sliding trucks and Galloping Gooses

Winter in Colorado means snow, and lots of it.  Driving for Coca Cola in the 80’s, I worked out of Durango, and spent many a day on snow covered roads.  We drove without chains, not required, they figured if you live there you knew how to drive, and I somehow got out and back home every day.  No snow days back then, you went to work.  But in the winter my route would still take me to Rico, Colorado, a wide spot in the road between Telluride and Dolores, and strangely enough a destination before Telluride became known for snow, the skiing type that is.  Until then, it was drugs, drugs, and more drugs, with no other reason to go there.  And Rico had dwindled down to about a dozen residents, for at 8825’ it sat at the base of Lizard Head Pass, the only way north.  A beautiful ride in summer, riding the Loop including Million Dollar Highway, this 250 mile day ride was a rush, but driving in winter with little or no traffic, it became scary.  But the Coca Cola had to be delivered, and so I went.  One restaurant in town then, The Galloping Goose, affectionately named after the narrow gauge trains specially built for winter.  And so the day was planned for my delivery one January day...

Rico sits on a slant, off camber to racers, and points downhill on the northern edge where the restaurant was.  The delivery procedure was get there, walk down the street to the trailer where the owner lived, she would let you in, make your delivery and go.  Open only on weekends for skiers on the way to Stoner Lodge, this was the procedure.  So arriving I went by her house, she nodded give her a few minutes, 30 in Rico talk, and she would come and open up.  So I went and parked in front of the restaurant, and waited, engine running to keep warm.  On warm days in January it got up to zero, and the wind blew.  I was sitting off camber, pointed up, when the truck started to roll backwards.  With the parking brake on!  Trying to steer where I couldn’t see, the steering wheel spun aimlessly on the ice, and I was heading for a creek down a 20’ drop, with only a phone booth between me and disaster.  I had skidded down about 25’ when suddenly the truck stood up on its right side, a curb buried in snow had stopped me, and then it landed with a thud.  Glass bottles rattling but none broken.  Nerves shattered but none broken.  I came to rest against the phone booth, and had almost taken it out, only a six inch curb had stopped me from sliding further.  Shaken, not stirred, I made my delivery, and headed back down the mountain, to lower levels, never going below 6500’ that day.  A big deal, but no big deal there, but how things change, and Rico has changed too, now trendy and with three restaurants, but no Galloping Goose.  Maybe I have too.

Sliding backwards had gotten my adrenaline running at warp speed, and totally out of control I had no direction, and could do no better than to hold on.  15,000 pounds of truck and Coke sliding in the balance, and a 6” curb protected me.  Sounds strange such a low curb could stop such a big truck, but little things can trip us up as well.  And cause us to slide backwards, backsliding we call it.  Falling away from God, and going back to our old BC days.  And we all do it, some to greater extents than others, but even thinking a sinful thought causes it according to scripture.  Sometimes we catch ourselves, sometimes others remind us, and sometimes we just continue spiraling down, neglecting the consequences for our actions.  Sometimes we become bitter, then caught in sin, we don’t look ahead, or back, our eyes only on ourselves instead of Jesus.  Scripture tells us he never leaves us or forsakes us, and that snowy morning in Rico he was there with me, providing a curb to protect me.  Just inches from disaster, he caught me, and stopped by sliding backwards.  Works in our daily walk too.  God will put others in our way to guide us out, to show us where we have gone wrong, and to love us back.  As a family we need each other to be strong and loving, because it can happen to us at any time.  And he forgives, once and for all, although as our hearts change, e recognize our sin, and ask forgiveness again.  We want to be clean in front of our Lord, and a contrite spirit and a broken heart God will not deny.  So get over yourself, and go on with Jesus.  Don’t look back, and keep focused on him.  That day in the truck I was all alone, but yet he was with me.  He had provided a curb just 6” high, but enough to save me.  Remember it is in the little things that God appears, not just the big ones.

When the law couldn’t save us, God sent his only son so we could be saved.  Simple theology, a simple gospel.  Yet we build walls around us higher than we should, thinking it protects us, but really to keep Jesus out.  No walls should stand between you and God,  Jesus has removed the sin that stood between us and a loving God, but you will slide from time to time.  Sometimes we have time to steer into the skid, sometimes a snow bank saves us.  There are no snow banks to protect us from hell, only Jesus keeps us out.  No man made or natural barrier can stand against him, and he stands for you.  Nothing can separate us from his love, yet many will try.  And in every trial, test, tribulation, and skid, he is there to bring us back.  Somehow he makes all things work together for our good.   Both good and bad. 

So next time you think of a cold Coca Cola, think of Rico, below zero, lots of snow and ice, and a backslider saved by curb and a snow bank.  But really saved by God’s grace, and a testimony to share some 30 years later.  You may be off the road, stuck in the snow, and sliding fast out of control, call upon the name of Jesus.  Backsliders take heart, he forgives and loves you.  Welcome back, again, and again, and again....for we all fall short of the glory of God daily.  But aren’t you glad his love is more than our sin, and only requires calling to to him?  Believe in your heart, and let others know Jesus saves.  Some people think that Jesus is way out, when really he is the way out.  Experience his saving grace today, he died for that right so you don’t have to. 

Forgiven and saved by grace.  Rico, Colorado giving a whole new spin on ice cold Coke.  Jesus rescues backsliders, let him rescue you today.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

if Buick made a motorcycle

There she sat on the dealer’s back row, a queen among drones just looking for a new home.  It was one of those afternoons between classes where all my homework was caught up, so I went cruising car lots.  Not a shopper, with no money definitely a browser, but when she caught my eye, I knew I was about to be a buyer, and miss all my afternoon classes.  She was a 1950 Buick special 4-door sedan, blue with a straight 8.  She had come to be on the Mazda lot when her new owners traded her in, they had just inherited her from their grandmother, and a Buick in the garage didn’t interest them.  Very clean, new interior, fresh wide whites, and an older repaint, she was very classy.  So with no money, but a quick call to the bank, I was $600 in debt, but a Buick richer.  In the only car show I entered her in, we got an honorable mention, and I drove her everywhere around Albuquerque.  3 on the tree, she started with a push on the gas pedal, always a great roar from full throttle starting, cruised at 55 no problemo.  Her hood opened from both sides to reveal the Buick “valve in head” straight 8.  Her only flaw was the radio knob was missing...but a head turner none the less.  Big, blue, powerful, and unique at 26 years of age, I sold her because I needed money, and made a whopping $400, probably more than the dealer, but was one car I wish I had never sold.  And every time I see a 1950 Buick with that one year only toothy grill that some call ugly, I smile right back.  When better cars were built, Buick built them.  Once known as doctor’s cars for their strength and stamina, a Special she was. 

Now for the past two weeks I have been riding a Triumph Trophy SE.  Their big touring bike with bags and trunk, which has become known as the Buick.  Like my older Buick it has a windshield, a large trunk, but like today’s luxury cars it also has adjustable suspensions, traction control, cruise control, a sound system, heated seats and grips, and computer controlled engine.  A far cry from my 1950 Buick, but both were huge, both were blue, and both float down the road.  But closer to a new Buick than I care to admit.  Maybe just the ride if Buick had ever chosen to go into the motorcycle business.  And priced under $20,000, ever see what $20,000 will buy in a new car, maybe a deal, but still expensive.  Just like old Buicks, and just like today’s Gold Wings, Ultra Glides, BMW’s, and other big touring bikes.  But what if other luxury car makers like BMW went into the motorcycle business?  BMW started making bikes, then cars, and over 90 years later do both well.  But what if Buick made a bike, would anyone buy it?  But what if Mercedes Benz made one, would anyone buy it?

In 2002 the Mercedes Benz Car Club of America, MBCA, wrote an article about MB coming out with a line of motorcycles.  Three models, from base, to sport, to touring, and priced expensively.  Reading like the features on most new bike today, it was revolutionary, and upon reading it, talked to our dealership owner, who rode, and she called to apply for a motorcycle dealership.   We were all excited, as many of us rode, I could see my new demo bike heading out on vacations, but it was not to be.  It seems this lead story was in the April Issue, and had fooled more than one person.  MBNA had been over run with requests for information, and dealership inquiries.  A simple four page article with artist renderings had created a huge buzz, and it turned out to be a hoax.  April Fool!  But yet we stayed in denial for a few days, even using our contacts within, who at first were excited too, but would end up being victims along with us.  No Mercedes Benz motorcycles were to be.  But we had fun dreaming...and I wonder when riding the Buick, I mean Trophy if they had how things may have been different.  If the rumor was true, how may would have believed the truth?  Or would we have dismissed the rumor?  The Trophy being the second coming of my 1950 Buick, some 55 years later. 

Many religious zealots over the past few years have used scare tactics to sell books, movies, and claim to know the date of the return of Jesus Christ for his church.  From the Aztec calendar proclaiming the end of the world, to Harold Camping striking out again, not his first false promise, to various cults claiming he has come, or denying his existence all together, we need to beware of false lies.  Lies that get us excited like the Mercedes Benz motorcycle story, we need to stay close to God and seek truth.  All lies are based on truth, and some come very close, maybe mirror the truth, but are lies none the less.  Even Jesus doesn’t know the time or date, but like us has warned us we will know of the season.  And today to those who seek, the signs are there.  To others coincidence, but to God loving warning signs to a lost and dying world.  Jesus saves, and soon he will call his church, those who believe home, and he wants none to perish.  But leaves it up to us.  Today we see signs of increasing moral decay, mass murders via abortion, and it seems a new virus each year.  We now have names for blizzards, earthquakes prominent in Oklahoma, and tsunamis in the news.  Families are falling apart, and even the definition is being altered to fit today.  But to those with no hope, Jesus offers hope, there is still time to change, but soon, and no date is given, the rapture will occur, and the worst 7 years on earth will begin.  A time I am glad I will be in heaven...saved by grace, and not a minute too soon.  But what of those who wonder who will the anti-Christ be?  What will it be like without God on earth?  To them I warn, who you are seeking you will find.  So seek Jesus, it won’t matter to us we’ll be safe, bit you don’t want to be left behind.  You want to go with Jesus...Look around, the signs are there, will you be there when he calls?

But yet some are intent on trying to figure the date, even though God promises no man will know the time or date.  And suppose someone did know, we will be in heaven, who will care you did?  Wouldn’t it be better to show love and mercy than to preach about a date that no one knows about?  Wouldn’t it be easier to share Jesus than get off on doctrines that he warns about?  One separates, one unites.  One offers education, the other application.  I need a hug, let God take care of the time and date, just give me Jesus.  The only way out of here, and salvation while we are still here.  His offer is still open, and for those who are still debating remember this, Jesus said “you are either for me or against me.”  Saying nothing is saying no.  Yet many will come counterfeiting his claims...

So maybe it is a good thing Buick doesn’t make motorcycles.  They make good cars, at least they did back in 1950, and today as I ride the Buick, I will be glad Triumph does.  Some things are left best to those who do them best.  So it is with God.  Let god run things, let him decide when and where.  Your only question is yes or no to Jesus.  Which should be easy, no means hell and suffering, yes means joy and peace.  Sounds so simple, and it is, yet so many have trouble deciding.  We are each special to God, a unique model unlike any other.  No one can duplicate us, nor duplicate the things of God.  Jesus is coming, rumor to some, but the truth from God.  If it wasn’t so, Jesus would not have said it.  Trust him, no false claims, no rumors, no false ads.  Just truth. Simple so I can get it, free so I can afford it.  Just like my old Buick, all I need, and everything I don’t.  If only I had the knob to turn on the radio, a simple two knob affair, on/off and volume.  Don’t get bogged down in the details, get lost in his love.  Give that old time religion, for it’s good enough for me.  And my 1950 Buick.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

a lunchbox like Larry's

Even at an early age we know how important it is to make a first impression.  The clothes we wear, the bike we ride, even the cartoons we watched told more about us than we wanted some to know.  But one important facet of growing up was choosing your lunch box.  My first one in kindergarten was just for carrying a snack.  It was a firehouse, with a round top that held the thermos.  All four sides portrayed a firehouse and firemen in action, even a fire engine and the standard equipment Dalmation.  I was cool, particularly next to Chuckie on our first day, his was a girlish light blue with his name on it.  Even then you could see the competitive nature of us coming out, and the social groups forming.  Chuckie was well, a Chuckie, the firehouse was cool.  No one ever tried to borrow his lunch box...boys will be boys, not so sure about the rest of you.

But in first grade my new lunch box had rockets on the moon.  It as 1960, and the Mercury program was just beginning, and outer space was cool.  While watching a rerun of Leave it to Beaver, there it was, my lunchbox, being carried by Larry Mondello.  I had a lunch box like Larry’s, and even if Larry was the coolest, there was my choice on TV!  Sure beat Beaver’s plaid lunch box, you know he caught grief over that, and I can hear June whining to Ward, old man, “why does he have to have a boys’ lunch box?  He’ll just outgrow it...” And Ward trying to help her figure out not everyone was a pain in the neck when it came to be being cool like she was.  I wonder if she ever realized that her sons weren’t girls?  Had someone played a cruel trick at birth?  And how come you never saw a show about girls growing up?  But there it was, a lunch box like Larry’s, and that $2.95 purchase some 55 years ago is now worth over $400 today.  Take that June....

But by third grade we were no longer kids, and brown paper bags were it.  The uncool part was when your mother would write something cutesy under your name on it, something like “have a good day,” or even worse “love you.”  Yuck, c’mon, we were 8 years old,almost men!  Can’t you treat us like one?  But somehow no matter how old, or how many years later, you would always be her little boy. 

Lunchboxes reappeared when I got my first real job working for the Union County Park Commission, and our boss Tony had the standard black lunch box with the thermos in the round top.  His thermos of coffee always next to him while sitting on his tractor making us work.  No matter he had such a hard time staying awake.  But that was what the workers carried then, the lunch bucket brigade they were referred to, and someday we would have one too, just so you could tell we were a boss.  But for me it was always, and would always be the brown bag.  Disposable, the first throw away lunch box, and the forecasting of recyclables was here.  Or there.  No one looked cool with a lunch box bungee corded to their Honda, we would put up with squashed sandwiches just to look cool.  But last night after seeing Larry’s lunch box, I want one.  If only I could find one, and afford the $400, just to be cool like a kid that wasn’t, to rekindle a time I don’t want to go back to, to eat a lunch I rather pass on today.  Maybe the past is best left in the past...but I sure would like another firehouse lunchbox.  I was always cooler than Larry!

Box lunches were popular at one time, and we see them offered for sale at many resorts today.  For hikes in the country, road trips, or times when you don’t want to eat out, you can eat out of a box.  Never as cool as the ones we had in school, the cardboard even brags about being recycled.  June Cleaver still at work taking the fun out of lunches for boys. 

What would we find in the lunchbox of a young Jesus of Nazareth 2000 years ago?  It may surprise you, as in those pre-June Cleaver days, they still ate healthy.  His lunch may have been carried in a burlap bag, with a portion of salted fish, which made Mary Magdalene richer than her other well known social business.  It would come with assorted veggies, bitter herbs found in the fields, reminding them of the Passover meal.  Seasoned with berries, spices, certain roots, and walnuts and persimmons, these pre-pepper meals had a flavor all their own.  Olives were included to munch on, as was various wheat picked along the way for a snack.  Bread was included, very basic, but fresh.  Fruit was included, figs the most popular, and readily picked.  The annual first figs of the season highly prized.  He would have eaten persimmons, dates, quince, pomegranate, and mulberry.  All fresh, all healthy.  With a jug of goat’s milk to wash it down.  Which helped make you sleepy, Mexico didn’t invent siestas!  And over the mid day meal imagine the discussions, and think about eating with Jesus today, and the discussions you can have.  For eating, meal time was and is special to the Jews, and a time to sit and visit with the family.  Something society misses today, a special time to meet and eat with the family.  To eat what Mom has prepared, not what takes 4 minutes to microwave.  To let the kids tell of their day, to listen and instruct, to enjoy a tie together, a meal with family.  Maybe that is why communion is so special to Jesus, and should be to us, a time to rest, eat, and be blessed.  A time to spend with Jesus, thanking him for what  he has provided.  A time to thank him for our families, our jobs, school,and how he provides it each case for us.  That somehow what is in the lunchbox is more important than what it advertises.  Yet I still want the lunchbox, and what it tells the world about me, whereas Jesus wants us to tell the world about him.

I ate many tuna fish sandwiches over the years, lots of crackers, potato chips, and milk.  Good lunches, eaten out of a lunch box or brown bag, with school mates at our desks.  A time we fellowshipped, a time away from teachers and studies, where we prepped for recess.  And how our eyes would light up when we saw an extra Twinkie or Yodel.  We felt blessed....and so we should feel today.  Jesus has packed a life for us filled with blessings, and it comes in various boxes.  Some pass over the plain ones, looking for glitz and glamour.  Some care more about the box than its contents, and some trade what is packed.  Some pass on lunch, some pass on Jesus.  His offer is free everyday, lunch and life is on him, in him.  Today when eating, spend some time thanking him.  Have a communion time, not a religious ceremony, but eat with a friend.  See what his father packed for him today, and what he has for you.  He traded everything just to spend time with you, share lunch with him.  But to be really cool, bring a friend and share with them too.  I can only imagine all the apple cores stored in Larry’s lunchbox, I’ll bet there was never any left over food.  Look into Jesus today and see what he has in store for you.  Don’t be afraid of a brown bag, or a lunch box with flowers on it.  Many good meals have been hidden so that no one would steal them.  Jesus has packed a special meal just for you, as always it is what inside that counts the most.  But  I sure would like to have that old firehouse lunchbox....see you on the playground after lunch. 

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

when Cowboys rode Indians

I was invited through a friend of a friend, who said it was OK if we brought another friend along-just as long as they rode motorcycles.  It was a monthly gathering of a certain motorcycle club, an MC in New Jersey called the Weekend Cowboys.  They owned land in the middle of a corn field in Jersey, a far cry from visions of the NJ Turnpike and Hoboken, and you were given directions to find it.  It wasn’t hidden, but wasn’t in plain view either.  So the three of us rode down, I was on my R90S, BH on his Dunstall 750 Café Racer, and Bouke on his Yoshimura Z-1.  Three fast bikes by any standard in 1974, but on this day just another three bikes in the crowd.  As we hooked up and met with the guy who worked with BH and got us the invite, we were stopped at the gate by two rather huge black men, holding a chain blocking our entrance.  We had to show ID, they weren’t the cops, and once Tuck was recognized, the three of us were admitted with him.  We were told to drive to the field, find a place to park, and get something to eat.  Now to a guy growing up around diners, the thought of lunch in a corn field left little promise, but I was about to be pleasantly surprised.  And this one time invite was to change my attitude towards motorcycles, and all who rode them.  After a long ride up a dirt road, there was in fact a field, a huge grassy area, with motorcycles parked as far as  you could see.  Big Harleys, and Indians all decked out in shiny chrome, many with custom paint.  There were chopped Hondas, two stroke Kawasaki 500’s with extended forks, and we almost felt naked among the personalized custom bikes.  But we were greeted just as friendly, and told to get something to eat, and come watch the races.  And the biker in colors, and of color, pointed us to a semi-circle over 50 feet long of barbecue pits, the aroma intoxicating.  “Chicken or ribs?” the big black ladies asked, and filled our plates, adding cole slaw, potato salad, and beans.  We sat among others around tables, on chairs, or just standing, as the crowd numbered in the hundreds.  The food was great, and we were encouraged to get dessert, after going back for seconds.  Hands and face sticky from BBQ, we dipped our hands in huge tubs of water, splashed it on our faces to remove traces of sauce, and went over to the races.  Which was why we were invited...the food was just an added bonus. 

The race was a 1/8 of a mile gravel strip, with an arroyo at the end, with about a 6’ drop, that if you didn’t stop in time, you and your motorcycle would disappear into.  Two lanes were set up, and the action was hot.  Men lined the track laying down cash bets on lane 1 or lane 2, and after the race, which only lasted few seconds, picked up their winnings and bet again.  All kinds of motorcycles, from dirt bikes, to even a nitro burning Harley, using an old 1 gallon gas can as a tank.  A Z-1 with a knobbie rear tire, no leathers, no helmets, and no rules other than don’t jump the starter flag, or you couldn’t race any more that day.  And none did.  The action was too much for Bouke, so letting the air out of his rear tire, he raced, and ended up winning.  No classes here, fastest bike was the fastest bike, you were challenged and raced, and his final against the nitro Harley was incredible.  No trophies handed out, no umbrella girls, or podium.  Just recognition from those there that day of winning.  After eating and spending a day among others who rode and enjoyed the biker world.  I must admit I helped pull more than one rider and bike out of the ditch, and helped him check his bike over, then send him back to race again.  There were no losers that day, as all had a great time, and a precious memory was made forever. 

Did I mention the Weekend Cowboys were a black club?  That among the hundreds, there were only a handful of us white folk?  That our color didn’t matter, or even what we rode?  That our common thread was that we rode?  And I remember seeing bikes that I had only heard about from the old guys who rode.  Various Harleys and Indians, Vincents, Royal Enfields, JAP’s, Triumph’s BSA’s, Nortons, and some of the newest, 750 Hondas, Mach III Kawasakis, Z-1’s, and old Yamahas.  Even an old Suzuki X-6, the bike of Solo Suzuki fame.  Some dressed in colors, some in jeans and t shirts, even a few older couples dressed like they just left church, which they probably did.  We were a community of riders, call us motorcyclists, bikers, or whatever-we all rode.  Skin color or brand didn’t matter, the common denominator was you rode, and an important lesson in life was learned that day.  The true brotherhood of bikers was revealed to me, and I was a part of it.  And to this day, I don’t care what you ride, skin color, or who you ride with.  We are all part of a great brotherhood, now if only the church could get behind the true sense of brotherhood, imagine the changes that would happen. 

Juan Carlos Ortiz wrote a revolutionary book in the 1970’s called Call To Discipleship.  It was written about churches in Brazil, where he was from, and how their differences kept them apart.  Catholics didn’t like Presbyterians, Baptists had too many rules,and Lutherans too many rituals. One day the spirit of the Lord came upon him, and visiting other pastors found no agreement in their commonality of Jesus Christ.  But keeping true to the vision God gave him, he soon saw changes, as those who believed in Jesus Christ rallied together, and changes in lives, neighborhoods, and gangs all changed when Jesus entered.  It wasn’t a social movement, but people became more social, it wasn’t a life style movement although lives were changed.  It was led by the spirit, and his book based on his testimony has influenced many today, including a young Christian, fresh from the Weekend Cowboys party.  I had seen there was no color barriers among riders, and desired the same from my church.  My church friends were ex-hookers, drug dealers, bikers, businessmen, students, and housewives who all had Jesus in common, and nothing else mattered.  When we ate, all were invited.  No dues to pay, bring what you could to share with others.  We had a commonism, as spoke of in Acts, where all needs were being met, not a Communism where all were equal and gave it all up.  We shared, and we were all blessed, and were a great witness and testimony of what the church should be.  All were and are welcome...come as you are, the invite from Jesus.  Who would have thought a group of bikers would be my first example of true brotherhood? 

Does your church welcome all, or are there laws and rules to come in?  Jesus accepts you as you are, if your church doesn’t maybe it is time to leave your prejudices behind, and find a new church.  Where you can be all Jesus wants you to be.  To enjoy fullness and blessings in the spirit.  But pray for the church too, we all need Jesus, and we were all strangers once, and he took us all in.  Greater love has no man, no biker, no mother, or no pastor.  Greater love is what Jesus is...let him into your life today and enjoy freedom.  Let his call to discipleship be heard wherever you are, his great commandment, make disciples.  Disciple the new believers, go out among the lost, and show love to the unlovely.  For one afternoon in a New Jersey cornfield Cowboys rode Indians.  Indians rode among Hondas, and Kawasakis raced Harleys.  We ate together, rode together, raced together, and pulled each other out of the ditch-together.  We were one in the spirit of motorcycles, imagine what we can do when we become one in the spirit of Jesus Christ.  It took an invite to get in, but once we were in we were considered equals.  Consider the invite to know Jesus today. We were all once sinners, become equal with him and be saved by grace. A lesson on how to live from the brotherhood of bikers, found in Jesus Christ.  In a perfect world, we will all know Jesus.  Enjoy the ride.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

 

driving for the conditions

The hunt was on to find the ghost town of Ablemarle.  My friends Mike and Carol had gotten me interested in ghost towns, and being the best salesman at Toyota, he got a free demo vehicle, so chose a Land Cruiser.  And Sunday mornings became our escape from city life in Albuquerque, and searching for ghost towns in New Mexico.  But this spring day that looked inviting almost ended up in disaster, and the elusive ghost town of Ablemarle still has not been found.  It is shown on many old maps, but no roads led to it, so off we went.  We were determined to go where no man had gone before, we were young, foolish, and fearless.  So what could go wrong?   The quest to find Ablemarle, but first how do you get there?  With the help of old books, and visits to the library in these pre-Internet days, we headed up into the mountains above Santa Fe with high hopes.  Mike was an experienced 4-wheel drive off roader, and with a new Land Cruiser we felt invincible.  Add in nice weather with highs in the 50’s, and the search was on.  At about 9500’ we ran out of road, and we thought we saw what could have been the remains of a town down in a valley.  So trusting Mike’s skills and Toyota’s best, we made our own trail, the snow melting, and being able to see earth below.  We were cruising along into the afternoon, making progress but slow, and not willing to admit to ourselves we would never make it before dark, it gets dark quick on the east side of the mountains.  The ground had begun to get soft, the snow melting, then muddy, then almost impassable.  But not wanting to give up when we were so close, we went on just a little more....and that was our mistake.  The Land Cruiser was short on power at that altitude, and soon we had to stop, just short of getting stuck...well at least within a few feet of knowing where we should have stopped.  We were not stuck, but couldn’t move, the ground so soft and muddy it was impassable.  So after trying to place the blame on each other, the first thing to do in any panic situations, before going to panic, we prayed.  And waited.  And as the sun went down it got colder, quicker, and soon the thermometer said 32, then 25, then 20....And with little sun, no preparations, and no one knowing where were, we weren’t even sure, all we knew was we needed to get out and quick.  Like an hour ago...when Carol suggested we cut down branches and drive over them.  So cutting off branches we backed out, laying them under all the drive wheels, moving 10’ at a time, backwards, until the sun went down, and the ground froze enough to use 4 wheel drive again.  For over 3 miles...What had looked so promising weather wise, had been the downfall of our trip, the nice weather melting the snow and creating mud.  For over three hours it took us to get what had taken only 45 minutes to  get stuck in, and pavement never looked so good.  We had made it, no worse for wear, but cold, hungry, shaken, and never finding the ghost town of Ablemarle.  We had the right vehicle, the right driver, and honorable intentions, but not knowing when to stop and turn around had almost led to disaster.  We had come very close to being the latest search and rescue operation, if only any one had known where we were.  It may have been months until we had been found, if ever.  Chasing ghosts in the form of towns, and many lessons learned.

Number one was never set off without letting someone know where you are going.   Safety first can lead to disaster later if you aren’t safe.  Also know your conditions, and be prepared.  Skill and talent, and even experience can let you down if you make bad decisions.  And one bad decision can led to another, and soon you can only look back, with no way out.  It has been said the highway to hell is paved with good intentions, we found so is the road to Ablemarle.  But how do you know if your intentions are good?  Are godly?  If you are doing the right thing?  Let me introduce you to some 7 sons of Skeva.  Who when hearing about Jesus, and his miracles, decided to cash in on it themselves.  Peter, James, and John were making headlines with miracles, and the Apostle Paul was changing the world with his evangelism.  So why couldn’t they, imagine what 7 brothers could do, if only one man could do what Paul did?  So the quest was to find a man who was demon possessed, and cast the demons out.  They knew of such a man, sought him out and with every good intention, at least of making headlines, they were going to cast out the demons.  Commanding them to come out, the demon turned to them and asked “we know of Jesus, and of Paul, but who are you guys?”  And then attacked them, sending them away bleeding and naked.  They had looked to do a good thing, but found it was more than good intentions.  It was all about Jesus, and not all about them.  They got the headlines they had been seeking, but not the ones they had hoped for.  And today their story can be found in Acts 19 as a reminder to all of us.  Their ride ended in disaster, fortunately ours didn’t.  But how can you be sure the road you are on is the right one?  Who you are looking for may be what directs your path.

Today like always many are seeking God, but don’t want Jesus.  They don’t want to pick up their crosses and follow, they want to lead.  They want a genie in a lamp, not a savior on the cross.  They want recognition, they don’t want humility.  And so are subjected to humiliation, and often blame God.  It seems it is always his fault when your plans go astray, but never yours when you disobey.  When we got lost, we knew to pray, and God gave us wisdom to get out.  He showed us the way, when we couldn’t see one.  Sin is no different, and without Jesus, there is no way out.  Many search like we did for Ablemarle, but find nothing.  And so it is with looking for God.  They look, but don’t find, because they aren’t looking for and to Jesus.  Who is there all the time, from Acts 19 all the way to the New Mexico wilderness that day.  But you need to turn to him, let him lead, then follow.  Still praying, but no answer?  Maybe you already have been given the answer, you just don’t like it.  It may take a change of life styles, who you ride with, or of total repentance.  And only Jesus is the way, while others may look or sound good, his way is the way.  He sees things we cannot see, knows what’s ahead, and has prepared a way through, and not around.   And you end up with a testimony, which may never make it into print, but will lead you to the 7 sons of Skeva as a reminder.  God rescued us that day, and would again, and will again. 

So trust God, don’t lean on your own understanding, or experiences, and in all your ways acknowledge him.  Good times and bad, on all roads, on all trips.  Don’t trust words, trust the Word, the person of Jesus Christ, and he will direct your paths.  Proverbs 3:5, a simple way to go at life, or after ghost towns.

Learning to drive for the conditions, but trusting him unconditionally.  Not looking at the situation, but looking to the cross.  Seeing Jesus, as savior, Lord, and deliverer.  Today make your first trip to the cross, then follow his lead.  Going where no man has gone before.  Live long and prosper...only in Jesus.  All roads lead somewhere, only he leads to heaven.

love with compassion,

Mike

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