faces along the highway

I had pulled into Zanesville, Ohio, and it was late.  I was behind schedule, a ticket and a road that just had to be explored took me off the route by a couple hundred miles.  An old tourist camp, the ones where they have little cabins, looked inviting in the dark, really I am a sucker for old neon signs, and for a small cash transaction, signed up for the night.  And then the guy behind the counter saw my Honda, and said “hold on,” and gave me back $10, and moved me to a better cabin, where I could park it on the porch.  Anything for a fellow biker...We had ridden on the ferry across to Victoria, and Bruce had made the reservations for that night.  When we saw they wouldn’t work out, the manager gave us back our money, and we went looking for a room.  After 10pm, the pickings were slim, but we found one.  And when the lady behind the desk saw the motorcycles, gave us the last room, a suite, for the price of a room.  And called over to the restaurant, who stayed open for us, and then the cook came out and asked about our trip.  While eating the manager came over and sneaked the spa key in my hand, telling me it was closed, just be quiet, “I know you could use a swim before bed.”  Strangers in a strange land, the language of motorcycles bridged any culture gap.  On another trip alone, I was eating at a Steak and Shake just north of Oklahoma City.  A young father with his son, about 4 years old, had been staring at my bike, and when offered a chance to sit on it, jumped at it.  His father taking pictures, and the little boy having a story to tell his mom when he got home.   A few seconds out of my life, meant a lifetime memory to a father and son.  Never heard of any yuppie doing that on his BMW.  But just add a motorcycle, and things happen...

Brett and I had ridden to Monterey for the Grand Prix, and were staying at a large Travelodge.  When we pulled in, other riders told us of thefts the night before, and jokingly we asked if we could park in our rooms that night.  “Of course,” and although taken by surprise, we did.  Riding down the hallways, he on a Ninja 750, and me on my FJ1100, we slept with our bikes that night, one at the end of the bed, the other between the beds.  All of us safe and secure, and a little woozy after sniffing gas fumes all night, but bright and ready for the day at the races.  Saying goodbye to the guy who had slept with his GSXR1100 tied to his leg outside, packing a gun across his chest.  We both would have stories to tell later....It was pouring and dark going across New York state, we had chosen the Turnpike because of the weather. Coming up to the tollbooth, a leather jacketed arm came out and waved us through, a courtesy to us in the rain.  And we never got a chance to thank him.  Earlier on the trip, I broke of a footpeg on my Sprint ST, and stopping in a Chevy dealer with a Honda motorcycle store in the back, told the mechanic of my dilemma.  Going through the trash, he found an old handlebar, cut off the end to foot peg length, put on old grip on it, and using a set screw attached it.  Promising he couldn’t say how long it would hold.  And finally being replaced when we got back home, over 3000 miles later.  Footpeg intact.  And one last Sprint St story. We were riding along Skyline Drive in Virginia, and stopped at on overlook.  Parking next to another Sprint, the owner told us of how this was his backyard, he rode here often, and if we wanted to follow him, he would promise us a great ride.  Which we did, which he did, we passed countless cars going way over the 45 mph posted, never felt unsafe, and when he turned off, a simple wave was all that was needed to say thanks for the ride.  And of course there was the manage at Johnny Carino’s outside of San Antonio, who when he found out we ride, gave us one meal free, and offered to take off the next day to show us the roads of Texas Hill Country.  Faces along the highway of life we travel, simple moments in time, non-scripted and invaluable.  Names and faces long ago forgotten, but the memories never die.  The stories only get richer, and the rides never seem to be as frequent as needed.  If you ride, you know.  And even if I could explain, you would still have to understand, you still need to get out and find out for your self.  You cannot live life on my memories, they are that personal and precious.  And best seen from behind the handlebars.

Now some may call us lucky, and some others may get jealous.  “Why can’t I do things like that?”  First you need to get out.  Second there is no such thing as luck.  Luck would mean random thoughts and actions, that no one is in control.  Yet those of us who know Jesus know that isn’t true, God has everything under control.  They are called divine interventions, God already had the right manager in Victoria who liked bikers, and who would extend courtesy to us.  God knew of a father and son eating at Steak and Shake that day, and knew of a rider who would make their day.  He had the old handlebars in the trash so a mechanic could fabricate a new footpeg, and had a Chevy dealer with a Honda franchise out back to make the day complete.  Too often we think of God only in emergencies, and wonder “where was he?  If God cares, how did this happen?”  Yet he never left us, he went down that dark road with us when we knew we shouldn’t.  He kept us safe like one night in Philadelphia when the headlight popped out of my BMW after hitting a pothole, in the ghetto.  Kids throwing rocks at cars, yet he kept me safe.  We can plan all we want, but yet fail to include God in the plans.  When he should be the very center of them.  And so man plans, and God laughs, not at us, but with us.  To show how much he loves us, to show how much he cares even about the little things.  He isn’t someone along the way, someone we meet and forget, but a friend who sticks with us forever.  And once we include him in our daily lives, we find more life than we could ever imagine.  He guides us Mom and Pop diners, he shows us the last room in town, that is just waiting for us.  He has paid the toll ahead of time, and is keeping us safe in the storm.  All behind the scenes, never interfering, but always present.  And yet we forget all about him, listening to others who claim God is just a religion of rules, never seeing the freedom in the spirit that gives life.  Trusting to luck, a philosophy, rather than trusting in truth.  He is the tour guide of life no matter which road you are on, and knows the best places to eat, to sleep, to ride, and has the next memory just waiting for you.  All because he loves you...and without asking for anything in return.  And so we wait patiently for his return.

Short trips or long, alone or in a group, God has blessings waiting for you.  Don’t trust to luck when you can trust to Jesus.  Proven over and over.  Just like a trip my old friend John Duffy took once on his old GT380 Suzuki.  He averaged over 63 miles per gallon, had great weather, and one night near exhaustion in Texas, found himself asleep and bundled up, safe and secure next to an off ramp, wondering how he got there.  But God knew, and still knows today.  Don’t be asleep at the wheel, or even the handlebars, God never rests, never sleeps, never slumbers.  One night in Zanesville, another in Texas, another Victoria.  And so I ask, who plans your next ride?  Faces on the highway, I am glad I don’t face life without the face of God shining on me.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

in 25 words or less...

Many an evening walk was taken with my Grandma in the cemetary across the street from her house.   A great place to walk and talk, I learned a lot about the people residing there, and who had resided in Bangor.  My Grandma lived there her whole life, and knew just about all the families, having had them in school, knowing their parents.  Nothing morbid about it, walking on the grassy hills after a while you felt like you had known them too, and certain tombstones would always be more interesting than others.  But one afternoon, my Grandma was upset, not walking past where her and my family would be buried, but a recent burial had the strangest head stone.  Much larger than the others, where the others were cement or marble, this one had a bronze plate on the front of it, telling everything this man had done in life.  No secrets here, it was truly a memorial to himself, by himself, and it bothered her that anyone would put all their accomplishments on a grave marker.  Later after talking, we found it pathetic that all his accomplishments would fit on a tomb stone.  He bragged, we weren’t impressed, but here for all time, to all who passed by and read it, he would be remembered.  More in death by his monument, than maybe in life.  Even more pathetic, but it none the less was his defining moment.

I am not sure when I got the motorcycle fever, but the disease is with me to this day. Maybe the defining moment was when BH and I moved to Florida from Jersey, in January, and we rode our motorcycles.  While my car sat at home.  Maybe it was a year later, when at age 21 I rode my R90S to Albuquerque to start my new life, in November, again a cold month, selling my van to finance my move.  I would rather give up my car, van, or truck for my motorcycles, and even then, the pattern that exists still today had been formed.  Like the headstone, you could learn much about me by what I rode, and the fact I chose it over cars.  But years later it became evident to me the depth of riding in my life, and the passion I had for it.  It had gotten me jobs, friends, ministry, and many an exciting memory, but on one solo ride from San Diego to New Jersey, a gas stop in Texas defined me.  It was raining hard, had been for a few hundred miles, and would for the next thousand, and needing gas, I looked for any station.  The Texas panhandle is wide open, and after Tucumcari, very little between there and Amarillo.  I spotted a station, just off the exit, in fact the exit was the station, and I pulled in under the canopy.  The wind was so strong, I had to lean against the Sprint ST so it wouldn’t blow over, it took forever to fill the 5.5 gallon tank it seemed.  But looking up once, I noted a Lincoln Continental, jammed with a family just across from me.  Huddled together, windows fogged up, they looked miserable.  And my first thought was, “I’m glad I’m not them stuck in that car.”  And it dawned on me at that moment that motorcycles, and motorcycling were a passion with me.  I love motorcycles, and to me a car is like a refrigerator.  If the light goes on when I open the door, and it works, that is all I care about.  And in the midst of a storm, I came to the reality of it all.  My passion of my life was riding, and I learned more about myself during that fuel stop than could be written on any tombstone about me.  And my life could be summed up in one sentence on my tombstone, “He loved to ride, but he loved Jesus more.”  My only real accomplishments, along with my family.

How would you describe yourself in 25 words or less?  What would you want people to know about you, if you only had one chance to let them know?  Might explain some of your actions, and our reactions to them.  God has written a book about himself, called the Bible. Where we can learn all about him, how to live, and how to have a relationship with him.  How to avoid hell, and how to get to heaven.  Important stuff, but many won’t ever read it, at least all of it.  Too many ye’s and thee’s for us.  So God took it down to 25 words or less, so we could define him, to ourselves and to others.  No tombstone, for no headstone or library could hold all Jesus had done.  And our testimonies are about him in our life.  So how would you describe God in 25 words or less?  How would you tell of his love?  His grace?  His mercy?  His plan of salvation for you?  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, whoever should believe in him should never die, but have life everlasting.”  25 words of life, for life, and about the one who gives life.  Only God could do that.  Maybe the best way to explain God, and how much he loved us.  Again God’s word saying so much in so few words.  And easy to remember that we can share it with others.  And everything we need to know about him right there, the promise of everlasting life, a relationship with him, all the law in one sacrifice of Jesus fulfilled, and an expression of love that the word agape only scratches the surface of, of a love only God can give, that we cannot fully return, but he doesn’t expect us to.  Love given unconditionally, for free.  Grace, mercy, and all that goes with.  Made personal through Jesus. 

God has allowed us to be the only Bible many will read.  Our failures, successes, and trials for all to see.  In them a testimony of how he changed our lives, and not being able to find a library large enough to hold them all.  With new ones awaiting us today.  Not limited to any one headstone, for our graves will be empty, just like Jesus’ was found.  Resurrected on the day we leave earth, and go into heaven, from death into life with Jesus.  So what is your story?  Where is God in your life?  What does your life tell us about Jesus?  What is your resume in life going to be?  For me I know heaven awaits.  I try to live my life based on putting Jesus first.  Then be remembered as “I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, do drugs, gamble, or consort with women of easy virtue, I just ride motorcycles.”  But maybe put better by a woman with an SUV load of kids who parked next to us at Crater Lake.  One look at our bike, she said “I wish I was you.”  For God so loved the world, 25 words that will change your life.  And yes mam, I wish the same joy for you too.  Jesus, Theresa, and motorcycles...it just don’t get any better.

love with compassion,

Mike

,atthew25biker.blogspot.com

food fight

This weekend is the annual Orange International Street Fair.  A Labor Day for sure for years for us, the circle at Orange is closed down, with each street having a different international flavor, Italian, American, French, Mexican, Japanese, and Swedish, this year I am looking forward to eating English, and in fish and chips.  They look so good each year, and I have my cardiologists blessing to do so, so I am going to eat fish, deep fried fish and chips, fries.  I hope my system can handle it.  But seeing all the different foods, the smells, and the music, it is a festive crowd that lasts for three days.  Bring your appetite, don’t count calories, and check in, or check out with your family doctor-let’s eat!

Now I tell people, and with a great deal of authority, that California food is homogenized, dumbed down to be trendy.  Take lobster for instance, Baja style.  It is deep fried, can’t tell if it is straight weight or 10-40, and on one occasion when a product specialist came out to help me in sales, we took him out to eat lobster.  He was used to real lobster, and after starving all day was ready to kill when this shrunken, greasy crayfish was served to him.  Not what he ordered, but it really was.  Mine was not real good either, and I thought I was ready.  A far cry from the lobster shacks of the Northeast, where on our last visit to Mary FNY, we had split a 5 pound lobster dinner fro $45!  Now that’s what I call lobster!  And I bet that is what Lenny was expecting...

The local trendy BBQ place here is OK, but only if you have never had real BBQ, like Arthur Bryant’s in Kansas City, or eaten at Interstate BBQ in Memphis, order the BBQ spaghetti as a side, but my favorite is still The Golden Rule outside of Birmingham.  I can taste the Brunswick stew right now.  Where they are afraid of the lady who cooks the beans retiring, as she is the only one who knows the recipe.  Fish chowder, a great meal in Apalachicola, Florida, fresh out of the Gulf, order the big bowl with the sourdough rolls.  Crab cakes mean the Maryland coast, subs mean New Jersey, cheese steaks Philadelphia, and fried clams means Maine.  With our gourmet meal eaten outside with the ocean only a few feet away.  Make sure you get the Whoopie pie for dessert.  But one night in Somerset, Pennsylvania, I had some of the best Mexican ever.  Let me explain...I was visiting Fr. Al, and we had dinner planned.  I envisioned steaks, cheese steaks, or something with red meat involved.  But he was excited for this new Mexican place, so we went.  I told him I didn’t ride 3000 miles to eat Mexican, if anything to get away from it.  But he insisted, and we went with another couple visiting the chapel.  And the food was incredible, it seems these too brothers from the interior of Mexico were gourmet chefs, and this was anything but the slop Alberto’s passes off for food.  It was incredible, and sopapillas for dessert.  It was incredible, and I used to joke with him, “did you ever hear the one about the biker, the priest, and the couple in the mini van from Cleveland eating Mexican in Somerset?”  And we both laughed, and on another visit passed Theresa’s taste test also.  Expecting the unexpected never tasted so good.  Or a sandwich from Primonti Bros. in Pittsburgh, the directions take you down an alley, and the sandwich is served on hand sliced Italian bread, your choice of meat, I like the #2 steak, with hand cut fires, and Italian cole slaw on between the bread.  Pictures don’t do it justice, and is a must in Pittsburgh, worth the ride.  And so I am looking forward to the Food Festival, hoping the fish meets my expectations, or I just might have to take a ride to Malibu to the Fish House for fish and chips.  I do have this new 2015 Scrambler to put miles on....So what is your favorite meal?  What would be your final meal? 

Maybe a cafeteria of all the above would be mine.  Too many good choices, and too many moods to eat them in.  For a while I thought it might be cream of broccoli soup while in Cardiac Critical Care-it was that good.  Maybe the green chili chicken enchiladas at Monroe’s in Albuquerque.  Maybe a Jimmy’ Hot Dog, the best, secretly prepared since WWII, the Big One.  Maybe a sub from Hershey’s, Jersey Mike’s should take note.  Whatever it is, finish it off with fresh made frozen custard at Ted Drewes in St. Louis, or a piece of icebox chocolate pie at The Golden Rule.  A whoopie pie tastes good any time, and Italian ice on a hot day cannot be beat.  Shoo fly pie in the Poconos, and a sopapilla after a great burrito.  I can taste the fresh honey dripping down my arm-somehow they never taste the same when made at home.  Looks like it’s dinner time, even if it isn’t-let’s eat!

Now without benefit of Tripadvisor.com, Jesus knew of some pretty good foods to eat.  He ate fish and bread, and fed 5000.  Was that fried or grilled?  He ate figs and beans and onions, wonder what his recipe was?  Were the cookies as good as Fig Newtons?  He ate various breads, leavened at unleavened, corn bread, and various desserts.  No record of ice cream.  He ate pigeon and dove, imagine it must have been finger lickin’ good.  And even goat, lamb, mutton, and oxen are mentioned as edible in the scriptures.  These guys knew how to eat!  And somehow they were healthy, and without all the sanitary laws we have today.  Made from scratch, home cookin’, which knowing Jesus’ home was heaven, must have been pretty incredible.  But what they Jews knew, as did Jesus, was the special time that eating a meal represented.  It was special occasion, intimate, and much could be learned about a person by eating with them.  Which is why Jesus picked communion, with the bread and juice to remember him by.  It wasn’t camel races, fish fires, or even eating fresh honey.  It was a simple bread, unleavened, and wine, unfermented.  Simple like he was, sharing a simple message of salvation, so that simple folks like me could get it.  A special meal that allows us to get to know him better, to be reminded of who and what he is, and did.  A time to reflect on good times, and look forward to good time ahead.  A time of eating with your hands, passing around the bowl when done, of fresh bread and spices, eaten with your friends.  Jesus tells us to “do this in remembrance of me,”  and that you are “my friends if you keep my commandments.”  Dinner with Jesus...your friend.  Maybe we should remember him more, or ask for more than a simple blessing with the food.  Remember wherever 2 or 3 are gathered, he is among you.  Think of that next time someone cuts in front of you and your Double Double.  You are out eating with Jesus.  And when with him, you never leave hungry.

Leave the food fight along with the foolish food battles away from the church.  Eat with Jesus, don’t gorge or over eat, and be ready for breakfast the next day.  I can taste the linguica with eggs and potatoes at the Black Bear Diner.  Which takes on a new flavor of its own when I know that Jesus is with me.  Be thankful, be generous, and do this in remembrance of him.  Some of the best times are spent around the table with family and friends.  Jesus knows that, invite some friends over tonight, enjoy a meal with Jesus.  Rich in fellowship and calories.  Say did you hear the one about the biker, the priest, and the couple form Cleveland in the mini van?  Good friends, good food, good memories.  All done in remembrance of him.  With a doggie bag to go.  If it works for 5000, imagine the meal he has just for you?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

riding alone in a group of one

Make no mistake about it, I did for years, but now I avoid group rides, which I refer to as crowd rides.  Over the years, I have been on many from coast to coast, town to town, and even just across town for dinner.  And certain things have always stood out.  Their idea of safety was riding slow, and a good ride was when all made it home.  Not a bad thing, but being limited to 50 mph on an 80 mph stretch of road because one girl’s Sportster vibrates above 50, first time her fault, no second time to be mine.  Courtesy means waiting the extra 35 minutes to leave because Mrs. Hairdo has to do her hair.  The same hair that will be under a helmet all day.  She also is the last one to be ready at fuel stops, spending more time in the ladies room than her husband filling his tank.  And he is no better, after being told to arrive with a full tank of gas, he doesn’t and we all have to stop early.  Which takes 45 minutes, a non-necessary stop when we could be riding.  So two things become evident, you only go as far as the smallest tank, and only ride as fast as the slowest rider.  At least they are consistent.  And all this is after having a rider’s meeting first, which they miss because they are late.  I have spent days where I spent more time waiting than riding.  And I have found that nothing impresses others in cars than taking up a lane at 55mph on the freeway.  Even more embarrassing was a ride over the Ortega, where sometimes I drop to 60, and even with traffic takes 30-40 minutes, and one time turned into a two hour affair.  Seems the Gold Wing rider leading couldn’t hear his music above 50, nothing like being passed by other riders who shake their head at you.  Funny how these same riders talk about the freedom they enjoy while hindering others.  So over the years, I have only found few that I will ride with.  We don’t wait for each other, we know our destination, and when one hits the curves faster, will make it up later in the straights.  No talk of too fast or too slow, we have learned and tell others “ride your own ride,” which often falls on deaf ears.  So for me a group ride is me and Theresa.  And we enjoy the ride....

But one group ride stands out as different.  My first Torches Across America in 2005 had a group of 28 of us riding from Oceanside to Ground Zero in New York City.  With a destination every night, we knew where we would be, and a time to be there by for the ceremonies.  We were on our Triumph Sprint ST, and rode with Gold Wings, various Harleys, cruisers, and bikes of all sizes.  But we had two brothers, Don and Link, who took charge, on their Gold Wings, and we had a great ride.  Very few problems, and we had fun.  I would ride anywhere with these two, despite the fact Don was pulling a trailer and leading.  We met every night, discussed the route, figured a speed based on it, and planned stops by the one with the smallest tank.  We rode 75 on 65 mph freeways, and I led on back roads.  No complaint of too fast or too slow, we all knew what to expect, and we all got along.  We communicated with each other, and enjoyed the ride.  There were times when I went faster, and Don would keep up, and times we slowed down, and I would keep up.  Our group within the group started small, we never lost one, and others joined us after hearing of how much fun we had.  They fought and argued, took too long to fill up, and always arrived late.  We arrived refreshed, early, and were able to set up before they got there and started complaining.  And we couldn’t wait until the next day!  And one thing became our standard each morning, we gathered to pray before we left.  And when we would forget, it was always one of the harder ones who reminded us.  The prayer time, short as it was, brought us together.  We learned to ride together, eat together, and pray together in a diverse group where maybe only a few were Christians.  We were learning about riding in a group of one, where God was the one, and we were just along for the ride.  How do you start your ride?  It has a direct impact on how you may finish it.

But perhaps the highlight of the ride, was the last 80 miles riding into Ground Zero with 3200 other bikes.  And we were chosen to ride up front, we had come the farthest.  And the ride went off without hitch, except for one wrong turn, and we had to wait 45 minutes for the Holland Tunnel to close so we could ride through together.  But we all made it, and had grown closer.   We had formed a trust, a bond with each other, and when entering a restaurant, when the first wve hit the head, the others knew what to order us to drink.  We had become familiar with each other, came to know and respect each other, and we had become one from many.  Prayer will do that to.  Pastor Chuck used to say “you can’t trust someone you don’t know, so get to know God.”  Spending time with him, getting to know him, you come to know what to expect, and you find yourself wanting to please him.  You may alter your speed, or even the road you are on, because you know he directs your path, and you want to follow it.  Taking roads you might have missed otherwise, eating meals that others miss because they are afraid to try something different, and never getting to enjoy the company of being with God.  Riding in a group of one-just you and God, no matter how many are in the group.  It is that personal.  And prayer will take you there, and keep you there.  It can be done publicly, like we did every morning, or silently like when riding.  Prayer very simply is communicating with God, talking and listening, just like any conversation.  And the special ones are when we listen more than talk, for Jesus knows what we need, we just don’t know his answer.  And so listening to and for God to answer is an overlooked, but most important part of prayer.  And as you get to know God better, you know his voice, you trust his judgment, and enjoy the ride of life more.  Sometimes you go faster than the road calls for, sometimes slower, but we find ourselves not hurrying, just as Jesus never hurried, and was never late.  He is the ultimate road captain, where is he on your ride?

It is not too late to change the road you’re on, Jesus is right there with you.  Dead end, he knows the way out.  Lost, he is the way.  Confused, he takes the time to comfort you.  Burdened, he’ll carry you through.  And like all long distance riders know, consistency is the key, and we know we can depend on him, for he never changes.  We know what to expect...and then he surprises us with even more.  But it all comes down to prayer!

Have you been listening?  God has been, and has the answer you are looking for.  Take some time, now is OK, and be quiet, listen for God.  Quit talking, riding is a great place to do this, and hear as God comforts you and gives you a peace you never knew existed.  A relationship forms based on trust, and you see love as more than an emotion, but as a person, Jesus Christ.  We can control our tongue, but not our ears.  Can you hear me now?  The ride you are on will be ample proof of how well you listen.  And we are watching and listening too....take that ride alone in that group of Jesus today.  No one knows more about the freedom of the open road like Jesus, let him show you today.  Where you ride in the group is up to you.  Stop dreaming, start riding today.  In Christ.  Start music, God bless the USA by Lee Greenwood. 

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com