I watched as an old friend of mine, just turned 70 but still working parts,
was hassled by a young kid, impatient with him. He was taking too long it
seemed to him, what this young kid didn’t realize was the depth and wealth of my
friend’s memory and experience. But yet I am just as guilty, as when I get the
new kid at the parts counter, and he takes forever to look up a clutch cable,
when my old friend knows the part number by heart. Bob Dylan was right 50 years
ago, “the times they are a changin”...” and maybe we haven’t changed with them
as fast as it takes to keep up. Eric Clapton turns 70 this year, how many
remember him in the Blues Breakers with John McVie of the first Fleetwood Mac?
Before EC was in Cream, not the The Cream as I have heard them called. At the
tail end of many old timers when at Mercedes Benz, not Benz’s or Mercedes, but
Mercedes Benz as they are properly called, we referred to 107, 126, and 116
cars. We knew them by chassis, and could order parts quickly, if we got the
older parts man. Today there are S, E, C, and too many others to remember.
Same with motorcycles, only the older ones remember the first Honda 750 in 1968,
priced at $1245, but quickly changed to $1495. How the first Z-1’s were $1895,
and there was a shortage of oil filters, and although the Honda one would fit,
we waited. How BMW was imported by Butler and Smith, the company named after
the intersection where their offices were. And BMW cars were imported by Max
Hoffman, the 1600 putting BMW on the map. British what was what we heard, no
one knew that the B stood for Bavarian, or what a Bavarian was. We all could
tell the difference between a Chevy 327, a Mopar 383, a Ford 352, or a Pontiac
455 just by the way the exhaust sounded. Motorcycles didn’t have sound systems,
cars had AM with rear seat speakers, and Triumphs ran TT pipes. Wide ovals were
the tire of choice if they fit in your fender wells, and a tune up was parts,
plus, and points. Maybe a condensor, then set the dwell and timing. Racers on
Friday nights would dial in their distributors. Uncork their headers. The
smell of Sunoco 260 in the air, a far cry from geeks today with laptops
downloading tunes into a small motor in a four door sedan. Made in Japan. Or
South Korea. So when sharing with older guys, guys my age, and the younger guys
are listening intently, eventually one will say “gee Mister, you must be really
old...” I rather think of Jimi Hendrix reply when asked “have you ever been
experienced?” and I can say “I have.”
It seems I remember those who we used to refer to as characters more. My
old friend Joe, who used to tune for Cal Rayborn, before he went national and
became a hero. Joe with his wooden leg, with a Castrol sticker on it. Tuning
by ear, and making bikes run better than the gauges showed. He knew just where
to set a BSA twin, a Triumph single, or a Sportster for maximum power. A real
tune up, not just a parts swap. Done very 6000 miles per the factory. But
learned on the street. I had a tech at Ford in the late seventies, who started
after WWII, and could still change out a clutch in a Mustang in 90 minutes. I
watch John Wickham our worship pastor tune his guitar by hand, while another
hooks up a box and lets the box tune it. Which one is really a musician? But
the time is here now, where as I am retired, I hang out with the old guys, where
we tell the stories of how it was, and the younger ones listen intently. As we
talk of our first bikes being 100cc or maybe even a 250, they cannot believe we
rode anything that small. How we had to kick start them, change tube type
tires, and replace inner cables when they broke. The outer casing was still
good. How we mixed Castrol Bean Oil, and how good it smelled at the track. How
a ring a ding ding two stroke meant power, how a thumper meant torque, and they
all vibrated. And leaked oil. Except for BMW’s, they weeped. We took our
bikes to the track in vans, and would sleep with them amongst the milk crates
full of parts. A time when Harleys were made in Milwaukee, Triumphs in Meriden,
BSA’s in Birmingham, and BMW’s in Munich. All Jap bikes came from Japan, we
couldn’t pronounce the cities, and few cared. We were a small community who
knew each other, who loaned tools and parts at the track or on the side of the
road. We stayed open late, solved world and social problems over bottles of
Coke instead of on the Internet, and we dialed our friends from home, on a
rotary dial phone, owned by the Phone Company. We smelled dangerous odors,
mixed oil and gas, and used STP to lube cables. Yet as I look back and so many
are gone, I wonder what will my sons and their friends remember about their
riding? Their bench racing sessions? And somehow I don’t feel old, just
blessed. I have great memories, and still make new ones today in retirement. A
place I only thought old people existed, and a place I thought I never get
to.
It goes on in the church too. Today we have Pastor Ray or Pastor Doug. No
more Reverends, or men addressed by their last names. Formality has given way
to informality, but somehow respect is still here. When I first got saved 40
years ago the Jesus Movement was still going on, and many felt the church was
hypocritical. And maybe it was, for they taught things, and said things, then
did the opposite. They talked great words, but had little meaning behind them.
We had been told to love in church, but it took Jesus to show love to us.
Religion was on the way out, and Jesus was on the way in, and many old,
established churches felt threatened. They had traditions, and this new
generation was different. They loved, they read their Bibles, and we even
wanted to go to church, we weren’t forced to. We met in strip malls, in
classrooms, or even in homes, and abandoned church buildings. We were the
church, and soon the Jesus people were growing and the world changing. And for
the churches who talked love but didn’t, and who say they cared, but didn’t show
it, or didn’t accept our new generation, they fell by the wayside. Dead and
soon abandoned by all but those who hung on to tradition, who never did it any
other way before. Who had never been involved. Who filled a pew, and left a
pew after they were gone. Religion had externalized them, whereas Jesus made it
internal. It came from the heart, and hearts were changed. Lives changed, and
the unwanted became the leaders, and Jesus became Lord. And while many
subscribed to the prescribed external form of worship, we wanted more of Jesus.
But found the same death can overcome us, as new traditions begin. As a new
generation is growing to take our place, we all need to look to Jesus, and
follow him in the spirit. Putting away our new traditions as they become old
and a hindrance, and let the spirit lead. We need to get excited again as we
once did, and watch as Jesus changes lives. Including ours. We need to put
away our self righteousness, and realize just because we do them, that doesn’t
make them right. We need to welcome the younger ones, encourage them and lead
them as they become the new leaders. We need to keep Jesus first no matter the
generation, or suffer from hardening of the heart. Which is death, both
physically and spiritually. A place no one wants to be.
We need to follow Jesus and his spirit rather than the rules of men. To
truly worship from the heart, and watch as old traditions die, and new ones
begin. I still don’t get excited over a Honda car with a big muffler. But
today’s kids do, and as software replaces hard parts, I am learning to still
follow Jesus. But old traditions are hard to break, having a good foundation is
the basis needed. For motors it will always be fuel and spark, we need Jesus to
always be that spark. And it is up to us, for no matter the horsepower, or
memory bytes, it is still up to the person behind the handlebars to decide how
much throttle to give. And how much power to use. Meekness it is called, power
under control, only useful if it connects the tire with the pavement. And only
when we are connected to Jesus. As one generation dies and another is raised
up, we all need Jesus. The only tradition to follow. For many the day Buddy
Holly died was the day the music died. Elvis has left the building. So have
John and George. Joe Cocker, Karen Carpenter, and Jim Croce. Hendrix, Jim
Morrison, and Pearl. Otis Redding, Jerry Garcia, and even Michael Jackson.
Their music lives on. What will you leave behind for the next generation?
Anything less than Jesus is meaningless. Anything less than shared while alive
never was. Consider that at your next bench racing session. Times change, but
Jesus never does. He only changes us. If you ever wonder what we will talk
about in heaven, remember you must get there first. And Jesus is the only way.
“Gee Mister, you must be old.” But I am assured of where I am going, are
you?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com