letting the good times roll along the way

While waiting for the light to turn green so we could ride one of my favorite stretch of roads, Highway 150 between Santa Paula and Ojai, I noticed a sign for Kawasaki in the museum's window. Which made the next move into a parking place automatic. For the past 25 years we have been riding through Santa Paula, a town that has a rich history of motorcycling. Starting in 1928 when two motor officers in the early morning hours sped through the town warning citizens of the impending flood when the St. Thomas Dam broke, to Kenny Howard's, aka the real Von Dutch's last hangout, to the meeting him in the Chili Hut, and finally from Steve McQueen and his wife living at the Airport, and pushing a button to open the hangar and watch the planes land from their bed, bikes and bikers are a part of the valley. So it is only natural that over the years the Santa Paula Oil Museum would have motorcycle based exhibits. In this old building on the corner of Tenth and Main, it was Union Oil Company's first office, and was for many years. Nothing big and fancy, but very interesting and educational. Over the years they have had various exhibits of Italian bikes, board racers, Harleys, and now through September 18th, Kawasakis from a private collector. We even met Ken Ranzor there once, one of the original Victor McLaglen riders, who gave us a tour of old race bikes, and spent the afternoon with us at the museum. Later at a show we made the day for many veteran McLaglen riders telling them about Ken, he had dropped out of sight, and some wondered if he was still alive. Listened to their stories and watched as they heard of their old riding buddy. Friends of a friend we became to them. So much action in such a small town at such a small museum. Pays to pay attention. Especially while riding.

We even had a tour once of the living quarters and executive offices upstairs by an ex-general manager who was a docent. It was just like being in his home back in the fifties, and it gave the oil history tour had a face to it. But today it was about Kawasaki, and so we paid our $4, up from $2, someone has to keep the lights on, didn't bother to punch in, and walked through the small, yet interesting exhibit. About 10 of Kawasaki's old triples were on display, each original or restored original, plus a first year Z-1, and a 1978 Z-1R Turbo. A small case with some memorabilia, and a chance to relive the early 70's when ring-a-ding-ding two strokes smoked everything else. And if you were there, you know why I said smoked. They were fast, and loud, and smoked a lot, a fact my friend Bill learned one day when trying to race one guy who had his girlfriend on the back, and walked away from his CB750. Ah, the good, old days!

But mixed in with the others was a 1000cc, 4 cylinder, one off Mach IV, so clean it looked factory. And from the 1969 original Mach III, to the Z-1R, I quickly bored Theresa with stories of them all. Not really bored, but just enough to make 150 all that more appealing on this bright summer day. So off we were, making sure that our next trip to the area will include a trip through downtown. Never know what you will see at the museum. Oh, by the way, there was also an exhibit of Santa Paula police with some interesting period photos, many of bikes of course. Just gotta love a town who loves motorcycles as much!

Jesus exhorts us to "as we go, make disciples of those we meet." The key words, "as we go." For no one is certain what lies ahead, and certain people come into our lives when least expected. As any biker knows, the road is a great destination, you others hurry too much to where you are going. It is in these seasons-in and out, that we should be ready. Ready to be that example of Jesus Christ. Whether riding, walking, or waiting in line-someone is watching. And so should we. For what appears to be just an old building, to us has turned into many hours of enjoyment. An old town, of fruit packers, has turned into a haven for many weekends spent riding. And because we took the time along the way to stop, look, and listen, we have been educated, met some interesting people, and blessed-more than any sign in the window would indicate. Or invite.

Jesus Christ adds this to our lives. He lets His light shine on us not only in church on Sunday, but on the roads while riding and wherever we go during the week. He was an outside guy, and loved being among the people. Some who looked like derelicts like many bikers I know, but when you look past the rough exterior are great people. But you need to get out there, and take the time and visit. Jesus did-and does.

After breakfast one morning at the airport diner, we stood on the edge of the runway watching the old planes take off and land. No cops, no lines, no ropes. I guess they figured we were smart enough to not get in the way. God looks at us the same way. Get out and see the world, show them His love, and you won't be in the way. Let Him change the heart, you be the back up needed to help them along. Just like the museum, you add life to His words, and get hands on experience. Never knowing what is next. He calls it life-I call it riding.

Add Jesus to the list of names we met in Santa Paula. For many great times have been had there because He is with us. He rides, knows the roads, and knows great places to eat and meet. Like an old building with a Kawasaki sign in the window. Take the time and smell the castor today-a breath of heaven to some, and a place to rest for others. Along the way, as you go...with Jesus.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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standin' on a corner in Fillmore, California

Did you know that on the corner of SR 126 and A Street in Fillmore there used to be a gas station and a motel? In 1948? Or that across the street was a diner that served great breakfasts? Well, neither did I until our chance meeting with a man making his first trip back to Fillmore since then. I say chance, but I really mean divine time of intervention. Today a Chevron station stands there, has for 15 years as far as I can remember, and we stop for cold drinks before heading south to Moorpark over the pass-a good motorcycle road. While getting ready to leave, a man pulls up in a Ford Crown Vic with Tennessee plates, and after parking carefully, comes over and starts talking to us.

Turns out he is 81 years old, and has driven over 2100 miles from Tennessee by himself over the weekend. He showed us his medicine for his heart, it is enlarged and dressed in his blue leisure suit-right out of the seventies, started to tell us about his life. Born in 1930, he left Fillmore for the Air Force in 1948, then a career at Lockheed, where he left and took early retirement in 1974, as head of special projects. He tapped on his right vest pocket telling us how they pay him well in retirement. And how he is a widower and how his older son committed suicide due to drugs. All within 45 seconds.

But he went on to tell of Fillmore then, and how there were no hotels around, and wouldn't stay in a Best Western, the only game in town. He was staying in Piru, I didn't even know they had a motel, but I do know of an old hotel I saw on Diagnosis Murder when filmed there. We even went by to confirm it once. But in between, he was a bundle of energy, and memories, and entertaining to listen too. After awhile we shook hands, and I asked him if he had been down Central, the main street in town to see where the Wm. L Morris Chevrolet Store was, a legend since 1929. It fell victim to the earthquake in 1994, but the buildings still remain empty, much like happens in a small town like this-abandoned, unused, but not forgotten. When I mentioned this, his face lit up. He had gone to school with Chappie Morris, the owner's son, and they were friends. He would go by. We shook hands again, and even though he had more to say- a lot more, it was time to go. I wished this smiling old man well, and never get his name. But his face and kindness will stick with me.

Choice encounters like this along the road always seem to remind me that although we are called to the road as a destination, it is the people along the way that make the most precious memories. 2000 years ago an Ethiopian eunuch had a choice, but not chance encounter with Philip, asking about the scriptures concerning Christ. After Philip filled him in, he baptized the eunuch, and then was gone. All within a short time, a blessing and an example to future travelers that while on the road, to share the gospel. Which not always is expressed in scriptural dictation, or preaching, but more often showed in love. Like we did in Fillmore. God sent this man to us, or us to him. He needed a friend, a fellow traveler to share old times with, and we love to listen to the old time stories. So we were his perfect audience. In fact I am tempted to ride up to Piru to find him and hear more, much like the eunuch wanted to hear more about Jesus. But we showed love and compassion to a fellow traveler, and left the richer for it, as did he. To us a chance encounter, but to God a precious time to see three people on the road blessed.

Take the time to welcome others, whether into your home, your church, or on the road. You never know who you will meet or the blessings that await you. You may be the blessing, or be on the receiving end, but either way, welcome strangers. For we were all once strangers, and Jesus welcomed us. A fact we never want to forget. And that we should want to pass on to others. To some this would have been an annoying old man, but to us a precious treasure of memories. And to him, we were a welcome audience after four days in the car alone-at 81 years old.

Maybe that is why Jesus wants us out and about on the road-getting out of church, sharing the love of Jesus and making testimonies. Life outside of the four walls, taking what we have learned with us to share with others. Maybe, just maybe, take the time to take Jesus with you on your next trip, whether to the store or across the country. You will never travel alone, and be blessed. And stand with a new friend where a hotel and gas station used to be. Listening. An unscripted memory from God, just for you. Just another pit stop in life on the road to heaven.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

fast women and motorcycles

You may not realize it, but the term motorcyclist is not gender specific. And that recent figures show that 10% of us who throw a leg over a motorcycle are women. Of course the figure at my house is 25%, but don't expect to find anything average about us here. So it is not unusual when we travel to meet women on their motorcycles and enjoying themselves. And from time to time we have been know to have quite a few women who ride and their rides parked in front of our house. So take that soccer mom-park your mini-van somewhere else, real women ride!

My first experience with a woman rider was in Albuquerque. Penny rode an R75/5 BMW. I encountered her on South 10, now Hiway 14, and had trouble staying with her in the curves. When we stopped and talked, seems she knew Gerald, my chiropractor and best friend, and knew all about me-but talked to me anyway. Long legged, blond, and attractive, under the helmet she was just another unknown biker, who just happened to ride fast. With the helmet off, she was a woman who rode fast, too fast for some male egos to handle. I loved it.

My second experience was also in Albuquerque. God was dealing with my worship of my R90S, and I was looking to sell it. Rocky, my friend and 1%er, sent Jan my way, again tall, and riding a TX500 Yamaha. We finally did a trade, I got the Yam and some cash, and she got the S. I even rode a couple of times with her. No waiting for her though, I still think she learned patience waiting for me. Must have been the S, no girl could be that fast. She was used to riding with the throttle wide open, so did on the S with twice the horsepower. Gotta love a girl like that.

And of course I know many women who ride. Penny, Roseanne, Paula, Mary FNY, and of course my wife. With a common denominator, they all ride very well, have great skills, and except for Theresa, they all are better riders than their husbands. Note-Mary FNY is single men, if you could keep up with her. I'll gladly ride with them anywhere-Roseanne loves the Ortega, Penny has gone over 120mph on her Sportster, and Theresa has ridden 600 mile days. Paula rides everywhere, and teaches riding courses. We enjoyed a day riding to Montauk Point with Mary FNY. I also think it is nice of them to let me lead, so I don't spend all day catching up. Maybe not better riders than the extreme crowd, but riders just the same. I remember when a woman who rode was extreme. Women who love motorcycles and love to ride. And I think its great.

Now fast women are nothing knew. Or are skilled or perceptive ladies either. Take for example the first Sunday after Jesus was crucified. Here come Peter and John running to the tomb where Jesus is buried. Only to find Mary and other women already there. Their sensitivity to the situation brought them there much earlier that morning, and it was even Mary who had the courage to ask the angel, "where have you taken My Lord?" And the first to hear of His resurrection. And as other examples teach us in the Bible, women have held special places with God. Ruth, the other Mary's, Rehab the Harlot, Sarah, Miriam, Rachel, and Martha and Mary. Women who were bold enough, loving enough, and sensitive enough to the Holy Spirit. And who loved the Lord. And if they lived today, I could see them as woman bikers-all of them. For they have that special sense that only someone who rides can have, and that special spiritual sensitivity that only a Christian lady can have.

Did I forget to mention, all the ladies who ride with my wife are Christians? Gives them a special sisterhood if you would, motorcyclist and Christian. Riding with Jesus, and making a statement about who they are, why they ride, and sharing the gospel. Like the license plate frame Penny gave to Theresa, it says "GET OVER IT! WOMEN RIDE TOO!" And just like many churches, Jesus is not just for men anymore.

So next time you follow a motorcycle, and see a pony tail sticking out from underneath the helmet, take a second look. That biker just might be a woman! Or someone you know! Or even my wife! And if you see them at church, ask them about the freedom in riding their own motorcycle. And the freedom that God allows them in the spirit. And if your wife rides, a double blessing. Hang onto that one, she is special. Jesus loves all motorcyclists-lady bikers too.

And a mighty thanks to God, for now when I say I ride with my best friend, it's my wife. Jesus, Theresa, and motorcycles-truly it don't get any better than this.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

home is where the motorcycles are

I don't like the term Man Cave. I don't think of the hallowed ground where my motorcycles live as a cave. And to think this term was probably coined by someone who doesn't ride just more adds stupid to the term. Yet I hear it often, and I remind them that it is a garage-for vehicles. Which in California, it means storage for all the junk/things I have accumulated that are more valuable than the $30 car I bought to park on the street. But at our house it is still a garage, which means vehicle storage, which means motorcycles, I think we are down to seven, but always room for Theresa's Mustang. There are certain conditions that must be adhered to, and maybe that is why her car looks new after 10 years, of not sleeping on the street every night. Once again emphasizing that we are not politically correct, why change when you are correct in the first place?

While travelling we get to visit some garages that have gotten out of hand. They then take the form of a collection, and when some kind hearted, well meaning friend recommends starting a collection, they do. Big or small, I have been in museums with almost 1000 bikes, or small, just the ten bikes I ride regularly, it is still a garage where motorcycles are stored-when not being ridden. And for us, we are pro-motorcycle. Let me explain.

I know guys, surely not men, whose wives let them have a motorcycle. They even let them park them in their garage, just don't knock over anything of theirs. Their lives revolve around the station wagon-what do you think an SUV is? It is stylish station wagon that you wished your dad never had. What is the matter with women who would rather drive a station wagon than a convertible? Remember those who coined the phrase Man Cave? And in her world of perfect hair, trendy fashion, and a trip to the mall each week to stay stylish, motorcycles don't fit. But maybe it is her that doesn't fit?

Our garage is motorcycle specific. Motorcycles first, then Theresa's car. We ride, and that is why we often aren't here-we are out enjoying the roads across the US of A that God has given us to enjoy. Like the sign says-"We ride-that's why we aren't here!" And being a motorcycle based family, we own a car as a necessity rather than a priority-if you consider a red convertible a necessity. I've checked, it is. For those days it rains, or you have to go to the grocery store, we have a car. And it serves it purpose. And with the top down, and the wind in your face, some tell us "it is just like riding" WRONG! Must be the man cave crew again. Always trying to make a comparison to cool but wimping out and choosing politically correct. Tell us about your vacation sometime-ours takes hours. What did you do last weekend? Ours can take a whole weekend to explain the ride. Which was the destination. Where is your car parked? Ours is right next to the motorcycles-in the garage.

And when Andrew was given a TV recently, he put it in the garage. By the magazines, so on rainy days, and lazy afternoons after a ride, we can hang out. Relax. Sorry Stu-no sofas allowed. Mechanic's creepers work just fine. This ain't no man cave, this is a garage. We don't need no stinkin' cars! In fact we have decided if we ever move, it will be a four car garage-not four bedroom. With a kitchen just big enough to cook in, and a loft to sleep. And some big sofas-happy now Stu, to hang out with the bikes. A big screen on the wall, and we will be right at home-except when we are on the road, where we'd rather be.

So you can keep your man cave-I prefer to think of them as tombs, you're final resting place, but not really a place of rest like ours is. Home to all who visit, and where even non-riders feel at home, and may get there first chance to get up close to a motorcycle, and if their wife says ok, sit on it! Just don't get any grease on your pants, don't want to soil her white leather car seats. Wait till she finds out girls ride too!

Churches have changed over the years. From huge white buildings with steeples, to brick extravaganzas that look like a campus, today we find churches in strip malls, old car dealerships, storefronts, and even people's homes. But the fact remains that the building is not the church-the people are. Maybe a fact to remember next time your church has a building fund project. And maybe why so many old church buildings are in decay and falling down. The people in them are falling down and decaying too. Too much emphasis on the building, and not on whose spirit dwells in it. For if God doesn't build the house, we labor in vain. For Jesus is head of the church. Sadly, I'll bet some of you didn't know that. Not the building.

But He also refers to our bodies as tents-temporary housing. And He desires to help us build them too-spiritually and physically. So let Him. You have the ultimate designer, fabricator, creator, and loving God at your disposal. Let Him build you a life-and not a cave. Follow His plans, and don't worry about laboring in vain. Grow from within, and then with Jesus as a solid foundation, build from there. Sounds so simple, so let it be. Don't get caught in a man cave, or man cave religion. Trust God, and don't labor in vain.

God has plans for you for a hope and future. Right now was once a future, and tomorrow will soon be a today. Enjoy them all in the Lord. Trends come and go-Jesus is for real.

And on those days it rains, hang out among the bikes in the garage. Fellowship, wherever two or three are gathered, Jesus is among them. He calls it having church. In a garage. With motorcycles, and bikers. As for me and my garage, we will serve the Lord!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

no, you go first, after me

Take the word self out of self serve and what do you have left? Serve, as in service. Which leaves you with the decision, who do I serve? You or me? Then add self back into it, and you get your answer, we tend to serve ourselves. Rarely from a pure heart, because that is all we know to do, but sadly because more than we care to admit, that is what we want to do. From self serve gas, to self serve ATM's, we want to be first. Ever watch a mom juggle a few items behind your full cart? How often do you let her go first? Remember the car ahead paying your toll for you without telling you? Happened to me more than once, but how often do we return the favor? Or set the example? When is the last time you shared the road with a biker? Could be your pastor you just cut off, or me!

Police cars say "to protect and serve..." but when is the last time a policeman served you? Or when did you last feel protected? When have you ever prayed for the cop who has stopped the car on the side of the road? It could be the killer they are looking for. Politicians, perhaps the vilest form of life in society promise the world to get elected, but then follow their own agendas, then lie some more by trying to tell us how well they are serving us. All to get elected again, so the pattern continues.

We have become an all about me society. Next time you look at a picture you are in, who do you look for first? See? We all look out for #1, but end up acting like #2! And no one ever put two #2's together to form a #1! And so the pattern continues, and we become more self absorbed-what can you do for me? being the attitude we have.

But some are bothered by this, and seek to serve. But not at any expense to themselves. Yet they don't mind being put out for a picture or interview. Jesus addressed these people, church people, in Matthew 25. When He confronted them, they bragged on the things they had done. "We prophesied in your name! We cast out demons. We built buildings and put your name on it. We tithed. We even have a major religion with your name on it. We went to church on Christmas last year, and it wasn't even on Sunday! What more could you ask of us? Isn't that enough? I even have a title at the church"-but God is not impressed.

Jesus' answer was far reaching, and not what the crowd wanted to hear. And it may not be what you want to hear either. My question is, have we sunk so far as a society that we feel we must be recognized, and rewarded for doing the right thing? Have we become so delusional that we think God is here to serve us? Do we have the audacity to think that when Jesus tells us He came to serve man, that we hired a genie in a lamp to grant all our wishes? Yet I see many Christians act just like this. Grumbling to God or the church when they don't get their ways. Expecting God to drop everything just because they want something. "I'm here God!" And the only time they pray is to ask, and then complain when God doesn't answer exactly like they asked. C'mon God, what is your problem? Man, talking about making me impatient!

Well... since you asked, it is us. For in the answer of Jesus, we learn more about us than we wish to know, and more about Him that we wish we had known. "Be gone! I never knew you, and you don't know me. If you had you would have fed the hungry man at the Burger King rather than push past him to get the lunch special. That would have been special. You would have given water to the thirsty guy cutting your yard, rather than telling him to hurry up in the heat. When in the hospital you made a scene because the nurses were so slow, but did you ever visit to volunteer? To help? Do you remember just smirking when the kid across the street got arrested, but blew him off when he asked about your motorcycles, wondering what he really wanted? Maybe he just liked to ride, like you. Remember you were you so busy that when you met the guest speaker, you didn't ask him to lunch with you, even though he told how he missed his family and was lonely? And left more lonely than when he arrived?" For if you had, you would have served Jesus, for when doing it for the least of them, you did it to Him.

OH. And let the excuses begin. But God, I was busy raising kids. The car payments were killing me. The vacation cost more than we thought. Church-man I'm so tired by Sunday. Kids soccer, Kiwanis, jobs, hobbies, the Chargers, and the list goes on and on. While Jesus stands there quietly, his only desire is to bless you, and equip you so you can equip others. Continuing the pattern of love He started, by passing it on to all you meet. Seeing Jesus instead of the bum, or addict, or cop, or whatever. Or yourself. OH.

Making disciples He calls it. As you go on your way. Teaching love by living it, by trusting God. His only commandment-love Him first, then others, as yourself. So you can. But you must trust God. And how can you trust someone you don't know? Follow the simple instruction-to the letter. Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and its righteousness, then everything else will be added. God first, then you. Simple, and you might just be a blessing along the way. And be blessed yourself. No more self serving, but serving others. Keeping your eyes upon Jesus. Who is more than a bumper sticker or a cross around your neck. He is the way, the truth, and the life. So let me start the process-what can I do for you today? And let the love of Christ dwell in our hearts. Pass it on. NEXT!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

I was a stranger and you took me in

We stood behind the tape in the pits just before the start of the race. The racer was desperately trying to start his bike, but all it would do would crank-no start. Just a few minutes ago he had been on the track for practice laps, now they were calling for the bikes in his heat race, and it looked like he might not make it. As the crews frantically checked everything, the guy next to me was trying to get the crew chief's attention. He kept pointing at the bike, but no one was paying attention to him. He even raised his voice to no avail. It was finally when he reached over the tape and turned the pet cock to "ON" that they noticed him, and asked him to leave-he hadn't stayed behind the tape. And as the bike roared to life, someone had shut off the gas, the rider took off to the starting line-thankful that this someone had helped out, but quite a different story was taking place in the pits. The crew chief was livid that this man had reached over and touched the bike-against the rules, and was giving him a piece of his mind. Maybe the piece that had missed the obvious. He was told they have rules in the pits for a reason, and that he would be banned from entering them for interfering. Sadly, a much different viewpoint than that of the racer. For without this stranger's help, he would still be stuck in the pits. And miss the race.

Recently in church we all met at the altar after the service to pray. When I noticed one man, a stranger to me, by himself on stage. It took me a few seconds to get to him, as God told me, then reminded me three more times to go pray with him. But I just couldn't drop Theresa, so I finished with her and then went up on stage. He was new in town, and felt alone. He didn't know anyone, but had come into the church to get involved and make friends and fellowship, with them and with his savior, Jesus Christ. We prayed, hugged, and then I went back down, doing what God had asked me to do-pray with a stranger in church. But like the stranger who turned on the petcock, I was in for a surprise.

A few weeks later I saw this man again, playing on stage. After the service, when he was the only one left, I went up, and we embraced. He was touched I remembered him, and told me what an encouragement I had been to him that night. I had provided by my obedience to God, the very thing he needed at the moment- a friend, and a Christian brother to pray for him and with him. We prayed, hugged again, and I left-only to be intercepted by two men, security they called themselves, who told me to stay off the stage for my own safety. When they persisted on making their point, I told them "go ask the man I was praying with why I was up there with him." Which they finally did, but at this point, rules had over ruled the Spirit-another clear cut case of not trusting God, but sticking to the rules, despite the prescience of the holy spirit. Another point scored for legalism and religion. And my peace was stolen from me.

I was hurt for I had obeyed God, and we both were blessed. But I was yet stopped again, by another man, an assistant pastor, who wanted to make sure I understood what I had done. It seems I was the only one who had. I was advised to stay off the stage for security reasons-funny we had all been invited up the previous time, and I was just responding to what God told me to do.

So I told him I didn't understand, how you would rather me have obey your rule, and be disobedient to God, and cause me to fall into sin. Well, that changed everything, and without details, I showed him how foolish rules are in comparison to the spirit. The law kills-the spirit gives life. And started asking him questions-like did Jesus have a security team, and caught him off balance. When he mentioned his disciples, all I could think of was them abandoning Jesus in the garden. Peter wimping out to a little girl. And all but Thomas hiding in the upper room after His resurrection.

Today you may be asked by God to do something, it is your choice what to do. Trust God and live. OR disobey God, clinging to the rules and laws, and find yourself in sin with God. Without God no peace, and having to repent-but man is satisfied. With Him, God is satisfied and the peace continues. Would I do it again? "Yes," I told the pastor. I will rather obey God than man. And I think he got it. But I know that he will soon return to his rules. By the way, the message that day was on faith, to trust God. When I reminded him of that, and my actions, I was vindicated-by God.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, Proverbs 3:5 says. I did. Lean not on your own understanding. I didn't. And He will guide your paths in all your ways.

Which He did, and will again. For whether at the beginning of a race, or the ending a service, and in the in-between times, Godly advice only works if taken. You can have your rules-I have Jesus. Silly question, but which one saved you from your sin? Your own answer may surprise you. Trust God. Be a Matthew 25 Christian. Upset the world in love. And you just may surprise the church. But not God.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

not all odors make scents

As hard as it may seem to believe, not all people love the smell of racing castor, aka bean oil. To those of us whose olfactory senses are highly evolved in this area, nothing can smell better than following an old race bike down the road. Much better than the toxic smells of today's racing fuels, it stays in the clothes and allows you a quick exit to your room to change out of them when arriving home. Must be a testosterone based event, as I have found few women who share the desire for this most gourmet like smell associated with motorcycles. And wives somehow find it an anathema. Probably not the reason she married you for.

It seems there is something about old bikes and their oils, gasses, and greases that I find intoxicating. I pity those of you who don't, for great smells can relate to great experiences, and serve as a catalyst to fond memories. And I rarely find girl odors, in particular Grandma odors in the files. Like in church, why do some women put on so much perfume to make the rest of us nauseous? Why does Grandma wear so much perfume to the picnic, and then spend the day swatting flies? Like a ride in an elevator reminded me yesterday-leave it at home-no one wants to smell you! Or be fumigated by you! But yet, later on an elevator ride, an older, distinguished gentleman got off smelling of British Sterling, my old favorite, yet it could never make me smell as attractive, or distinguished. And although the commercials always showed beautiful women flocking to these great smelling men, it never worked for me. I think I was the opposite, I wore cologne for me, not for anyone else. So if I may, this is my list of cologne odors-for me. The rest of you, take a deep breath and keep walking.

Racing castor-Castrol to be precise. I would bottle up those fumes from some old Triumph or BSA and keep them liberally spread around the house. Some scents are for more than just the garage.

IN-and OUT-who can resist the desire for a Double Double while passing by-might keep me hungry all day.

BBQ from Arthur Bryants-intoxicating, for the alternative meal after to many burgers.

New Car Smell-not that phony aerosol they spray at the car wash-but real artificial fabrics giving off real artificial scents-needed at least twice a day to break the caster spell.

Bacon frying-from a skillet over a fire-I can hear it crackling now. Next to the potatoes and eggs.

Bay Rum-to be only applied by an old barber-somehow it takes to the skin much better from skilled hands who have been applying it for decades.

And somewhere on the list would be suntan lotion, a wood fire, brownies or chocolate chip cookies, fresh cut grass, or old books. A quick snort of one of these every once in awhile just to stir the senses.

But after sorting out the olfactory eruptions, I would like to sit on the front porch and smell the air after a rain. A summer rain, where after the clouds part again, all these fresh, wonderful, natural odors erupt. And one of the things I miss here in So Cal, for it doesn't rain. It takes a porch in Pennsylvania, or in Colorado to get the right ambiance. And sit back and watch as the rain drops from the trees-good stuff. The smell of fresh and new-just like the song says about Jesus-He is like a fragrance after the rain. Smells of life, love, and watching as flowers bloom again. Signs of life that remind me of being forgiven and loved by Him. Scents so special that they smell different to each one of us. Personal, intimate, and for those special few moments, time spent with the God of the universe. Intoxicating, but different than castor. Invigorating, but different than the barber's hands. And stirring a hunger in me for more, like a trip past In-and-Out. A fragrance that He made just for me. And one just for you too.

A time to stop and rest, and reflect. Something we all could use a lot more of, but somehow don't get.

I could add strawberries, fresh coffee-not Starbucks burnt smell, Sunoco 260-racing gas from the pump, my wife's shampoo, or the smell of a good steak. They all stimulate the senses. But only that precious fragrance that comes from Jesus stimulates my soul. If you have ever smelled this, you know what I mean. If not, next time it rains, find a porch and sit and sniff. Take in all the wonderful smells, and realize they were made just for you, by a God who loved you so much He gave His only son. So that you might have life, and be able to breathe in all the things that He has to offer. Better than scratch and sniff, and you don't have to wait for a rainy day-ask Him into your life now, and let the olfactory rushes begin!

Jesus and racing castor. Then a Double Double, and then some fresh strawberries. With my wife after she has shampooed. On the front porch. Life just don't get any better.

With just enough wind in the face to make the experience last. All this from a guy who hates riding in the rain. For loving God makes more than sense-it makes scents as well.

love with compassion,

Mike

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