Maybe like Ray and I agree, we are not old, just older. But being of the
group of the older rider, it turns out we have ridden bikes that are old now,
taken trips that are old now, ridden on roads that are old now, and I think you
get the picture. During the week when I ride, I encounter a different type of
rider, those who have the time and aren’t in a hurry, and when they do reach
their lunch destination talk of rides. Rather than scars, prescriptions,
operations, and handicaps like when I meet other older people, we talk of
rides. Past, present, and future. And right now. We talk of how easy it is to
just get on the interstate and ride, never leaving home via chain motels or the
greeting from Golden Arches. With so many now travelling by cycle, we are even
welcomed, or at least our credit cards are. But we can remember because we were
there when the routes taken took us through small towns, into big cities, and we
met people along the way. We saw the local flavor of the economy, waved back as
kids sneaked a glance at us big, bad motorcyclists, and local cops seemed to be
behind every billboard. We had studied maps, and would again at lunch, and
often ask directions, when some old timer would engage us in conversation. How
he had a 1928 Indian once, rode it from Colorado to Wyoming one summer....and he
has the floor for story telling. How he never rides any more, hasn’t in years,
but still has it stored in his barn, maybe he will go out and look at it when he
gets home. Man he wishes to be young again.
We talk of $1.99 blue plate specials, which included a piece of pie, and a
waitress who called you honey or sweetheart or darling. As we eye our computer
generated bill for $12.99-no pie today. We talk of stopping when we saw a
motorcycle dealership, no matter the brand, and we were welcomed. Talked of
old and new there too, and were wished well on our journey, and how they wished
they could go too. Before electric kick starters it was all leg and a little
luck to get going, tickling the carbs until they giggled gas all over your
boots, and off you went. After warming up of course....Gas stops took a few
minutes, maybe a bottle of Coke, no mini-marts yet to engage you, you filled
first, and then paid the cashier, which was usually an attendant who asked “how
fast she will she go?” and offered directions. And who always had a rag ready
to wipe spilled gas from the tank or check the oil. A simpler time, when a
handshake was your bond, and all riders were your brothers. Maybe I do have
time for that piece of pie after all. We rode America, we were Americans, and
many rode American bikes. Some rode Limey bikes, rice rockets were still
suspicious, and when a 450 beat your 650 you thought maybe there was something
to them, except they were so ugly. BMW riders rode “the Cadillacs,” and rode
everywhere. We were all different, but still the same. Our brotherhood was
motorcycles, our place of worship the road, our family was diverse yet united,
and our witness was the tales we told. Our dreams of roads and trips yet to
come, our prayers for those riding them. We waved at each other, when one was
stopped along the road we stopped to offer assistance, and you were never
alone. Church was a weekly meeting to get together, and often the fellowship of
a ride followed. Wives were invited, but often stayed home,this was a man’s
environment, filled with leather and denim, and the smell of grease and oil.
Engineer boots, maybe a helmet, all the gear all the time meant if it rained you
got wet, and if it got cold so did you. Unless you could line your jacket with
newspaper. Wind in our face, bugs in our teeth, and the thrill of the ride, and
the anticipation of next week, and wondering how we would make it through the
week until then. Maybe the good old days were better than I remember. But I
have to remember that today’s rides will be those rides for some younger guys in
20-30 years. What will they talk about over their ride stops? Will they
remember how they used to listen to the older guys back then, will the younger
guys then be as welcomed?
Today spot a rider in shiny leathers and it says Harley, just like his
jacket. Riding suits no matter the weather says BMW. Full one piece leathers
says sport bikes, and you can fill in the blanks with the wannabes. We have
become like religion, we all have the same Jesus, but each worships different
ways. Some steeped in legalism, making it easy to sin by having so many rules.
Maybe if we have no rules to break, we would sin less. No rules, none to
break. Can I get an amen? But it seems as we get closer to God through
education, the arguments multiply. King James, NIV, or New Living?
Contemporary or traditional services? Sunrise services one Easter, even though
Martin Luther liked to sleep in, hence the 11 am start times. Wednesday night
studies, Sunday school, then off to your car and hurry home. Has our riding
style become like religion, where once we were all riders, now we are Harley
guys, cruiser types, sport bike riders, and why can’t we just be riders again?
Motorcyclists? We have ministries that minister to one brand only, aren’t we
supposed to get share with everyone? Would Jesus ride a Harley? Or an Indian?
How about a Honda riding Christ? Yet we have brothers and sisters in Christ who
ride all of them. Would you feel comfortable riding with them, or ever be asked
to attend their church?
We need to get back to the basics of Christianity. Jesus was born of a
virgin, died on the cross for our sins, and rose again after 3 days, just like
he said he would. He rose faster than it takes to get bike parts sometimes.
His commandment was to love all as you go, and education didn’t impress him. Nor
did your FICO score, how much you gave to church, or all the trips to Israel.
Did you show love as you went? Did you minister to needs in his name, or were
you too busy going to church to be a part of one? For years I have advised when
you need something done, call a biker. Invite one, you invited all. Just like
Jesus did when he offered us forgiveness. Maybe we need to listen to the older
riders, to embrace their brotherhood, and learn from them about family. To see
the fundamental Jesus as one of love, not of religion, and love on others. Seek
advice from older riders as the Bible advises, feed the hungry, cloth the poor,
and take in the strangers. Too many have become strangers because they couldn’t
meet the church’s requirements. To sit and cry with a loved one over a loss, or
stay up late with them. Funny how in our time of need in Albuquerque, the
church wasn’t there, but individuals were. Who met the needs in Jesus name, and
wanted to do more. People who opened their hearts, homes, wallets, and gave in
love. One on one, personally, like the relationship with Christ so many talk
about, but to who it is hollow words. Maybe we need to go back to when it first
happened to us, that first ride, first bike, first time with Jesus. Have we
really grown, or are we just groaning?
Take a trip back today so we can take a trip ahead. But enjoy the trip
today. When you see someone in need stop. An old biker courtesy is paying the
toll for the car behind him, maybe let someone in line ahead of you. Hold open
a door. Wave at a kid who is looking at your bike. Sit him on it. Let him be
part of the picture instead of just looking at someone else in theirs. Open
your heart instead of your Bibles, start a conversation, and become a friend.
The spirit once started a conversation with you, pass it on in love. And if you
happen to stop to eat where bikes are parked outside, listen in. You may find
yourself welcomed, they want to share about their bikes and riding. When
talking Jesus do you mind being interrupted by someone wanting to know more?
Old bikers have old stories, from old trips on old roads. Kick start your
relationship today with Jesus. No religion, just his love. Listen in and
become part of a fellowship, and welcome others. Even if you don’t ride you can
still stop to help someone, maybe let them use your cell phone to call for
help. Give them a ride. Many people are looking for Jesus, he comes in the
form of all of us. Just ask the guy beaten and left for dead, but who a good
Samaritan stopped to help. The next time you see a person in need, what if it
is you? Would you cross over to avoid him? Or be the first rider to stop and
give aid? Jesus would stop, maybe the best reason to ride after all. And think
of the places yet to ride....
love with compassion dressed in leather and denim,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com