ain't no mountain high enough...

Just as Memorial Day is the beginning of the riding season for many, Labor Day signals that summer is ending, and that soon the autumn leaves will be falling along with the temperature. And that only the most hard core and dedicated riders won't be putting their bikes up for the winter before Halloween. Just as they counted the days until the first thaw in March, now they count the days until the first snow which always seems to come too soon if you ride. And just like these man made lines of demarcation, prices and the amount of traffic on the road both go down after Labor Day, sometimes even returning to the pre-Memorial Day level when they all went up. So over the years I have taken September and October vacation rides, and been pleasantly surprised at how many of real riders still ride despite temps in the 40's, the threat of rain, and the real threat of snow. And I have even been tested by the same conditions in July, and on one fourth of July in particular.

Theresa and I lived on Vallecito Lake outside of Durango. At 8300' altitude, in a National Forest, and with only 72 people on the 22 miles of shoreline, we were secluded already. And far enough from town-read broke, that we had no phone, either. So as I set out alone on this 4th of July weekend-she had to work, we had three days without contact. Leaving on my 1975 Z-1, I was heading north to Silverton, over Red Mountain Pass, and into Ouray, where I watched the locals and their celebrations-all in beautiful weather in the 80's. And all was well with the world. And then into Montrose, and up through Paonia, and it got hot-over 100 degrees. And as the afternoon wore on, I sought a place to stay, holing up in some old, tourist cabins with one channel on the TV, and after watching too much Wimbledon remembered why tennis bores me. But the cabin had air, and I slept good that night.

The next morning it was up and through Glenwood Canyon, before they put I-70 through, then up over Rabbit Ears Pass-still warm at 9000', and into Estes Park via Rocky Mountain National Park. A light drizzle, expected in the mountains at any time, but heading south towards Denver, the storm warnings were out-tornadoes! I was fortunate enough to find a motel who would take a check in these days before ATM's and credit cards. I was cashing it, and when it ran out, depended on someone who would take a check. Which they finally, and reluctantly did, and gave me a room where I could store the Z underneath. Fortunately no tornadoes, but winds had torn off tree branches, and some trees had fallen on cars, it was mess the next morning, but the sun was out, and it was getting warm. And except for the damage to the landscape, it looked like nothing had happened the night before. So home I headed, south to 160, then my plan was to go over Wolf Creek Pass-a notorious pass for bad weather, and back then only two lane, not at all like the four lane expressway of today. And riding in warm, sunny weather, I foolishly expected the same over the pass.

The mountains were gray as can be expected, but when it started to rain, it got cold. Just the opposite of three days earlier of Red Mountain Pass in a t-shirt. I put on my winter clothes, aka leathers, and soon the rain turned to snow. And as I huddled under a snow tunnel, freezing and wet, on the Z, a snow plow came up from behind, and told me to follow him over the pass and into Pagosa Springs. Which I did-thankfully, you don't argue with a plow when on a motorcycle in a blizzard. Even if it is the 4th of July!

And then again t-shirt and no jacket to home. Where I found a worried Theresa, who I couldn't make contact with, but who had seen the weather on the news. And not knowing where I was, could only think the worst.

But fortunately we have a God who despite our worst fears, loves us through them. It seems that when we are weakest He is strongest, a fact I don't understand, but that I am glad to agree with. The same God who rode with me for over 1000 miles that weekend, had not only protected me in high winds and a blizzard, I'll call it mercy, but put the Rocky Mountains on display for me also, showing me His grace and majesty-all in a 72 hour period. He was also with my wife in her concern for her wayward husband. And where I was totally unprepared for what was to occur, He knew. And provided a motel room for safety, and a snowplow to get me home. And just by trusting Him, I had turned a potentially disastrous weekend into a great ride. Correction-trusting Jesus in the midst of the storm allowed Him to turn my weekend ride into a great one. Obedience, just like when Peter walked on the water, Jesus called and I said "yes." Fortunately I kept my eyes on Him over the pass-falling into water is one thing, falling thousands of feet down over a cliff is another.

So keep your eyes on God. Be flexible and follow Him. He will show you grace that goes beyond description, and mercies at just the right time. He will guide you, provide protection, and show you a way through the storm, even if it takes a snow plow. And He can even calm the fears of a worried wife, who made me swear I would never do this again.

At least until the next time, or until she could go with me. And for some 30+ years that has been our story. Riding together, travelling together, but most important trusting Jesus with every aspect of our lives. Despite the weather, roads, or finances, God has always gotten us to where we were going. His way. And not always the highway. But a better way. And all we have to do is trust and obey.

Bundle up, I hear it gets cold on Labor Day!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

the longest day

The longest day in my school career was the first day of seventh grade. After spending a great summer hanging onto remnants of being the oldest ones in elementary school, today I was entering an unknown, an area that although we had endured an orientation, we were too cool to pay attention to. And while searching for the right door to go in, recognized a girl who for the last year I had accused of having cooties. But something about her had changed over the summer, maybe those were cooties. But both being alone in a strange land, we talked-awkwardly until other friends showed up, and then the bell rang-and horror set in.

Homeroom-where we would get an assigned seat, which would happen in every class we would go to today. For we were in seventh grade, and no amount of thirteen year old maturity would help now. It was every man for himself. And as you struggled to open your locker, strategically located at the other end of the school from where most of your classes were, you struggled to remember your lock combination, that you had thoughtfully written down on your notebook, which was now safe and securely locked in your locker. But again you weren't alone. And the fastest three minutes of your life were about to take place as you went on to your next class.

And you would repeat the process several times during the day, broken up only by lunch. Where 500 of you would juggle for position, trying to find a seat without dropping your tray full of food, while balancing the books you should have stored in your locker-if only you had the combination. And the one place they should have given you an assigned seat, they didn't. So you ended up eating fast, with people just like you-dazed and confused, and got your first real education of the day-school lunches. And how nu-trition equated to no-flavor. Exaggerated only by the fact you were starving. And wondered if lunch would always mean crowd control. And instead of recess after, you had another class.

And finally, the final bell, and it was time to go home. But first-how to open your locker, which some eighth grade girl was equipped to help you with. And suddenly you felt so young, immature, and helpless. And as you looked at the books in your locker, you wondered what you were in for. The books said US History, Biology, Algebra, and Literature. Whatever happened to the classes on my schedule? Social Studies, Science, Math, and English? Add in the fact that recess now was called gym, doing pushups, jumping jacks, and other exercises, and the best part of school was gone-lunch and recess. Plus you had to then take a shower-with everyone looking at you! Whatever happened to privacy laws? Get me outta here!

But the cruelty didn't end there. You had homework. And what was with this reading 30 pages every night-in each subject? No more after school playing-you were on the edge of adult hood now. And after dinner the same. No TV, no stereo. It was homeWORK. As if they hadn't punished you enough in school, they were now invading your home. And for only five days a week, for the next 10 months, you would have the same routine. No wonder eight graders looked so much older-seventh grade had taken so much out of them. And you felt all alone and realized for the first time no one really cared about you-or they wouldn't make you go back tomorrow for more. Your only solace was that all your friends were suffering the same. Even the girl with cooties. If only you could mature like she had.

If we had only known then what we do now-most of the injuries of that first day of school, and of life, were self inflicted. If we would only grow at their rate, not ours, and realize nothing more was expected from us than had been from previous classes. I know Christian friends who are like that, always trying to get ahead, but end up trying just to keep up. Rather than letting God lead, they first take it upon themselves to set up a regimen, that God never asked for. Learn the laws, know the rules, and wonder why others grow in God, but they don't, despite their superior knowledge, Bible Study, prayer time, and church attendance. They do all the right things, except the one thing that actually teaches them anything-they exclude God. They don't let Him lead. It's just another routine and not personal. But they strike out on their own, and end up later saying "this God thing doesn't work. Too much work." And they are right-and wrong. If you let God lead, He leads next to you. Jesus says His burden is easy, and to take His yoke-let Him lead. And suddenly you don't find yourself late for class. You remember the locker combination, and you can eat, visit, and still get to your next class on time. You are relaxed and confident, so when the girl who matured over the summer sees you, she will see that you have matured also-in the Lord.

Education never ends, although you may earn a degree. Maturity only ends at death, until then you have your whole life to get closer to God. And to spend it with Him. Try God today-at His pace. Let Him lead, and you follow. Enjoy the day, and the days to come.

God will never expect more from you than you can handle. A lesson you wish those first teachers of yours would have learned. But you can only grow through change, and only mature through growth.

And just think-after you master seventh grade, you are older and wiser for eighth and ninth-then onto high school where the pattern starts all over again.

Enjoy today. God gives you a seventh grade for a reason. It prepares you for what comes after. Just like Jesus-He will stay closer than a friend, never leave you in the hall alone, and get you to the next class on time. And eternity awaits-your graduation day!

Say, wasn't Jesus home schooled? Do your homework!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

stuckee in Truckee

There are five words that you hope to never have to use to describe a motorcycle ride. They are cold, wet, hungry, tired, and lost. It is ok to expect one, or maybe two on a long ride, but when you go 4-for-5 on a three day weekend, maybe plan B would have been a better choice.

Andrew and I planned to take our first overnighter together on my Triumph T-Bird Sport. It was Memorial Day, and we planned to spend three nights out going as far north as Truckee, down Highway 49, and then home via San Luis Obispo and the Central Coast. Great roads, lots of time, and we were both excited. And leaving on Friday after he got out of school, we took off for Bakersfield, to get a head start on the weekend. I had booked a room at Best Western, West Bakersfield it said, and it was so far west it had ocean views. With directions to Bakersfield. Its only redeeming value was you could park your semi there quite easily and let it run all night to keep up those of us trying to sleep in the motel. Hungry, we walked over to the truck stop, and after the smell there should have warned us, we took one look at the buffet, and took the waitress's advise to "sit anywhere you like," and walked over and sat at the Jack in the Box. Which answered the question of what does it take to mess up a burger and fries?

Leaving in warm weather, we rode up 49, stopped and rode the train-the same one in Petticoat Junction, where is the Shady Rest Hotel when you need it, and sat up front to get our face full of cinders from the fire. We were having fun, the roads great, and the weather warm-not hot, but pleasant in the 70's. We rode into Placerville, then got gas, and headed up I-80 to go to Truckee, when it got dark. No big deal. Then it started to rain. Deal. And it got cold. Bigger deal. Then it started to snow. Even bigger deal. And then for the last 20 miles, one hour, we followed the snow plow over Donner Pass and into Truckee. Looking forward to a dip in the hot tub, and a big meal-we were starved. After getting directions to the spa when we checked in, we were off to it within minutes. Only to find it filled with a family not willing to share it. Which was ok, for the water was cold, as was the indoor heated pool. Management policy was to turn it off on Memorial Day Weekend as their season was over. A point not covered in the directions to it. So freezing, and disappointed, we took long, hot showers and headed to the restaurant. Which was sorta open, as the only hot food was frozen pizza-you know the kind where it starts out hard as a rock, and ends up harder when done, with some type of mystery topping and tomato surprise to hide the evidence. And when eaten with tap water-sorry no soda available, we took oaths to NEVER stay in Truckee again. This quite possible may be the "1" that Dirty Harry has never seen.

After a nights sleep, why are they always shorter on a trip when you can sleep in, opening the curtains showed bright sun and a blue sky. So we could better see the two inches of snow on the motorcycle. And Andrew was happy to see the sun, until I mentioned we were going west, not east. Which was the same gray that the darkness hid from us last night. At least the roads weren't snow covered, just wet, so we headed out, figuring within 30 minutes a hot breakfast and warmer weather below awaited us. Which it did, it was into the 60's, positively tepid, and we stopped at Lou's, a welcome station for hungry travelers for over 50 years. Except today, even though it was after 10 o'clock, the cook and most of the staff was just getting there due to the snow. So warding off hunger and cold with lots of hot chocolate, we ate breakfast after 11, but at least it was hot and still morning. And of course when we left, she had no change for a hundred, so I left with a wad of ones and fives-still not sure if I got the short end of her tip money.

Down into the central valley, it was 75, but we still were cold. And decided to ride down Hiway 25- a great motorcycle road. And fun until the last five miles, where the rain-unforeseen by the weatherman who can't even look out a window to see if it's raining, had flooded a field, and covered most of the road. Where once were cows, were two guys on jet skies, and the road covered with little frogs. We stopped and watched, and then proceeded to ride, squishing as few little frogs as possible. Maybe a caution-frog crossing sign would have helped. The only vision I had was like a Outer Limits episode, where at the end of the road a giant frog appeared to make us pay for our indescretions. But that was the only thing that didn't go wrong. And in less than 72 hours, the only thing we had not managed to do was get lost. And the rest of the ride was great-almost boring with nice weather, a good motel, and great food. Which for some reason I vaguely remember, must have been the cold. Or the pizza-or whatever was on it.

Forgetting is a key component to forgiveness. When we ask God for forgiveness, He forgets all our sins-past, present, and future. As if they never existed. It is called mercy. And then leads us by grace, undeserved love. Agape He calls it, a love only He can have for us. So....since we are forgiven all sins, for all time, and He has forgotten them, why do so many remind God of them when they pray? Didn't Jesus say "it is finished?" Didn't He mean all sins?

YES, is the answer. And when you pray telling Him of your newest sins, you are reminding Him of something He forgot. So why do it? Why go to Him pride fully telling Him you are the greatest sinner-pride? That He could never forgive you for what you have done-more pride. Or what can you do to earn His forgiveness, when he price is already paid? Forgive and forget-His advice is to set your sights on things on high-heaven. Where there is no sin, and all sins have been forgotten. Just like the first time you repented.

We spent a lot of time praying in our helmets on that trip. And God was faithful, getting us to where we were going. He is also faithful to get you where you are going. He who began a good work in you is faithful to complete it. No matter how much, how long, or how much we need to persevere, God is with us.

And just to show that forgiveness works, I try to forget the ride to Truckee. No need pushing the mercy envelope when He has it all under control by grace. And so I have never gone back to Truckee. Using the example of Lot's wife. Forgiveness is much better than spending the day as a cold pillar of salt. Or having dinner with the Donners.

Hm, that pizza said Donner's on the box, you don't think...NAH. Forgetting has its own blessings.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

but I've been to Oklahoma...with Joe

When the Clampetts moved to Beverly Hills and it was time for Jed's nephew to go to school, the local schools were less than thrilled with his appearance. Until... he mentioned his last school attended was Oxford. Changing their whole attitude, they were proud to have a Oxford grad coming there. "Oh, merry Olde England," she exclaimed. "It must have been a great experience going to school there."

"England?" said Jethro's puzzled look. "It's in Tennessee. I 'm not sure about England, but Oxford is the school by the low spot on the creek, where the ox ford the stream." And another myth was exposed.

Ever wonder how and why towns got their names? Where is the river in Riverside, CA? Can you imagine a Green Bay? Been there, the water is blue. I have been in both Long Beach and Oceanside, California, and New York. The two are not easily confused. Springfields abound, so do Farmingtons, actually lived in one myself. New Mexico, not old Mexico. Same with Las Vegas-two places I'd rather avoid. Did you know that there is even a Mohnton in Pennsylvania? Sadly few motorcycles, hard to believe a town that shares my name could be so deceptive in that category. Why do the NY Jets and Giants play in New Jersey? Never been to school in Oxford either. But I do own a Ford, but not an ox. Confused yet...

So it was when catching up with our trusted friend, road captain, and Torches alumni Joe Sewell, whose mom Maggie works in Nowata, OK, which just happens to mean no water, he took us on a great ride starting in Tulsa, and heading east into the Ozarks on US 412, the old road, not the four laner. And our first stop on this 100 degree day was at the "Git and Split. " What a perfect name for a convenience store. Which all seem to have a catchy name in the Midwest. Kum and Go, Toot and Totem, Gas and Go-all great names, but Git and Split gets my vote. And it is in Locust Grove, Oklahoma. A beautiful area, but the name sorta throws me. Locusts, aren't they the ones that are usually associated with plagues in the Bible? Aren't they the ones I remember one summer as a kid, who ate everything in sight, and then left their hard shells behind on the trees, or to crunch when you walked on? Miserable looking pests, who while making a chirping noise had their beady eyes looking through you? Why would you name your town Locust Grove? What could possibly attract you to a place named after destruction and death? Do they have a housing development The Plague? Typhoid Avenue. Pestilence Place? I do know of a Locust Avenue in Fanwood. Didn't Tom Waits live at the intersection of Bedlam and Squallor? I can see the Chamber of Commerce mailouts-"come to Locust Grove! Stop at the Git and Split-right next to the restaurant that closed down because so many got food poisoning." True story. So as I finished my Coke, and took my last breath of the smell of burning oil from the week old broasted chicken, fresh air never smelled so good, and the silence of no locusts heard inside my helmet made for sweet music. I had been to Locust Grove and missed the locusts-now onto the grove! I had successfully Gitted and Splitted! But no shirt to prove it.

Did you know that there are over 90 types of locusts? Scary huh? And that they eat and destroy anything and everything in their path? Even aluminum, steel, and plastic, their appetites are so voracious, they eat everything in their path. And then die. With more coming behind them. Maybe that is why they are a common Biblical plague. Just ask the Egyptians. But they are also mentioned by the prophet Joel, of things to come in the last days-of which you are a current resident. Here four are mentioned-palmerworms gnawed, locusts or storming ones, cankers or creeping ones, and caterpillar or stripping ones. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" he asks. Yes, but not all at once, like today. For when the locusts leave, there is nothing to eat. Societies collapse. Leaving white powder, or a burned out, scarred people, the Romans called them burners of the field. Sound like current events? World economies in turmoil. Pestilence around the world. Extreme weather-did you know Oklahoma set a US record for heat last month, almost an 89 degree daily average? Joblessness, governments failing at all levels, and you can see the obvious comparison Joel is making. The locusts of sin leaving nothing behind except destruction, touching every life of everyone -even in the US of A. Lives being gnawed at, fear storming peoples lives, turmoil creeping into every aspect of our lives, and a prosperous nation being stripped of all its riches, power, and might. Maybe that old Hal Lindsay book, The Late, Great Planet Earth, written in 1969 was right. Jesus is coming soon, the evidence is all around. But right before, these things must happen. Unexpectably for those not looking, but not soon enough for those of us who are.

But it is not too late to be saved from the locusts that consume your life. Trust God today. Turn to Him, He knows your situation, let Him guide you through, and into heaven. A place that no man has seen-so much for the bright light theory, that no ear has heard the music of, and that no mind can imagine. Better than your favorite road, it goes on forever. No pain, sickness, being tired, broke, or hungry. Perfect in every way. And no locusts.

No Locust Groves in heaven either. Just Jerusalem, the city of God. And soon when God calls His church home, we will "git and split" from here. The plagues are coming, in fact many are here-just look around. But look up, for your redemption is nearer today than when you first believed.

A grove of locusts, or a grove of great riding? And not even a bug to get on your face or face shield. No laws either, so you won't have to wear a helmet. And you won't find any place called heaven in the US of A. It is a special place for God and His children. Like the song says, "but I've been to Oklahoma.."

Be ready to "Git and Split" today!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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when the nicest people let the good times roll

I'm watching the TV the other night and this ad comes on for back to school clothes. And as all these too cute for school girls are dancing, I notice something about their clothes-I've seen them all somewhere before. But not paying attention, I change the channel, I am a well know anti-commercialite, and then soon on another channel, here again are these same fresh faced girls, dancing to music no one should be allowed to listen to, dancing again. No wonder no one learns anything in school. And again, I recognize the styles. But once again, I change the channel, and too soon for my own good, these same kids are invading my TV time-again! So I watch this time, and find out that the same clothes I wore in school 45 years ago are now back in style-except in my house they never went out of style. And every few years come back into style, being told by some half a sissy what is fashionable and what is not. And as a true rebel to the end, I again vaporize him from my big screen-knowing that sooner or later these pathetic girls will sing and dance their way into my TV time when least expected. But never into my wardrobe.

Now I like to look at women dressed prettily, and I like my wife to look nice. And stylish, too. So we only buy the nicest leathers, Arai helmets, high end boots, and motorcycle t-shirts. And we not only look good, but are comfortable. And cool. Ahead of the next fashion trend, in fact we have never left it. And while you others who don't ride are left to wonder if you are in style or out of style each day you leave the house and get in your SUV, cell phone in hand to warn your trendy friends just in case you are, we throw a leg over our bikes and start the day riding. Confident in ourselves, our leathers, and our lifestyle-knowing that if you wrap a fish in nice wrapping paper, it will stink as much as if wrapped in newspaper. Or an SUV. Beware of girls dancing their fashion ways into your heart. Biker chic is still in. Like my friend says, "their are only two colors, both black." It goes with everything, never goes out of style, and you can always look cool. And you don't ever see those pathetic dancing girls in black leather. Hey, maybe bikers are on to something! How about a motorcycle clothing store-Old Biker instead of Old Navy. And we can sell trendy shirts with sayings, and leather, and boots, and....WHOA! Won't this cut into our riding time? Please, no more pretty boys.

Honda in their early ads never mentioned they were selling motorcycles-they were selling Hondas, and since the world was still reeling from the fictional accounts based on Hollister, black leather was out. Capri pants, sandals, visors, and bright colors were in, so the smiling people on Hondas wore them. And looked so stylish that the people who rode them looked nice, and were nice. So Honda reminded you that you met the nicest people on a Honda. And soon, we all wanted to be nicer. But some of us still chose black, and still do. At least for our leathers. We were already nice before Honda thought that one up. Need help, call a biker. Did anyone ever call a Honda? Sorry, only nice people here, not those in need.

Theresa and I get noticed real quickly when we visit other churches, hey we do at our own. The black leather among the suits-black or grey, both exciting colors, Hawaiian shirts, and trendy clothes stands out. A t-shirt with Triumph logo catches peoples attention, and soon we have struck up a conversation, and met people. Ones who would have shunned you if you were dressed as they were, maybe they can't stand the competition, or the conformity. Maybe they are afraid you might be just like them? Or maybe black leather scares them and they wish to make friends sooner than later. Or maybe they just like black leather, and wish they had the guts to ride to church, but what would their friends say? And so we go to church, stylish but never trendy, comfortable that no one judge us. Well, almost...at least no one who really counts.

For you see we are a society based on first impressions. And if you look nice, you are nice. Or if you look bad, or underdressed for the occasion, well, something is the matter with you. But God, the real reason you are going to church, looks past the appearance, and looks at the heart. He isn't stylish or trendy, no matter what the cutesy ads say. He isn't there to entertain, but to have a relationship with you-to love you first, and hope you'll love Him. He can see past the facade of nice, fresh, trendy clothes, and still see the pain, or deceitfulness of your heart. And rather sit with the cool people who love Him, in leather, than sit with the Pharisees who kept up their appearance. Man looks at the outside, God looks at the heart. And still loves you just as you are. So much for Easter bonnets, we have helmets, and helmet head hair in our family is a badge of honor.

You may meet the nicest people on a Honda. Kawasaki will definitely let the good times roll. Solo on a Suzuki. But only Jesus Christ will love you despite the motorcycle between your legs, and the leather you wear. In fact, Jesus would be right there with you, riding and wearing leather. Out among the people, talking with them, and loving them. Eating with them, and listening. And here's the truth-HE IS! Right now. No goofy rules of religion, but of truth and freedom. Love they call it, and He loved us first. No trendy logos, lines, or posters. Just love. And in leather.

Maybe their is Karma in the fashion world, or déjà vu. Heard that somewhere before. Or whatever excuse you make up. Stylish on the outside will never beat stylish on the inside. Maybe that's why leather, and Jesus have been around for a long time, and never gone out of style. But only Jesus can save your soul, consider that truth today. No matter what you wear, He loves you. Or what you ride. Maybe there is more to the name GAP than meets the eye. A space between you and a God who loves you. Based on appearance or perception. But not truth. Trust Jesus today.

Maybe that's why you see so few motorcycles at the mall. And more and more at church. Is it possible? Jesus rides? You never know who you'll find under that helmet, or inside the leather.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

Jesus, tire wear, curves, and leaning

When asked, "what do you do when you enter a curve too fast?" Kenny Roberts, racer extraordinaire responded, "just keep leanin' man, keep leanin." Great advice, as he should know, but how many of us don't lean in corners, but try to take a line that ends in disaster? I rode a few times with this guy, he was into Harleys for the lifestyle, and was rather a joke because he never learned to ride. Riding with him and Christopher one day-I had a Speed triple, I let him ride it, while I struggled on his bike with twice the weight and half the power. In the curves, he hung off the bike, like he was hanging off of monkey bars, somehow keeping the bike fully upright. Christopher pulled up next to me, and you could see the laughter despite our full face helmets, and fell back laughing. Our oblivious friend later mentioned how fast he was going, and the thrill of leaning. We said nothing, as the old adage tells us there are two things you never criticize about any man, his love making ability and his riding, and not necessarily in that order. I just never let him ride any of my bikes again, and never rode with him again. For my own good. Wonder what Kenny would have thought?

On the fifth anniversary of 9-11, we are gathered in the parking lot at the flight 93 Memorial Chapel in Shanksville, where Father Al introduced me to Judge Art Cook. It is raining, as it always does on 9-11, the locals say it is God shedding tears. As we go into the chapel, the Judge speaks and then at 10:06, we do a bell ringing ceremony-40 bells for 40 heroes. And it's just like God to have 40 people for 40 names that morning, so we all get to participate. The Judge is sitting to my right in the front row, and when the ceremony begins, leans over to me and says "I always have a tough time when they read the names." I had my arm on the back of his chair, and I instinctively embraced him, and he snuggled into my embrace. I was able to comfort him, and for this precious moment, remembered what Jesus meant when He said lean on me, give me your burdens for my yoke is easy, and my burden light. Just two new friends, one consoling the other, in memory of 40 heroes who leaned on each other that September morning. Their leaning on God changing the history of the US of A, they are true heroes. And a great example of leaning on Jesus. Just keep leanin' man, keep leanin.

Sadly I have also seen what happens when you enter a corner too fast and don't lean. I have watched, or responded as they slam on the rear brake, causing themselves to skid or swerve, and ultimately going down. Taking a situation where there was no problem, and panicking in the situation, and going down. When if only they had leaned into the turn they would have been fine, and had fun-motorcycles are the reason God invented turns. So you can lean into them, and why God also allows certain situations to occur in life-so you can lean on Jesus.

So the song "Learning to Lean on Jesus" has a special meaning to me. And every time I ride, I get to lean. But every day I also need to lean on Jesus. To be guided by His love, and to walk in His spirit, for so many times I can't see through the curves, but He does. He knows the traffic ahead, and how best to get through it. So I keep leaning on Him, and look forward to the curves. And when I encounter them in life, I take Kenny's advice, "Keep leanin'man, keep leanin'." A lesson any good rider knows, originated with God over 2000 years ago. And you can tell those who walk with Christ, just like you can the faster riders, all of their tire is worn. And it only gets that way by leaning. Whether on the track of life, or on 9-11, or everyday, "just keep leanin' on Jesus man, just keep leaning'."

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

God is not dog spelled backwards

Theresa and I went up to the monthly Orange County Vintage Bike Club meet in Huntington Beach yesterday. This time there were over 100 vintage bikes, many of which I can remember from when they were new, and I wasn't as old. From an old mini-bike, seems we all had a Briggs and Stratton lawn mower ride somewhere in our life, according to the large group around it, to the winning bike, a stunning 1954 BSA, we all had real good time. And listening to two hours of bench racing, well it all felt good. From BSA to Gilera to Honda to Triumph-seems we all were there for one thing-enjoy a good time with motorcycles as the main event.

We had fun as we saw two old Kawasakis-an original owner Z-1 and a '76 KZ900, explaining as our old Z-1, a 1975 was the last true Z, at least to the officienadoes. We visited with guys on /5 BMW's, like I had had, even surprising a so-called expert on the 1973 short or long wheelbase models. And a 1970 CB 350 Honda reminded of my first street bike, and although mine was a 1972, and gold, we both laughed at how we used to travel on such a small bike. Perhaps we were both smaller then, too. Remember when a small bike meant big fun? To apply my own words to Norma Desmond's reaction to the movies-"riding is big, it is the riders who got small." I talked with ex-Motorcyclist editor Mitch Boehm about our GS1000 Suzukis, and got a free copy of his own new magazine, Moto Retro Illustrated. Check it out at Motoretroillustrated.com and tell him another GS Suzuki rider sent you. And plan on a long conversation-listening to him that is.

And since the day was all about bikes, it meant many new Bonnevilles, an occasional Harley-how many of you Harley guys remember the Sprint? and many bikes from the 70-80's. Also a guy from American Honda brought a new bike not available in the states-a CB1100-a standard we used to call them. I noticed the MC DIST plates, like on the press bikes I ride, and he let me sit on it. While we talked, this man holding his purse dog, had been berating Honda, saying they made lousy bikes, and their marketing stunk-for if they had imported this model it would sell well. They don't have any models that anyone wants, etc... I had caught the tail end of the conversation, and when Mr. Honda had enough let this pseudo-half a sissy, holding his purse dog have it. Bravo! A poser, who may ride if his wife would let him, but first would have to put down his dog. Hey-we all ride! And we never found out what he did ride. Or if.

Maybe he should meet friends of mine like Spud at Biggs HD. Who although if cut would bleed orange and black, always takes time to check out any Triumph press bikes I bring by-his addiction is motorcycles. And why Pastor Fred, on whatever he is currently riding, always insists I take it for a ride. Maybe he should talk to David, who let me ride his KTM Duke around the block in 40 degree weather with no jacket-only took me a 35 minute ride to get a chill that day. Or although I favor Triumphs, I have two Suzukis and a Honda with my four Triumphs in the garage, with my wife's Mustang. Maybe he should talk to Herm at ECC, who after riding my Street Triple informed his wife of a new budget which included one. Ask Ray whose license plate frame says "It's great to B KING," mounted on his B King. Stu on his Gold Wing with a trailer, and many other brands known to have been parked at my house-the common denominator-WE RIDE! Honda even wrote a song about us, "I wanna ride, I wanna ride..." so we do, without purse dogs. For real bikers don't have a purse dog.

Did I mention that Jesus hates religion? After dying on the cross for all, seems men have divided his followers into denominations. Catholics can't take communion with non-Catholics, unless you are Fr. Al, who believes when Jesus says "do this in remembrance of me," He means Me-Jesus. Everybody. Not just who your cowardly rules say. That when travelling there are so many types of Baptist churches, with only one thing in common-they don't get along with each other. And I wince when two Christians meet, and then they ask what does your church believe. What would Jesus do? My answer-"you have to ask?" It seems Mr. I wanna be a Biker Purse dog is alive and well, sadly in many churches. We know more about our differences, than allowing the Spirit to unite us in truth. Jesus and... we hear. And I can see why Jesus threw the money changers out of the chapel-they didn't belong. And like my friend at Honda did, stood up and corrected this big mouth. Just like we need to do about the Lord-but in love. Quote the word in love, put on the love of Jesus, and watch as the devil and his followers leave. They can go and start another cult like the Mormons or Jehovah Witness, or take the things that fit their lifestyle and start another denomination. There are always other purse dog owners willing to join, until you don't agree with them.

I once asked a bunch of riders, mostly Harley and posers-you could tell by the clean leathers, and even cleaner, low mileaged bikes. "If only 250cc two strokes were allowed tomorrow, would you still ride?" Without fail, they all said "NO!" Except for one guy, who said he would, and would still sneak out on his old bike whenever he could. I like that-a rebel to the end. Why can't we love like that?

Be a rebel for Jesus today. Rise above denominations and doctrinal differences. Unite with Jesus in the spirit. And watch as the blessings flow. Keep your politics and purse dogs at home-all they do is bring division. And feel free to park your Honda next to my Triumph, next to a Harley. At a Suzuki dealer. Biker unity. The true brotherhood of bikers setting an example for others-whether they ride or not.

And if it works for bikers, can you imagine what it would do for the church? Something to do in remembrance of who? In a perfect world we would all ride...with Jesus.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com