, 1975 wanted me, and they fought over me. And I lost interest in both. I had also reconnected with my old girlfriend Paula, who now was in love with the new Mike...where were all these pretty women when I was looking? I would see her one last time in Florida on my trip, then come close to marrying her two years later. But my heart had changed, and was changing. What was going on inside of me? What it was was Jesus.

Work was also different, as I had changed. My boss Walter Illick had once laid me off, and then 30 minutes later, on bended knee apologized and hired me back. But this time I was glad to be laid off, and thanked him, he knew I wanted out, and wished me well. I later would go to his mother’s funeral, surprising him, and blessing him by showing love. I had changed. So I had one problem down, and two to go. Meanwhile, I partied harder than ever before. John and I spent much time together before he cut off his pony tail and went to work for GM. With no income, friends rejecting me since becoming Born Again, and my parents waiting for this California thing to wear off, I still needed to sell my van. John in Cali called everyday on his WATS line, and when I told him of my situation, he asked if I had prayed about it, and was surprised when I told him I didn’t know you could. So we did, and later telling my mother, she said it was sacreligious, but things started to happen. The next day I read an add saying this dealer bought cars, so called, and then went down. I was greeted by Bouke’s brother Dickie, whose girlfriend’s father owned the dealership. The same Dickie who had robbed my apartment and gone into hiding since I had put Por Favor on his trail, and how he didn’t mess himself I’ll never know. Going overboard to call off Por Favor, I walked out with more money than I had paid for the van, and the free offer of a loaner car, which I declined. When I walked in the house, hands raised in praise, my parents got more suspicious. I was praising God. Now all I had to do was service the R90S, and take off for California. I was so close, yet so far...I just didn’t know it, yet.

I had taken my bike up to Phil, a good friend and superior BMW mechanic in Ridgefield, Connecticut, some 90 miles away, and Geno had ridden me back. John and I talked everyday, and then he dropped the bomb-he was being transferred to Albuquerque in two weeks, about the same time I was planning on leaving. What was gong on God, everything had been working out? But I was to discover, two years later, why, when I met the woman of my dreams. So California was off, Albuquerque was on, and I wondered if I would have to brush up on my Spanish. Did they speak English in New Mexico? I didn’t know or had never met anyone from there? And was this where God was leading me? Yet with so much to do, and so much partying interfering, two weeks seemed like forever, until it got there too soon. I had made it a habit to read a book of the Bible every night, no matter how wasted I was, thinking it would atone for my sin, not realizing Jesus already had, and my lifestyle was taking a toll on me. You cannot serve two Gods, and I wanted Jesus, but bad company was still corrupting my newfound good morals. Something was to give, and I was leaving my wicked past for a new future. But one last party was to be attended, mine.

And what a time was had. the alcohol flowed that night, and people showed up to see me off, some I hadn’t seen in years, the common good bye was “you’ll be back,” as it seemed no one escaped the lure of Jersey. Wasn’t it the same everywhere? But I knew different, and wouldn’t be back. Just as a confirmation, when going to Scotchwood Liquors for more beer, and to say good bye to Herm, you know you are in trouble when you say good bye to the liquor store owner, a man pulled a gun on Nicky and I-and we split. Never did say goodbye to Herm-I had had enough. And although the party went into the wee hours, I was packed, ready, and anxious when Geno came to get me at 8 am the next morning. I would finally be leaving Jersey on my motorcycle, but not on my BMW, as Geno would ride me to Phil’s to pick it up. It was a sunny, cold and clear, 30 degree, November morning, but I couldn’t feel the cold. I was numb with excitement for my trip and what lied ahead.

I rode with Geno down the Parkway, before he cut off for home, gave me a wave of good luck, and I continued on. Washington, DC was my destination for the night, and was still 250 miles away. With Jersey November cold, I rode on, at 55mph, with cops behind each tree. I was on my way, riding alone, but was never lonely. I had left friends, family, work, and my past behind. I was truly a new creature in Christ, and my next test would come that night in the Nation’s Capitol. Where an overnight stay turned into a week long party...and less.

to be continued.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

riding alone, but never lonely, volume 1, part 3

As the truck stops ran further south and east, I thought Texas would never end. Ride from Jersey to Florida, and that same distance still has you riding across Texas. We were spending the night with friends of my new found friend John in Baytown, just outside of Houston. This couple had been in Israel living on a kibbutz, and their stories were interesting. But interest turned sour when the party continued after they went to bed, and the sisters next door invited us over. And my emotions went further south when one pulled a gun on me, and stuck it on my nose! She thought it was funny, I left-quickly. The uncomfortable sofa next door felt safe that night. This yellow rose of Texas was not the girl for me.

The next afternoon found us in New Orleans, with the French Quarter calling us. It was even hotter there, the humidity higher, and after the aridness of the desert southwest, this was misery. Add in the van with no AC, and think of a sauna bath on wheels, we no break for 300 miles. Even the giant bugs seemed tired. But we did the French Quarter, enjoyed Preservation Hall, even though we were shoulder to shoulder in the heat, but were overall disappointed with the French Quarter. Some of the bars, topless and bottomless, made Vegas seem tame, and one Hurricane was enough to tell us it was time to go. Bourbon Street turned into a big disappointment for us. No argument or beignets, we were off to Mississippi, and one state closer to home. We had seen life, although it was low, and now things that at one time I would have engaged in, now I found offensive. Was God changing my heart without telling me? Jackson, Mississippi found us on I-20, and after dark. In these pre-interstate completion days, there wasn’t a fast food restaurant on every corner, particularly in the south after hours. So seeing a Burger King open, we headed for the drive thru-the dining room was closed. The black girl was super friendly, said they were closed, but since we were so hungry, as we had pleaded, she told us to wait, and then came back handing us two big bags of Whoppers and fries-no charge. It was end of the day, and would be tossed out anyway, my first taste of Southern hospitality, and I still love the south today.

We had been sleeping in the van, and very tired, and very sweaty, we pulled into Birmingham, got lost when the Interstate ended, ate a BBQ buffet, then headed north on I-81. Home was within a thousand miles, and somewhere between wanting to get home and not wanting the trip to end, the mood became somber. The trip home is never filled with as much excitement as it is when starting out. After all the humidity, an afternoon of rain in the Shenandoah Valley cooled things off nicely. The views awesome, but Skyline Drive would have to wait. Amazing how high humidity is so uncomfortable, but rain which is 100% humidity can be so cooling and comfortable. But we were within a day’s ride of home, and distances that at one time had seemed impossible, now were no big deal. 500-600 mile days were no big deal, even today. The van had had no problems, other than Brennan falling off the roof when asleep in San Felipe and the right mirror breaking his fall. A miracle had occurred that I never knew of, God had healed my engine. So with thoughts of my new found God, I dropped John off at his house, and headed the last half hour to home. With some unexpected surprises...

My parents never go anywhere, maybe a morning of golf for my dad, or a trip to the A&P for my mother, but when I arrived home that afternoon, the only ones to greet me were their cats. I was living there, having moved back so I could afford the trip, and the empty house gave me time to reflect. How was I to explain this trip of a lifetime and the fact I was now Born Again? The trip descriptions would later come, but how do you describe an infinite God in finite terms? And when I tried, they thought it was just another California fad. But my life was to change drastically in the next 90 days, as God began to work in my life. There would be a huge welcome home party at John’s, friends that weren’t ready to receive a new and changed Mike, and an old girl friend who was. Work was even different, as I became indifferent to what used to be important. No BH around anymore, and when old friends came by, they were offended by my Bible, and that I was reading it. I still wasn’t sure what was going on inside of me, just that it was wonderful. But I was also very alone, as I knew no other Christians, and still didn’t know to pray. John was 3200 miles away, and we would talk sometimes, he has a WATS line at work. But God knew then and still knows today what we need before we ask, and soon miracles were abounding. I had lived my dream of driving coast to coast, but was still waiting for the chance to do it on my motorcycle. But two parties were yet to happen before that dream would be fulfilled. And everything that I thought was valuable to me was changing.

My first order of business was getting my motor back from Butler and Smith, the BMW importers. Who seemed to have lost it, then found it in a dumpster. To be retrieved later by an employee trying to steal it. But back home, all I had to do was get it down the stairs from my bedroom upstairs, so Road Aid Frank could install it, and it ran! I had my bike back, and didn’t realize how much I had missed riding. It is one thing when you choose not to ride, another when you can’t. But the van had turned into just what I needed, so no hard feelings. My next adventure had me going to the Welcome Home party at John’s parent’s house. F. Scott Fitzgerald was right, the rich are different, and I didn’t know his parents were. As I rolled up to their home, I was to confirm that for myself. I was riding alone, but never lonely. And the party was just beginning...

to be contined,

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com