My old roommate Bill met him at the carwash. Him being Billy Disch, aka the Wildman. He was a few years younger than us, still a senior at South Plainfield High School, but with a love of riding like us. He had a 1972 Mach 3, pained gloss black and nasty fast. Along with Bill's CB750 Dunstall cafe racer, and my R90S, we lived for weekends so we could ride. Saturdays meant heading west, and riding the hills in Pennsylvania. The country was perfect for riding, with great roads, and very little traffic. And since it was Saturday, it meant no time frames, no predetermined routes, and no time to be home-if we got back at all. Sometimes it meant sleeping along the road, or at new friends place. Or sometimes just getting back home at 3am, exhausted, but up and ready to ride by 8am on Sunday. I seemed that 1973 was a Golden Era to be riding, as friends had Z-1's, Nortons, Triumphs, and other iconic bikes at the time. And we would meet them along the road, bench race, then follow them on roads new to us, then pass the adventures along to the next group we would meet. But Saturday riding couldn't be beat. The freedom of nowhere to go, and nothing to do, opened up the doors to adventure of anywhere to go, and anything to do. And we did. Later another Bill would join us on his CB450, and fit in, and also my friend Gene, on his R75/5 would join us.
Gene loved to ride more than any of us, and even when his music career took off, if he got in after 3am would still be the first ready to ride by 8am the next morning. Nothing kept Gene away, and while we had always headed west to Pennsylvania, he took us north,then east into Connecticut and upper New York state-new territory to us. Ride to live, and live to ride-we did. And given $20 could ride anywhere, and do anything we wanted all weekend. And then OPEC shut off the gas tap, and challenged our world. Sundays would never be the same.
You see gas stations would be closed on Sundays-the traditional family day to travel, and the latter half of our weekends. So rather than half our weekend end when the gas stations shut down on Saturday, which was usually around 9pm, we all made sure we had a full tank by then, anticipating Sundays ride. And suddenly where freedom had reigned, now we had rules, and boundaries. We could only ride as far, round trip, as the smallest tank would go. Which happened to be the Wildman's Kawasaki, which coincidentally not only had the smallest tank, but got the worst mileage. So he would set our boundaries, and when he got to half a tank, we would start home. Which forced us to take roads we had never taken before, roads we would have passed up, so we could get out of Jersey. And we found a great set of roads, west of Piscataway, just waiting to be ridden. Not as good as Pennsylvania, or Connecticut, but new places, and new riders to meet-all with the same burden of riding only as far as your tank would get you. And I know there were times the Wildman would coast home, hoping he had enough gas to get to the stations when they opened on Monday morning before he went to school. But somehow we never ran out, although the threat was always there. Adding a suspense to the ride-unnecessary, but making the roads and miles we did ride that much more important. And valuable. It seems we don't truly miss something until it is gone, and Sunday gas seriously cut into ur lifestyle. But out of the adversity somehow brought us all closer together, as riders, and as friends. Adversity has a way of doing that, but only if you can see the opportunities rather than the disadvantages it brings.
I miss those riding days, and today only have one riding partner, my wife. And whether behind me, or on her own Bonneville, we go places, eat things, and have great experiences-from coast to coast. And since becoming a Christian, I appreciate the road more. and also the places it has taken me, and will take me. Saturdays mean the same as they did in '74, ride all day, and stay out late, or jut stay out if you want. But Sundays mean a desire for fellowship, at church. At we have been so blessed by visiting other churches across the country. We have met pastors, clergy, and other Christians because of our commonality-Jesus Christ. Add motorcycles into it, and you have the spirit of the road, and the Spirit of God mixed all together. And having my best friend to ride with makes it all wonderful. Talks of things we saw, over meals we would never try at home, and staying in places we have never heard of, have broadened our horizons, and also stretched us. We get to see that so many others love Jesus, and that the way they worship may be different, but just right for them. As long as the main thing is he main thing-Jesus, then it's all right.
New roads, and new friends not yet met. Take to the road today. Let God stretch you in ways you never have, or thought you could. Make new memories, and when you are asked "how did you find this place?" remind them you didn't on your own. It was riding with God who takes you the best places. Get out and experience all that the Lord has for you. Let Him fulfill the desires of your heart, one ride or one mile at a time. But get out.
I miss my old friends, but I think I miss the memories more. And with so many roads, and such little time, I don't want to waste any of it. Let God bring on the blessings. And share them with new friends. You never know, there just may be a couple wishing to do what you are doing, but just need the chance, and encouragement. Don't let the destination be all the trip is about-enjoy what God has planned for you on the ride.
And even if the smallest tank rider has to lead, God will show you places you didn't know about. In your own backyard. And who knows, maybe Bill, Geno, Bill B. or the Wildman may be at your next stop. Stranger things have happened, but that's another story. Ride to church, and after. Sundays will never be the same.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com
