People have different ways of keeping track of time and dates. Some may
have a special event that occurred in their life, and recall things before or
after it. Some have lived various places, and associate it with where they
lived, hoping the dates and addresses coincide. Some keep diaries, and then
remember more exact details, at least as their emotions remembered them at the
time. But for years, we have used our own system of remembering, times, dates,
events, and things missed along the way. We shall call it motorcycle dating,
and although it may not always be accurate, it recalls things based on which
motorcycle(s) we owned, where we rode them, and who we did it with. A memory
album, which can be more complete than any photo album, as it reveals the heart
through the ride, and the ride of the heart. If you ride you know what I mean,
if not, you may have precious memories awaiting you. I wouldn't want to miss
any blessings along the way.
It was September of 1986, and with my new FJ1100 all of a week old, I set
out from Farmington to Bangor-New Mexico to Pennsylvania. I was going to
surprise my Grandpa with a few day visit-I had eight days to do the total trip,
and warned my Grandma I was coming. As I rode down Broadway, he happened to be
sitting on his front steps. As I rode by, he jumped up, knowing it was me, and
ran to where I parked. "Michael!" was all he could say through tears of joy,
and the three of us had a great two days together. We went to dinner, dressed
as they called it, at the Colonial, and had a huge meal. He gave me a new shirt
to wear, as my t-shirts were not dressy enough. But the three of us also had a
secret we always kept. This trip was for them, and although I came within 60
miles of my parents, they never knew it. They would not have understood, so we
kept it to ourselves. It was a time for a grandson with his grandparents. I
remember the meal, and the shirt, but not what I had to eat. I remember the FJ,
but most of all I remember my Grandpa jumping up when he saw me-all 81 years of
him. And his tears of joy, maybe the greatest gift anyone had ever given
him.
Christopher was nine years old when we rode to Canada, again on the FJ.
For 13 days, and 3900 miles, we had a special time. Riding ferries, seeing the
Northwest, from Victoria to Mt. St. Helens, we had a great time. A lot for a
nine year old to take in. And I never really knew how much, until we were back
home. He was playing with a friend, and their Transformers. His friend was a
one upper, always one step bigger than the story last told, and had been
bragging how his dad had taken him fishing for the weekend. Christopher just
answered, "I rode to Canada on his motorcycle for two weeks with my dad." Game,
match, set. No brag, just fact. In one sentence he described better what it
meant to him than all the pictures I took. Again, a precious moment between a
father and son, based on a motorcycle.
Theresa and I had stayed out way too late on a Saturday night in Colorado.
In the days of no gas on Sunday, and no motels, we found ourselves at the
Jackson Hotel. Which was celebrating its 100th anniversary that night. But the
rooms weren't finished, so when the bartender/cook/innkeeper saw we were
desperate, he let us stay in the unfinished rooms, with the bathroom down the
hall, if we would set up the beds. Sure thing, and then topped it off by having
the best pan fried steak I ever ate. An intimate evening, with a meal for two,
in the middle of nowhere. The right place, the right time, with he right people
we had never met, and would never meet again. And thanks to the tank on my
R100S, we had enough gas to get back to Durango the next day. From a town with
no name, at a hotel that wasn't open, with my best friend. Something we would
never have done in a car, it seemed so normal then, and so normal now.
Sometimes the best trips are not the ones we find on a map, or planned.
I had met Jesse when I took my cross country trip in my van in 1975. At at
rest stop on I-25 north of Denver, we met and got high. Then went on our ways.
I didn't know it then, but within two weeks I would meet Jesus, get saved, and
my life would change forever. The next summer, I had moved to Albuquerque,, and
was selling motorcycles at Motorsport-when in comes Jesse. He was teaching at
the Taos Pueblo. And immediately we hugged, and he wanted to get high. I
agreed to go to lunch with him, and for the next hour shared how Jesus Christ
had changed my life. No more drugs, and a joy unspeakable. He listened, and I
don't know if he ever came to the Lord. But from a chance meeting at a rest
stop between a man from New Jersey, and a teacher from Taos, to selling
motorcycles in Albuquerque, God had brought us back together. He was perhaps
the first person to see how much I had changed after being saved. Even neater,
he owned a 1972 BMW R60/5, blue, like my old one.
God has given me three passions in life. First my passion for Jesus
Christ, which is the most important in my life. Second, my best friend, riding
partner, and wife, Theresa. And third, the love of riding motorcycles. And in
His own way has woven a life for me using them all. Some would call it luck, I
call it a blessing from a loving God. And like the old gospel song says,
"...and the half has never yet been told." For I hope to have many more miles,
rides, and memories before heaven. There are so many roads, so little time, and
so great a harvest of souls. Make sure that no matter how your memory system
operates, it includes Jesus. He is yesterday's memories, today's memories, and
a bright outlook on memories to come. Precious times, on bikes long ago traded
on new ones, but somehow the memories just get sweeter. As only Jesus can make
them.
Let the ride of your life become your own reality series. With no fear of
being cancelled when trends or audiences change. Share your own memories with
someone today, and encourage them to get out and live. Sometimes you never know
how far you have come until you look back. I rather look ahead to how far I
have yet to go. Enough talk-let's ride!
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot
