Tucked deep within the recesses of my memories, are the times spent on
Saturday mornings, changing the oil, polishing the chrome, and hanging out with
other riders. By 9am the garage would be full of riders, and the driveway full
of bikes. And the conversations would be rich of Friday night date conquests,
new roads you had heard about, or did you see the new Pirelli calendar-the rated
X version that they used to put out in very limited numbers, with its artfully
displayed semi-nude women? It took a connection to get on-and you had one. The
talk would often be of which new bike was faster, and how someday you would own
one-just about the time it became the second fastest as the industry was
changing. But as rich as the conversation was, the smells from the garage were
priceless. The smell of two-stroke oil from the Wildman's Mach III. The smell
of the Gunk, as you wiped off all the oil that leaked onto the exhaust or
engine, and as friends helped you wipe it down, you learned about other bikes.
But the smell you enjoyed the most was one of Castrol Racing R, bean oil.
Racing castor oil, the original synthetic. There was something that when it
reached your nostrils and burned their insides, was appealing. Something
missing today, in our ultra-clean protected world.
Today oil spills are wiped up immediately, and the bag of cat dirt to cover
spills is gone. Where as a British bike, or the occasional Harley would mark
its spot, now floors are antiseptically clean, and the smells gone. No bean
oil, synthetic gives off no odor, no more two-strokes, and we use Simple Green
instead of Gunk, as we are environmentally correct-not necessarily by choice.
And as we got older, the crowd on Saturday mornings would thin out, as
girlfriends and wives became part of our lives. But that special time of
friends hanging out together, then going for a ride remains, if only in
memories. A time where after the ride we all split off, but would meet up again
the next week. A time of respect for the others ride, as you never asked if you
could borrow another guy's bike. But if offered a ride, you understood that as
soon as you sat on it, you took ownership-it was yours. And you were
responsible for anything that happened to it. Which kept many off of other
bikes, money talked even in these pre-401k days. We had respect for each other,
and what we rode, although we all rode different brands. The Wildman rode a
Kawasaki, Bouke his Z-1, Bill his 750 Honda, and I rode a BMW. Four guys, three
brands, with one common bond-motorcycles. And after that, nothing else counted
for anything. Fellowship among riders, who when alone on Saturday mornings
would argue the merits of our own rides, but when out would brag on each others
ride, how fast they were, or how great they handled. No one spoke of mpg, and
we never had to speak of fun-if you rode you knew.
Fellowship is part of the Christian lifestyle. We love to get together,
and with Jesus in common, the talk is of and about Him. But let me ask, would
He feel comfortable in your garage Saturday morning? Would you feel comfortable
with Him? Yet so many times we don't get it that Jesus would love to hang out
with us. To check the oil, make a Slurpee run, and clean the chrome. Yet we
don't let Him in-we turn our back on Him. Yet what a better place to share, or
be a witness than hanging out, with Jesus. He rides, you ride. You need Him,
He's there. And all talk doesn't have to be religious talk-some of my best
times with God have been talking about rides or trips I've taken. He loves you
as you are, and knows your likes-and dislikes. He won't force Himself on the
situation, but has to be invited in. Do you invite Him in, into your secular
world? Golfers, is He with you for 18 holes? Moms, is He with you at the mall,
or hairdressers? Is He at work with you, commuting, and lane splitting? Is He
part of your Saturday morning fellowship time, then the ride, or is He a Sunday
morning, gotta spend an hour with Him friend?
Invite Jesus into your life-all parts of it. Watch as shopping, riding,
and golfing take on a new meaning. Get out into the world, with Him along, and
truly minister. How many of us are offended when preached at, but love to talk
of the things of God? How many may come to church with us, or listen to our
testimonies, if only we become their friend first? If we listen to them
first-they too may have something to say, and that ride, or problem you may have
may be within listening distance, but only if they are invited in. Try that one
out when someone suggests you go out witnessing, be a witness every day like the
Lord asks. When others see you having fun, they naturally want to join in,
invite them in. And as Christians we should have more fun than anyone, so enjoy
it. Be a witness to God's love for us, and watch as the gospel is spread to
those who never would listen or visit. As you grow in the Lord, and make
friends you never knew you had. As religion is passed over for a relationship,
and the smells of Saturday morning are renewed.
Jesus and motorcycles-he gets it. Do you? You're invited over to my
garage any Saturday morning, many will respond to that invite, but turn down
church. Reach out to them, let the chapel of Saturday morning permeate more
than bean oil, more than burning rubber. Bench race about your life, and find
out how much Jesus is part of it. You may even find this time of fellowship
ministers to you....only to be followed by let's ride!
If you miss the invite, you may miss the ride. And that would be a
horrible thing....
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com
