No matter where you grow up, you think everywhere else is just like it.
Until you get out and travel. Growing up in Jersey, you think all roads are the
Turnpike, and all bridges make you pay a toll to leave the state, which is
true. Watching TV you get the idea all California weather is great...and for
the most part it is. But as the roads BH and I rode took us farther from the
Garden State, the desire to ride longer and farther took over, and when BH
decided to move to the Bay Area in 1975, I seriously considered it. With only
one major obstacle, my bike was down, so I planned another trip, one to see
America. In 1967 my father was a scoutmaster and had gone to Philmont Scout
Ranch in New Mexico, and I would travel a similar route, and head to LA to stay
with Brennan. But still filled with doubt, labeled caution, I wasn’t sure about
a trip in my custom van alone, but one afternoon in Brelinsky’s basement changed
all that.
It was a rainy, cool Jersey spring day, the kind basements and pool tables
were meant for. On the radio, was WNEW-FM, the first station in the US of A to
go with no format, the DJ’s played what they wanted to, and the variety of music
was varied and unlike any other station. That rainy afternoon, I heard a song I
had never heard before, that would change my life, “The Four of Us,” by John B.
Sebastian. A 15 minute plus song, of taking a trip in a van cross country.
“Sitting round the fireplace, we drew a smile across the states,” it opened
with, and I was mesmerized. And my decision was made, I was going, in my van.
Old John B. had sang about places and people, in a way I had never envisioned
them, and all previous rides started with and ended with a destination, this
song had the road inviting me to be part of it, and a whole new relationship was
formed, rider and road. If you tour, you know just what I mean, if you just
blip your throttle cruising the neighborhood, you don’t get it. I didn’t, but
soon would, and for over 40 years that song has influenced my riding, and the
roads I do it on. And this last ride had taken me full circle I thought, until
I came home, and wanted, needed to be on the road again.
“Further south our truck stops ran...” John B. sang, and for us so did the
diners and local food. Sitting at the counter, eating daily specials.
Different gas chains, that we soon became familiar with. “Mississippi Delta,
and we crossed New Mexico...” would make you think the Mississippi is next to
New Mexico, if Texas and the Midwest states weren’t there to cross first. But
crossing the Ole Miss is an experience we have had from Louisiana to Minnesota,
and all states in between. Something about people along the Great River Road
and the small towns that line it are inviting. And something completely
different about New Mexicans, who are not Mexicans at all, but their own breed
of folk. Where a sopapilla is standard with dinner, and red or green gives you
a choice of chili. Huevos Rancheros versus eggs over easy, or a Denver omelet,
grits in the south. And you can have your muffin grilled in the New England
states. All because of a song on the radio.
There is something about those of us who are touring riders that is
different from those who just cruise, or take an occasional over nighter. The
road is like our home, and back roads call our name as if we knew them by name
instead of by route number. And soon we do, pronouncing the foreign sounding
names like the locals do, eating Runzas like we had for years the first time, Po
Boys with fried shrimp, the only way, and fish tacos. When our locality
stretches from sea to shining sea, we are not so much a tourist, as a local
checking out new places to ride. This year it was Iowa, the Loess Hills calling
us. One of only three such places in the world, hills made from blowing dirt,
not mountains. 150 miles long, some places 100 miles wide, think of a terraced
garden of green for the ride, and you can envision it. And after riding it I
still have not seen a picture that gives it justice. The road took us to Le
Mars, and the Blue Bunny Museum, of Blue Bunny ice cream fame. Lake Okaboji,
next to Spirit Lake where Indian motorcycles and Victorys are made. We spent a
night in an historic Frank Lloyd Wright hotel, in Mason City, where the movie
The Music Man was filmed. We visited Antique Archaeology, which sells branded
merchandise mostly, and wandered inland to find the future birthplace of Captain
James T. Kirk in Riverside, in 2228. We ate lunch at Dave’s Old House in
Pisgah, spent a night in Ottumwa, the hometown of Radar O’Reilly, and visited
Baxter Cycle, where they sell over 100 motorcycles a year of all vintages. The
town being really just a neighborhood, you need to go 18 miles to the closest
town for food or gas. Hills that roll, covered with corn, and guarded on both
sides by mighty rivers, the Missouri and the Mississippi. We fell in love with
Iowa, the song again reminding me “is it all just here for us?” And the answer
from the song also “yeah, you know it really is...”
Jesus Christ is also a song that changed my life on my 1975 trip. And has
been adding miles to my life ever since. Just like I get restless for the road,
I get restless for all the Jesus I can get. I want more than a Bible study
relationship, more than learning can provide. I want to know him more, which
takes me places I never knew about, and rides where he is the main theme in it.
I get to see America through his eyes, and not some book or movie. And when we
meet others on the road like us, we need not to explain, we have a common bond.
God has given me both, a bond with him via his spirit, and a bond with the open
road. And when you realize Jesus spent most of his time on the road, it only
makes sense. Yet some are housebound by rules or lifestyle. By fears and
thinking “it’s the same everywhere,” both in riding and with God. But the
freedom of knowing Jesus, of being guided by his spirit, of knowing of whom I
believe adds to life an intangible no other religion can offer. But it is the
song of Jesus that continually plays in my head, and with each passing mile,
each new adventure I get to know a different side of him, ones that cannot be
experienced in church, ones taught but not seen until you get out and live.
Being a touring Christian rider has made all the difference to me, and that one
song that one afternoon opened up the door. Or doors.
And when the weather changes or gets rough, he is there with me. From
hurricanes in Florida, to tornado warnings in Minnesota, to flash floods in Ohio
and high winds in the desert, I never ride alone without Jesus. Never. You see
I know a triune God, one of God the father, Jesus the son, and the holy spirit,
and when I am part of the group, the four of us ride together. Just like the
song, Jesus draws a smile across the states I ride, and when someday that last
earthly ride is over, I know my time spent with him won’t be, for heaven truly
awaits. Many believe it, does your life reflect it? Would you want to watch a
movie about your life? Some start looking at pictures, then begin to take them,
their witness growing. I want to be in the picture, I want all the Jesus I can
get. I want to build testimonies, to be the sojourner here on earth, seeing “on
earth as it is heaven” while still here. The spirit is calling, how weak is
your flesh? Weak enough to let God’s strength be made perfect in it?
The song ends with the four of them back home, and some good advice for
those who travel along the road. “Keep your lover on the road and smiling.”
Emotional smiles show on the face, the spiritual ones from the heart. My life
has come a long way from a rainy day basement, God has given it light and hope,
and a future. Better yet a today. Do you look forward to today? Let Jesus
draw a line across your life, and fill your life with the three of them. And
become the four of us. America, God truly has shed his grace on thee. On us.
I think I need a ride....did you know the White Pole Road mirrors I-80....and
there’s a car show Tuesday night at the Culver’s in Galena....the Drummond Ranch
is only miles from Pawhuska? I do....
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com