This is one of those stories that requires telling another story first,
just so the real story makes sense. So hang on as I thank you for your
indulgence. At age 21, I had goals, but only one dream. I wanted to ride my
motorcycle across country to California from New Jersey. A dream of many, I was
ready to do it, when tragedy struck. The Wildman was over, and sitting on my
R90S, when he pushed the starter button, and it made a horrible noise. Then
nothing. As it turned out later to be, the bolts had sheared off the flywheel
on the German’s finest road bike, leaving me without a motorcycle, and crushing
my dream. But I had also bought a custom Chevy van from Garry Brown, it was his
final exam for his electrical engineering degree from Bucknell. It had two
stereos, two layers of shag carpet, rosewood paneling, and Lake pipes. Yes,
they roared. And it sat on the biggest Wide Oval radials, LR-78x15, mounted on
American racing mag wheels. Cool all the way, it had twice as many wheels, and
would have to do. But tragedy almost struck again, as a few days before I was
to leave, Road Aid Frank, our friend and mechanic, found an engine knock. And
told me the engine was no good, cancel the trip. Determined, aka stupid though
I took off, noise and all, for four weeks to find America, just not on two
wheels. And alone, as BH took off on his CB750 a few hours earlier, although we
would later connect in San Francisco. I was about to test all of the knowledge
my parents and Scotch Plains Public Schools had given me...I was of to realize
my dream.
It has been said that “man plans, and God laughs,” and what we call detours
or plan B are really His plan. Which in my pre-Christ state I didn’t know, but
looking back God is always with us, even when not with Him. I had made it all
the way to Pennsylvania, less than 100 miles that first afternoon, when the van
died. It had done it before, the Judson Supercharger, an ignition booster got
hot, and would restart when it cooled off, the next morning, so my first night
out was spent along I-80 on the shoulder. But it restarted when cool the next
morning, so I got off, in the middle of nowhere, to remove it. Now I can’t tell
you if they were Hillbillies, but they were rednecked, and gave this long hair a
hard time as I did the repairs. As they sat 10 feet from me, spitting tobacco
at my feet, and commenting “ain’t she cute,” I kept a breaker bar in my back
pocket-just in case. But with repairs completed, I was on my way with no
further problems, or engine noises.
My plan was to follow the route my Dad had taken with the Boy Scouts to
Philmont Ranch in 1967, but cutting off in Denver for the Golden State. So
going past the Indianapolis Speedway, through Chicago, across beautiful
Wisconsin, I travelled the interstates as much as possible. Even spent the
night in front of a combination gas station/bowling alley, one bay for each, off
I-90 in Minnesota. The beauty of Mount Rushmore, seeing Wall Drug, and the car
museum in Murdo made me appreciate South Dakota, and even a thunderstorm in
Wyoming didn’t faze me, I was going to California. But at a rest stop outside
of Denver, I met a man, Jessie O’Leary, on a BMW, and we got high in my van
together. He was riding my dream, and going to teach on an Indian reservation
in New Mexico, shades of Billy Jack. We parted, stoned, and not knowing that we
would meet the next summer in Albuquerque, I was selling motorcycles, and he was
in for service. And shocked when I refused to get high, and listened intently
as I shared my new life in Jesus with him. Again, God laughs, with us this
time.
After making it over the Rockies on old Highway 6, I-70 was still a dream
in many places, and wondering if the van would make it, Jersey boys don’t know
about altitude and its effects, I made it to Green River,Utah, where I met
another man, trying to live his dream. He was sitting among the trees in this
old style rest stop, and had been hitchhiking to California from Virginia. The
night before I met him, he had been beaten and robbed, I found him bruised,
bloodied, and hungry. Feeding him all the food I had, peanut butter, and chips,
and Coors, he told me his name was Howard Stephenson, but took the road name of
Mac. And when I heard of his dream of California, I offered him a ride, for
free, since he had no way to pay for the trip. But he had an aunt in Las Vegas,
which was on the way, and if we could stop, she would help him out. His Aunt
June, as it turned out was part owner of the Golden Nugget, and was glad to see
her nephew, he had run away and the family had lost all communication with him.
She fed us, gave me a stack of chips, which I quickly turned into defeat, and
with some cash in hand, we set out across the desert in the middle of the night
for LA. For the few hours I was in Vegas, it was as raunchy as I was, from the
sex, the bars, and the debauchery. Even as much of a low life as I was, this
place was even lower. And I was glad to leave.
The next morning found us in rush hour traffic on the 10 going into Santa
Monica. I was going to spend two weeks with Brennan, a friend since 5, who
still tells how I hit him over the head with a mayonaise jar when he was 5.
What was my mother thinking letting me loose with a mayo jar in tow? Today I
can see the headlines, maybe that is why they are plastic today. Arriving, Mac
called his dad, an Air Force Colonel, who agreed to send him $400 to Brennan’s
address, addressed to me, in care of his son-and he didn’t know any of us,
including his son it seems. But the check arrived, Mac split, and I was in LA.
With only the warning from Brennan that his room mate was a Christian and would
talk about Jesus. But that would have to wait. All the visions about beaches,
girls, bikinis, hot rods, and summer instilled in me by the Beach Boys was
tomorrow’s agenda. I was 21, thought I knew it all, was about to live my dream,
and nothing or no one was going to change that. Again man plans, and God
laughs. For the next day my whole life would change...I thought I had been
riding alone, but I was never lonely.
to be continued.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com