memories from before you could remember them

Watching a Mecum Motorcycle Auction on TV last night, I was amazed at all the gray hair in the crowd.  Guys like me or older, who have the memories of the bikes being auctioned off from when they were new.  Old guys on walkers who remember the first 1957 Sportster.  Criticizing the right hand shift.  Some who a few years later would have sold all hey had or didn’t have for the new Bonneville in 1959.  Some a few years younger, who couldn’t afford the big bikes of Harley, Triumph, BSA, Norton, and others, who bought Japanese, smaller in size, weird in appearance, but not in performance.  Then in 1968, BSA and Triumph Triples, who wouldn’t have hung out at the local shop just wanting to get a peek, or sit on one.  Only to be upstaged a year later by Honda’s 750, and that’s where I came in.  The first bike I lusted for other than the dirt bikes I played on, was the Mach III Kawasaki, 500cc of blue smoke, two stroke craziness.  Maybe the first bikes I could truly remember seeing in a showroom because I was there.  All the others existed before I rode, and those who rode and remember them are fading like their hairlines.  When did it first happen to you, what was that first bike you remember seeing and having to have?  The one just out of your fiscal reach, what would you pay for it today?  For just one last ride back to when it all first happened.....

As I hang out in shops today I am the old guy, my memories go back way before many of them were born.  They question how we ever kick started a 750cc bike, why would we ride a two stroke and mess with mixing gas and oil?  A tune up every 6000 miles?  Twin rear shocks?  Tubeless tires?  Only spoked rims?  And as the stories get passed down, they wonder how we did it, and how we are still around today to tell about it.  Mention TT pipes to today’s Triumph rider and get a “huh?”  Choppers were all Triumphs 50 years ago, and all shifted on the right side.  Lello had an old Kawasaki with a rotary transmission, about 100cc of fear, as it shifted N-1-2-3-4-N.  Then back to first again!  Unbelievable, I rode one.  Dunstall Nortons and Hondas, I put Dunstall Low Decibel pipes on my R90S, what a sound!  Sissy bars, psychadelic helmets, or no helmet at all.  Windjammer fairings, Krauser bags for my BMW, bungee cords and back packs, all signs of the time when I first started riding.  Things  can remember and relate to because I was there.  Anything before that was everlasting, as in before me.  I depend on those who rode before to keep it real, and those younger depend on my age to keep it real.  Sometimes a far distant reality than they care to relate to.

So how far back is everlasting?  For us it means time, but for God it means forever, as in an infinity of yesterdays, for no matter how far back we go, God was there before us.  Before the beginning, when he created the heaven and earth out of nothing, he was everlasting.  He has seen it all because he as been there for it.  With an everlasting love for us.  Before being formed in the womb, he loved us.  While we were yet sinners, Jesus died for us.  His memories and love for us are everlasting, beyond any dimension we can imagine or think of, to a memory greater than we can think.  Yet how often in the midst of our trials do we wonder if he knows or even cares?  Where is the everlasting love he speaks of?  Why do we try to compartmentalize his love when it knows no boundaries?  It is hard to think of God being compassionate when we are suffering, but we forget how much he suffered through Jesus to give us life, to reunite with us.  We need the white beards and gray haired men who have lived along life in Christ to remind us of how it was, so we can see how it still is, and how it will be.  Everlasting to the end, including now.  Right now.

We all live or have lived in a Golden Age, an age when it all was new and exciting.  When our first ride was too short, and our first time with Jesus far beyond words.  When we were the kids that we talk to today and lovingly share the past.  With an everlasting love from God, who we love because he loved us first.  A passion created by him for us, to include him, to make us whole, for he is holy, complete.  For some of us it was the first sub 13 second 1/4 mile, the first time over 100 mph, disc brakes that really stopped us, and Castrol Bean oil.  When a twin meant vee or parallel, when an inline 4 was news, and an electric leg to start it all became standard.  I can still remember my first non-electric leg bike, my 1981 KZ750, with tubeless tires.  What next we all wondered?  How we remember those times will tell of a passion we had, and some haven’t given it up, at least not yet.  But do we have a passion for Christ the same way?  Listen to the stories the testimonies, of worship teams with acoustic guitars, song sheets with no overheads, and fellowships in homes on weeknights.  Just you and God, and his people, wanting to get closer, the koineia we were searching for, that was there all the time.  Everlasting to everlasting, with us included.  Today, and to be shared tomorrow.  Memories we can share because we were there, but so was God.  We owe it to the younger generation to keep the memories fresh, with each ride newer and more exciting.  To respect those who had a Sportster that would part the hair on your chest, or put some there if you didn’t have any.  Until a 250 two stroke blew by.  Both bikes and riders got heavier, but the ride doesn’t change, unless we do.  From everlasting to everlasting, the passion may diminish, Jesus’ love for us never will. Anything before I as born was history, with a lot of it still being made today.  Don’t shut God out, the audience may change, his love never does.  Which may explain why us old guys never have just one collector bike.....some things are just too good to never let go of....like a relationship with Jesus.  Oh what fun it is too ride....

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

gorging on the Rio Grande

Why do we wait to learn some of the most interesting and useful things until later in life?  Where was this supply of needed information when I could have used it, or at least benefitted from it?  For instance I lived a few blocks off Route 66 in 1975-76, Central NE in Albuquerque, in a time when no one cared, or could care less.  Today if I had paid attention, I could publish my memoirs of “Life Along Route 66,” available in paperback or Kindle.  “Missed by that much,” as Agent 86 used to say.  But moving to New Mexico, when my Jersey friends wondered if they spoke English, lived in tepees, and had electricity, I remembered stories of Pecos Bill and the Rio Grande River from elementary school songs.  I imagined old cow hands on the Rio Grande, campfires with coyotes howling, and a rushing river based  on its name, Big River.  Maybe I was safer sticking to future Route 66 culture....as the Rio Grande in many places is anything but grand.  Long, but not so wide in places.  Some places you can walk across it, where only a few miles south it is wide and deep.  But only a few miles north, near Taos, it runs through a deep gorge, with only a bridge across it.  Not there when the pioneers and first settles arrived, they had to step back and wonder what to do next.  I can only imagine after hundreds of miles across prairies and then high desert, how welcoming a river would have been.  But only to find no way to get down to it, or even across it.  Giving a new meaning to end of the trail.

From the north you can see it from the Sangre de Cristo mountains, the Blood of Christ, from the south no way until you are upon.  No one pioneered from the west, so it was up to the eastern folk to deal with it.  Just a big hole in the ground stopping them and leaving a mark for their forward progress, how many headed north into the mountains, or were smart enough to head south for a few days and walk across.  Today a bridge crosses it, a few seconds at 65mph, with the locals selling trinkets and other junk, a sort of Grand Canyon of New Mexico if you will, been there, done that, and have the photos to prove it, no t-shirts available at the time.  But thanks to the Rio Grande Gorge and the bridge across it, today we can see just how Grande the Rio here is, and to tell others, no AAA 175 years ago.

So the Rio Grande has many faces along its route, with a green belt caressing it as it flows through Albuquerque.  From atop The Crest, or from Juan Tabo Campground, you can see a strip of lush green trees as the river goes through town, then fades away again to the north or south.  A view that made quite an impact on this Jersey transplant, and new Christian.  Psalm One was an early teaching, and it tells of a tree planted by water who in its season bears fruit.  Whose leaf shall never wither.  The water being the holy spirit, the fruit is of the spirit, not self induced or taught.  Spirit based, only the spirit can bear spiritual fruit.  I often think of the Rio Grande here, what a beautiful example of how the spirit gives life to an otherwise desert area, and how when we are in the spirit, we will also.  Maybe it explains how some come so close to the water but never go in, or see a gorge and throw up their hands in disgust.  Some will try a detour or stay put, while others are drawn by the spirit to it.  Paul tells us “God is not mocked, whoever sows seeds to please the flesh will reap destruction, but whoever sows seeds to the spirit will reap eternal life.”  We don’t have to wait until we die to experience either one, for Jesus promised on earth as it is in heaven right now.  We can have all the joy of the spirit right now, or just enjoy getting by from one disaster to the next.

So I have learned to gorge on the Rio Grande, or really the spirit.  I enjoy being loved, having joy and peace, being good and kind, seeing Jesus in my long suffering, and learning self control is based upon my choices.  But it all points to Jesus.  Maybe that is why New Mexico is called “the Land of Enchantment.”  From the Sangre de Cristos to the Rio Grande, to the indescribable colors in the sunset, you can see where God set his grace on thee.  All roads lead to somewhere, the bridge across the Rio Grande Gorge is 150 miles or more from any freeway.  Not on the way to anything, unless you know where you are going.  Do you know where you are going when you die?  Are you sure?

Water never looked so appealing as in a desert.  In a desert now, need a drink from God?  His water is available, just like it was to the woman at the well, so we can thirst no more.  But it is up to you, what do you do when confronted by the holy spirit?  Take a ride up tot Crest in Albuquerque and see things from above as God does.  Sometimes things are so close we miss them, it just takes a different perspective.  Only available via the holy spirit, and at prices you can afford.  For like Abraham, we are just sojourners, travelers on this earth for a short while.  God gave him a choice just like he does us.  Jesus was baptized in the Jordan in a low spot, but the spirit rose up in the form of a dove.  Don’t let a gap in your walk with Christ deter you, take in the living water of his spirit today.  For just like the disciples in the boat in the midst of the storm, they made it to the other side just as Jesus said they would.  And to that I say “yippie yi oh kayah!”

No need to wait for the book to come out either....and of course Route 66 crosses over it!  New Mexico, it ain’t new and it ain’t Mexico.

love with compassion,

MIkematthew25biker.blogspot.com

Capt. Hook rode a Guzzi

Moto Guzzi’s have always been an anomaly to me.  I just don’t get them.  For over 40 years when first exposed to them by a Guzzi nut, a guy I worked with named Rick, aka Capt. Hook, because he looked  like him, he loved them, and I think actually liked being as unique as his ride.  To me they were just a big and overweight bike ridden by the SFPD in Dirty Harry, but to those who loved the Italian breed, they are loved and adored.  And I still don’t get it!  Wasn’t the motor based on a tractor motor?  I can go with the opposed twin, but a Vee?  With those heads sticking up at those gawking at me?  But over the years I have mellowed on them, still not a believer in them, but talking with friends who have newer ones, they appreciate them for what they are.  The rest of us appreciate them for what they aren’t.

Now after having five BMW’s in the seventies, I have an understanding of different.  When everyone had a Honda, I had a BMW, that could get dusted by anyone’s 250.  But they were for touring, or so the reputation said, and only true believers in them rode them, to us Hondas were the other.  Rumor or tradition, stated at the time that every 100th BMW was painted white, I had a 1973 short wheelbase R75/5, with a windjammer fairing and Krauser bags, all painted white.  With even a Honda ignition key incorporated in it, take them historian purists!  Maybe the best BMW I ever had, as two got totaled, neither my fault, and the two S models had the engines come apart, literally.  So I know the price paid for uniqueness, but still have never owned a Guzzi.

When Pearl sang “my friends all drive Porsche’s, I must make amends,” she really had one.  But it seemed all my friends drove Hondas, until the Z-1, and the world around me was starting to change.  But Guzzi somehow stayed the same....even Reissman Motors, the Moto Guzzi dealer in Albuquerque was different, staying open on Sundays when most rode, for his customers.  The rest of us had to wait until Tuesday when we broke, Guzzi riders didn’t. At least if they broke locally.  But in an era of BSA’s, Triumph Tridents, Ducati SS 750’s, Suzuki’s rotary, and Yamaha’s RD350, each bike and its brand was unique.  To us the Hondas were the other, there was just more of their others than there was of us.

But we all rode, and all got along, helped each other, and made fun of each other’s rides.  It was called a brotherhood, with no membership, you rode and you were in.  Some for life, some for a ride or two, some to pick up girls.  But to those of us who really rode, Moto Guzzi’s were and still are different.  Just like Capt. Hook who introduced them to me....we all had a choice to make and some chose Guzzi’s while some chose others.  But still just because we owned a motorcycle it didn’t make us a rider.

Just because the Jews are God’s chosen people, doesn’t mean he approves of all their behaviors.  God chose them to be an example of a people who need him and in whom he can show the love and forgiveness he has for all.  But yet they thought it was a license to do whatever they wanted, and not face retribution.  It was easier to get mad at Moses, curse at Aaron, and make fun of God’s prophets. To stand on and by a set of laws they didn’t obey, unless it worked to their advantage.  So when they tried to impeach Jeremiah for calling them on their sin, a message from God, they rebelled against him.  Treason, traitor, we are God’s chosen, and claimed just because the temple was God’s house, if they were in it they were protected.  Same with the city, they were off limits to correction, so they went after Jeremiah.  And they really got upset when he told them to mend their ways, and God will forgive them, repenting of the evil he allowed them.  They were getting their own way, and God was allowing it.  Surely God must not understand....but leaving it in God’s hands was the last thing they wanted.

Today when we pray for Jesus to intercede, we too take an attitude like the Jews, giving him advice, it’s them Lord, not us.  It’s their denomination Lord, their church, not ours.  Failing to see the sin in their lives, as scripture says “being unable to take the splinter from another’s eye because they cannot see the log in their own.”  Funny how we can always see someone else’s sin, but can cleverly make an excuse for ours.  Fortunately God is just, with Peter telling us that when Jesus was reviled, he did not revile in return.  When threatened he didn’t threaten in return.  He trusted in God who judges justly.  Something to remember before you plead your case next time.  Or when you choose the brand of your next bike...

For God so loved us that when we are saved we are made part of his family, those not saved are the others, the lost.  But he loves them just as much, just like he did us before we were saved.  So I guess I can ride with a Guzzi, but just never own one.  Straddle a Harley, but never own one.  Maybe the question we need to ask ourselves, is the one I asked a friend when he was looking for a new bike.  He liked the looks of some better than others, until I asked him “you gonna ride it or look at it?”  But we all need to remember that choice doesn’t always have its priviliges.  The Jews were chosen, but so were those who Jesus saved.  Before we were saved.  You may argue, but God is just, and always wins.  So go with a winner, Jesus Christ.  The Jews are still waiting for their messiah, he’s already come and gone.  And if they didn’t like him the first time, they really aren’t going to the second time.  Only those saved have God’s written warranty, our names in the book of life, and his word written on our hearts.  It is always safer to trust in the Lord, just put it in his hands, Jesus has already pled your case. 

BSA, Norton, Indian, Matchless all left us, Triumph for awhile, Guzzi faded.  No one to plead their case.  Don’t fall into a trap.  Like the story goes, 95% of the Harleys sold are still on the road.  The other 5% made it home.  From 1%er to 5 %er, to Guzzi owners, we all ride, we all need Jesus.  The only way to  make it home.  You gonna ride with him or just look at him?  Capt. Hook rode a Guzzi, but that’s another story....what’s your excuse?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com