Getting off the freeway, and cruising old down towns has its benefits. For me, last week I found Honda-Yamaha of Redlands. A big blue Yamaha sign caught my attention on an old building, so navigating one way streets and alleys, I found their parking lot. Located in an old packing house for the last ten years, it was originally built in the 1920's for lemons and oranges. Old brick walls, and hardwood floors, it is old California, the style people pay big bucks for to be duplicated using new bricks and wood-trying to make it look old.
Of course being on a Bonneville caught their attention, and after walking around inside, nice open layout without being called dude, I was about to leave when I got stopped by a guy more my age than young. He had seen the Bonneville, and asked how long I had been riding. "Today?" I answered, and looking at the miles on my face could tell I had been around the block, and maybe the country a few times. "Follow me," he said, so I did. It was then he ushered me into the basement, for a treasure trove of old bikes. Something not everyone has access to. Walking past the service department, we stopped to introduce me to the service manager, and then deep into the back of the basement-in the front of the building. Supported by old hewn beams, this low ceilinged cellar held about 25 old motorcycles. Some historic, some not, but an accumulation of bikes-Hondas and Yamahas the owner had collected over the past 40 years of dealership ownership. His memories, not some collector list, stuff that was important to him, which was more interesting than some collections I have seen.
A KO CB 750, with the sandcast engine. Just needed some air in the tires to ride it. An 81 six cylinder Honda CBX, the touring edition, that never sold. My friend Ash Marshall some 20 years ago tried to buy one from Honda-they never sold, and rather than scrap them, Honda offered them to trade schools. Which passed on them-so they went to the crusher anyway. Some nonsense with federal law prohibited them from being sold after that, so dozens of them got crushed, despite Ash's plea to save them. He offered to buy the whole lot. And here sat one-obviously never sold, and thankfully never crushed. Another bike desired by me at the time, but way out of my budget. Still.
A 1976 Special Edition Gold Wing sat next to it. And in random order, and in no special order, were a 1973 YZ 250-last year of the dual rear shocks, a 1973 Elsinore, again the first year, and other bikes I saw, but never made an impact on me. But what did, was a perfect 1972 CL350, Honda's scrambler model. The one that my Triumph Scrambler looks more like than the old TR 6 it is copied after. The blue and white paint perfect, and remove the sissy bar-which we all had at the time, and I wanted to take it home with me-or at least for a 40 year memory ride. My first new bike was a 1972 CB 350, the super sport model with low pipes. The scrambler could do dirt roads with it trials style tires and high pipes-most of NJ was and is still paved to this day, making my CB purchase more logical-at least at the time. Remember, when trying to talk your parents into getting you a motorcycle they hated, any argument is fair game. Even a near perfect CL77, just like the one BH had, the first bike I rode on the street, except this one didn't have the hand painted by brush tank, and self lubricating engine. 70mph with two SPFHS seniors riding it-if only we had known. Maybe the best $50 ever spent-or invested.
Now these bikes weren't restored, and definitely not over restored. Just maintained, as original. And for that 30+ minutes in the cellar, this man's memory album of live motorcycles took me back to a simpler, less complicated, but more fun and exciting time of riding.
And upon leaving, Scott showed me some others upstairs I had neglected to notice, and even offered me to come back, as the owner has more in his garage at home, and swaps them occasionally. Way cool, and he didn't even try, or offer to sell me a bike. But from him I would, he rides. And we shared a common love of motorcycles. Off the freeways, and away from the superstores, with high overhead, and impersonal service. It was all worth one last walk by the old Honda 50, with the the fuel tank kit. Honda sold a kit for their 50cc scooters, which made it look like a motorcycle, rather than the step thru scooter. And the first bike I learned to fall off of was just like it, my friend Ricky Schill's. And on the way home, I remembered how fast 30mph felt in 1968, and learning to shift and how the first ride is always the most special. Blood, sweat, gears, and all mud, too. If they could see in my full face Arai, they would have wondered what is that old sucker smiling about? No one should wear a smile like that while riding. And there would have been no words to describe it. It is that precious.
Scott reminded me of something that afternoon. He earned my respect, and we shared a common bond. Something forgotten sometimes when sharing Jesus. We need to earn the right to share Him in words, the actions ought to be natural. Get to know the person, and see the need. God will always provide the words. And even if strangers, a bond of Jesus is stronger than even one of bikers-which is pretty strong. Respect, that's it. Looking for long term, rather than just trying to impress or win an argument. Sharing something eternally based, to someone who is temporal-and we don't know for how long. And just like the bikes in the basement, we could talk a language that both of us understood.
I find that trusting God to give me words works best. Christians can use words that the non saved aren't comfortable with. Saved for one. Baptism, repentance, the holy spirit, salvation, and born again-terms that the unsaved don't use-and don't understand the meaning of. Through listening, the words will be made clear by God, and your show of respect.
Scott let me look at the bikes first. It wasn't a tour, where he was the tour guide. We talked, and I asked questions, and he answered. A conversation, not preaching. And two guys, who had nothing else in common except a two wheeled heritage, left friends. And we will meet again.
Show love-and sometimes remember you are just planting seeds. Someone else will water it, but that God changes the heart-you can't. So get off the main road, and try out downtown. Take some time to visit , and stop and chat. And enjoy the day, as the Jesus in you comes out better than any rehearsal, and will win souls when you let God use you.
You never know who is watching, or what is in their basement. How long you been serving God? Today?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com
