I met Lance in my first year of JC, junior college, and we became friends.
I was accepted into his group of friends, most a few years older, and many who
had just done time in the service. Lance had some endearing qualities about
himself, among them you wanted to be his friend. And being accepted by him was
a great confidence booster to me. But we came from different backgrounds, but
had one common desire-sports cars. Now sports cars of 50 years ago were much
different than the sporty cars of today, mostly British, who to me still define
the term, with a top that folds down, then Italian, which I never bought into,
they broke all the time, although another friend Alex with his 1969 Fiat 124
Spyder, was the exception to that rule. And finally German, in particular
Porsche, and an up and coming older brand, BMW. Remember British what? It sure
has been a long time. And Lance and I belonged to the German aspect of sports
cars, he with his 1964 356 coupe, an ugly brown, and me with my BMW 1600 coupe.
Small engines, light coupes, with great handling, which along with Joe’s Austin
Healey Sprite would be seen together often. Three flavors of the same ice
cream, fun no matter which ride you took. With the exception of my BMW, which
is the only one that ran all the time, or most of it. Lance’s 356 always needed
a clutch, and his GI Bill didn’t provide for Porsche parts. Nor did the same
Bill provide for English parts, which sometimes failed before installed on the
car. Or would rust in the sun on a sunny day. So my BMW was the workhorse, and
I was happy to oblige.
Now both the 356 and Sprite were two seaters, true sports cars, while the
BMW held 4, pushing the envelope of sports car in many circles, and like most
racing, the BS stops when the flag drops. And many chased my tail lights in the
Watchung Mountains, so I was included. Also the third and fourth passenger
capability would put me into taxi service, like the one afternoon Lance needed
to pick up Mary Lynn, his girl friend at the hospital, and the Porsche wouldn’t
go into gear. So my BMW we took, through the back roads, then up I-287. And
the adventure was about to begin.
Doing the ton, the Brits called it, or 100 mph in Colonial terms. And 100
mph in a car with only a 96 cubic inch engine was a big brag against the likes
of Richard’s 455 in his 442. And on this open freeway on this sunny fall
afternoon, with no cars in sight, we decided to try it. This in the early days
of the 55 mph death when caught exceeding it limit, and so I went, with Lance
looking at the speedo. 75, 85, 95, and creeping closer to 100, then above,
finally reaching 102. When the cop pulled up next to us...flashing a sign that
said, STATE POLICE, NJ, and suddenly the mood had changed, the fun was over.
And I had visions of being car less and with no license for the rest of my
life. Now the cop was cool, he was in blue training clothes, not a uniform,
which should have given me the first clue. And his calm demeanor, not calling
for a tow vehicle should have been the second. But when he told me, after
seeing my license, “I will contact you later at work, and mail you the ticket
after,” I should have known something was up. But fear in the heat of the
moment, and remembering later when asked why I was going so fast, “you on the
way to the hospital?” and my answering “yes” made him chuckle, should have been
a dead give away. Adding to that Mary Lynn’s immediate refusal to ride with us,
she finally did, and going the speed limit the rest of the day in mortal fear of
being caught, stress had overtaken any primal thought process, and I was
scared. Of my parents, losing my license, my job, my freedom, my girlfriend,
and the list went on. I would be a kid again, dependent on someone else to take
me and pick me up. If only the 102 on the speedo was worth it now....
And so for a few days I was cautious, and winced every time the phone
rang. I was uptight all night at work, and while a hero to my friends for the
feat, was sick about the potential consequences. But for a few days the call
never came. And then talking with Lance, it began to make sense. He wasn’t a
cop who stopped me, but a mechanic test riding a patrol car. And we were the
joke of his for the day! Which would explain the no ticket, the “I’ll call you
later,” and the no uniform. In the heat of the moment, we had been fooled...and
I didn’t like it at first. But would settle for it, as it meant my freedom was
still intact, my license not in jeopardy, and all my potential losses wouldn’t
be. We would eventually laugh about it, and always wondered, what story did he
tell his friends that night? “I stopped these two guys at over 100, they
thought I was a cop...” and the crowd would laugh and I was part of an urban
legend come true. The things of bench racing...and maybe Lance was right,
“there is no better feeling than a fast ride in an open sports car.” My BMW the
exception...
Looking back I had a great deal of faith in my potential outcome, and it
wasn’t very good. Doubt had crept in big time, and I was busted. But later I
was to learn how faith and doubt seem to be found hand in hand, and that doubt
is not a sin, but a reminder of your faith, not the amount, but of its testing.
Faith and doubt are not contrary, but doubt exposes your faith, for if you had
no faith, doubt would not attack it. Faith is how God works, and doubt the tool
of the devil, so it is normal to have your faith tested by it. There is no
faith without doubts, and the spirit will guide us through. And lack of faith
is not a sin, nor is doubting, for Jesus himself doubted, and never sinned. He
was tested in all things, yet never sinned. And he lived by faith, and by trust
in his father. Everything he did reflected the will of God for his life....and
so if you have doubt, know it is really a testing of your faith, proving that it
does still exist no matter the situation, and that Jesus has never, nor will
never abandon you. He was there at 100 mph, just as well as along the road when
stopped. So hang in there when your faith is tested, so was our Lord and
Savior’s. You are in good company, and he will see you through. For without
doubt, you wouldn’t be reminded of your faith, no matter how small. So if you
are troubled by doubts, rejoice, for God is with you. And proof you are living
by faith! So don’t let your doubts overthrow or control you!
Looking back I was scared, and had only faith in the fact was license was
going to be lifted. When I started to doubt, my faith changed to not losing it,
to the truth being seen through the emotions amidst the situation. You see
faith and doubt really do work together, and God had prepared a way out for me.
Now don’t tempt God by sinning, my 102 in a 55 was highly illegal, but know that
in times of trials, Jesus is there to help. His spirit to guide and advise. In
ways that when you look back will surprise you. And find he was there the whole
time. We walk by faith, not by sight. Faith took me over 100 that day, and
earned me a reputation for speed. Sight got me pulled over. You never know who
is watching....so live by faith, knowing God is always watching. Your faith,
his sight. Never lose sight of that fact. And honest sir, I really was on the
way to the hospital!
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com