For years I have been telling people about our travels across the US of A by taking the old back roads, Blue Highways, William Least Heat Moon calls them in his travel diary of the same name. Roads not usually taken anymore since the Interstate Highway System has by-passed many of them. Roads that take you to places the freeways can't or won't, and with each little town you pass through a memory just awaiting you, if you have the right attitude and the time. Places that are referred to as before the four laner went in, or By-Pass, or local traffic only. Roads that take you past buildings like Bate's Motel, and you wonder, naw, that was just a movie, wasn't it? Or places where only local old pickups are in the gravel lot, and you wonder if their Home Cooking sign really means it. Is that really bacon and coffee I still smell at lunch time? Places where the sun and rain has weathered the signs so bad they are almost unreadable, but just follow the grooves in the road to tell you that you are heading the right way. A ride in a time and place where neither matters, where each turn takes you to new experiences, and new people. Little towns where the local drive-in thrives despite the new Burger King next door. Where Chubby Chucks outsell Whoppers, and always will. Where Friday nights, the DQ is still open late for those who need a Blizzard before bed, after a late football game. Where teens still cruise the lots, trying to look cool. While the girls pretend not to notice, and giggle. Places that don't show up in any government demographics, almost as if they and the people don't exist to a bureaucracy. Except at tax time, and when it comes time for elections. Where the proper answer to thank you is "you're welcome," and not "no problem." And you wonder why I wander away from the freeways?
Since we have abandoned much of our history of manufacturing, and become a service oriented society here, service has taken on new meaning. Leaving messages that may not get returned, or being put on hold when you call the emergency number listed, are foreign to many of these areas. It is not unusual to see lights on in many old service stations well after closing, and hear the air tools and the sound of repairs still going on. Maybe helping a neighbor get ready for their trip tomorrow when something broke at the last minute, which is when they usually occur, or helping some stranger, out of luck and money, just get back on the road, that much closer to their destination. Places where Frank at the Bi-Low will refer you to his friend, then call him to tell them you are coming out, even though they are closed, just to get gas. And finding Willy, his friend greeting you, and staying to talk, then calling his friend at the motel, to get you a special rate on a room, since it is too late to ride any further. America we used to call it, and before we pushed buttons and got a recording when the phone was answered, before GPS systems got us lost, and before we became too sophisticated to smile at strangers, this is how we lived. And how I still choose to live-home or away.
We were in Santa Barbara, with Brett and Jeff from Vegas, and Tom and Karin from San Diego. Our friends Milt and Jackie had ridden with us for awhile before their V Max seat threatened to cripple them, and had turned around in Coulterville, on the way to San Francisco. It was Memorial Day weekend, and we were getting into our motel in Santa Barbara way late. So when I phoned ahead, I was told no problem, I'll leave your keys under the mat. We'll settle up in the morning. And left the hot tub on for us!
The next morning Brett noticed the master link on his Ninja was missing. With no shops open on this holiday Monday, he was about to go into panic, when I decided to talk to the owner of the motel. He and his father in law were finishing some carpentry work, and stopped to call to see if anyone was around. No luck. Then he suggested, "I have a friend with a welder at a body shop. How about I call him and see if he can tack weld the link and you won't have any problem?" Which he did, and which he did, and which we were all thankful for. And the welder friend wouldn't even take any money. He was glad to help, and all involved told us to stop by next time in town. Can any billboard or ad ever be more effective than friends helping friends? Word of mouth...
When we are taught about the Good Samaritan, I always think of these guys. New friend or old, it didn't matter. There was a need, and they met it. Gladly, sacrificing time, and money to get the need met. And the pay, knowing they did a job and did it well. More talk for around the dinner table that night, and new friends they didn't have yesterday at this time. If you see a need today, meet it. God would not have let this person in your life if He didn't want you to help. Be a good American, no, be a good Christian and show love to strangers. Be a friend to a stranger, for we were once all strangers to God, until Jesus showed the way. Do unto other, as you wish them to do to you. When the phone rings, pick it up. And like the two truckers in Ohio assured us, we'll "git 'er done."
Jesus got 'er done on the cross. Is it too much to ask to extend that love to a stranger? Among the many franchises out there today, I don't see one on love. Start one. Small investment, with big rewards. Oh, you may never get rich, but that will also save you on taxes! But you will never be short of friends.
Give thanks to Jesus, and wait to hear His proper answer. You're welcome, my good and faithful friend. Welcomed by Jesus, any problem with that?
love with compassion,
Mike
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