would you buy a cute motorcycle?

No one I have ever met bought a motorcycle because it was cute.  Sportsters, cute?  Bonnevilles cute?  Ever seen a cute bobber? Chopper? How about acute flat tracker?  Can you see any racer worth his leathers racing a cute bike?  How cute is flat black?  Yet an ad campaign caught my attention this morning, which ads are supposed to do, from Ducati and their Scrambler.  They are introducing “Bart and Betty,” cartoon figures to sell motorcycles.  Yes it got my attention, but how many real riders will go in to a Ducati salesroom to ride one based on Bart?  Do we need more Betty’s out there riding in shorts and tank tops?  Which cute bike will she want to ride, and while the salesman is trying to sell a Panigale, will he be distracted or amused by Betty when she gets her flip flop caught on the shifter.  Which she thought was a foot rest...And Bart, the skater, will he be upset because he has to wear a helmet and pads to ride?  How will you be able to see his missing teeth from inside his Bell?  Where will he put all the stickers?  And I can see the service problems, “dude I don’t check the oil, I just add gas and ride....” while upset the flashing low oil light is on.  At least he carries his board as a spare.  Will all the scuffs and scars on his bike, the broken mirrors be a badge of honor like his broken board, will Betty try to cover up scratches with nail polish?  How will she ever explain grease and oil to her girl friends?  Tune in to find out, coming to a Ducati showroom near you.....would you buy a cute motorcycle?

Truth is the woman’s market is growing.  And I welcome woman riders, as long as they know how to ride.  I have ridden with some over the years, and many are better riders than their men counterparts.  They read the manual, will check the chain via a courteous male, keep it clean, and want to ride.  And not necessarily at the back of the pack...They ride because it is fun, and they like the wind in their face like we do, but when it becomes trendy, we all suffer.  I abandoned group rides long ago based on woman who cannot ride, and the excuses men made for them.  You only ride as fast as the slowest rider, and when they cannot ride, they should stay home, not cause trouble within the ranks.  The women I have ridden with would not have put up with it either, it messes up their ride too.  So I find I ride most with my wife on her Bonneville.  A group of two.

Who rode to Hollister after being invited to trailer her bike with others from a bike club.  She rides.  She lane splits, despite being taught by Dick, and is good at it.  We have very few rules when we ride, when the curves come we meet at the end, and my waiting times are decreasing.  She has a thin chicken strip on her tires, her lean exceeds her side stand.   And she has ridden in below 50 degree weather, how many of you have never seen the Arctic cold of 45 degrees?  She wears leathers, chaps, and also has fabric jackets.  Her main complaint, not enough women’s styles, not all wear black or pink.  Or black and blue.  And I find it amusing when another biker comes up to pass her, and finds out her pony tail is attached to a woman.  We even downplayed the time she led a group of 45 bikes to a Billy Graham Crusade, riding at 80 mph for 30 miles, no one got lost or wrecked.  And we all rode the whole way....

And so I honor my wife for being a rider, and she too would find humor in “Betty and Bart.”  But the real humor would be when we find out that Betty is a better rider than Bart.  Now he’s not so cute, and men are afraid of her.  We call it respect, posers call it fear.  Yet today many are taken in by appearance rather than performance.  How we look is often not related to how we perform, just because your bike is dirty doesn’t mean a lot of miles.  Or that it is clean like mine they haven’t?  We have enough time sorting out the posers, now we have cute Ducatis?  Pink Harleys?  Don’t go there, I know a girl, and yes she can ride.  Girls on café racers...yup.  Girls who tour, ever seen Edel on her Gold Wing?  Riding comes from the heart, not from the color of the bike.  Or brand.  Or leathers.  We love to ride, we welcome new riders, but posers can stay home doing their wife’s honey do list, let her ride.  And a note to Ducati, how many potential men riders will you lose to being cute?  “Nice bike Bart...” followed by friends laughing.  Muffled only by their Shoei’s....

And so the ads go on, and it is not just for attracting new riders.  The church is always on a new member campaign.  Some try to rob from other churches, never a good thing.  Some go out with buses, passing out free food once a month, and wonder why they don’t grow.  Some members invite their friends...now there’s a brave soul.  But few neglect to know that it is God who builds the church, Jesus is the solid rock it is based on, and God will provide the growth.  They may add numbers and fill pews, but do we see souls saved?  Free meals will get a turnout, but where is Jesus?  Maybe a look into scripture will guide us....Jesus fed the 5000 twice, probably more because the count didn’t include women and children.  Per the customs of the day.  No books were sold, no membership offered, no fancy handouts.  People were hungry, and he had the disciples feed them.  But his being there made it different.  He ate with the masses, something the Pharisees and other religious would not do, while under the law.  I can see Jesus walking the crowd, making sure everyone got enough, seconds if need be.  Maybe a doggie bag or two, you see he fed the hungry with food, while showing love.  And upset a few while doing it.  No limits on portions, eat until you are full.  Where can I find a church like that?

When doing it in love, there are no boundaries.  Love demands a choice, and how many have been turned away from churches because we might have ridden to a service?  We had long hair?  We brought our Bibles with us?  We wore jeans...and the list goes on.  Jesus welcomes us as we are, and he would welcome Bart and Betty, and be gracious to them.  A lesson maybe I need to remember.  How many of us when we were kids hung out or were thrown out of bike shops?  Ever send your mother for parts?  She didn’t know the model, just it was blue and said Honda.  But she got the right part through persistence.  And may have seen a side of motorcycling she didn’t know existed beyond our scrapes and bruises, and torn clothes.  Maybe we need to extend a hand to others when they ask about our bikes, and answer questions.  Not necessarily a recruiting drive, but your next riding buddy may be just waiting for a chance to ride, but doesn’t know anything about it.  Or may be your spouse.  Strange as it may seem, some women ride and their husbands don’t.  Works with Jesus too, which is why I don’t preach.  But mingle, and get to know people.  Preach at me and I’m outta here.  But I will share Jesus by his love and interest in you, and tell the truth.  And I don’t invite many to church, we are the church, so why not get out like Jesus tells us to and be light and salt?  A friend wonders why no one he invites ever takes him up on his offer, after he has preached at them.  Think about your witness, would you want to be like you or among of church folk like you?

So remember that when riding too.  Especially if you have your Christian colors on.  Is you riding a testimony of who you believe?  Or of your church, or club?  Nothing impresses more than a group of bikes taking up the fast lane at 50 mph, causing traffic to back up.  Freedom in riding, why would I want to hear about your freedom in the spirit, when you show no evidence?  I have rules at work and church, not with my rides.  And not with my God.  He shows love so I can respond in love.  Riding more and enjoying it less?  Going to church more and enjoying it less?  Try freedom in the spirit, ride your own ride, and be who you can be in Christ.  Not some religion.  Not all who ride are riders, not all who attend church are saved.  Be different, be yourself.  Now about that cute motorcycle, how pretty is it chasing it through the curves?  Bikes aren’t cute, but some who ride are.  Maybe your wife is just waiting for an invitation....let her choose the color. 

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

"step right up and meet the Mets..."

Last night was a night worth celebrating for New York Met fans, and being one since 1962, their first year, I am rejoicing.  The Mets are going to the World Series!  And all is well.  And I know, because it hasn’t always been so cheering for the Mets.  Growing up in the New York Metro area you were either a Mets or Yankee fan.  When the Dodgers and Giants left in 1957, a void filled the city for National League baseball, and many barely endured the drought.  You didn’t switch your allegiance to the Yankees, because they didn’t represent baseball to the people as the Dodgers and Giants had.  And when the Mets were formed for 1962, they could hardly wait.  Baseball was back, brought to them by George Weiss, an ex-Yankee exec, and Donald Grant, another ex-Yankee.  They even modeled the new uniforms after the old, Dodger blue letters with Giant gold outline, even Yankee pinstripes on home uniforms.  The NY on the caps the old Giant gold logo, but on a blue Dodger cap.  Let’s play ball!

And they did, losing 120 games their first year, and not much better the second.  But it didn’t matter, the National League was back in New York, and with players like Felix “Wrong Way” Mantilla, Pumpsie Green, Marvelous Marv, Elio Chacon, Hot Rod Kanehl, and Choo Choo Coleman, we loved them all.  Roger Craig lost 20 games.  We still cheered for him.  Even Ralph Kiner, ex home run hitter for the Pirates before he hurt his back and retired, did play by play, and had a show after the game, Kiner’s Corner, where he used Kinerisms long before Yogi did.  And one eventful interview with Choo Choo after a game.  When asked his wife’s name, he replied, “Mrs. Coleman.”  Not helping much, when Kiner asked “what does she like?” he answered, “she likes me.”  End of interview.  And we loved it.  And all brought together by one Charles Dillon Stengel, aka Casey.  Who had managed the Yankees to 13 pennants, and 10 World Series wins.  And you could watch on channel 9, the old Dodger network.  Proving to some that there is a God, and he loves National League baseball!

But until 1969 they never had a winning season, still outdrew the Yankees, but that year it was to change.  They had been known as “the Amazin’s Mets,” or just the Amazin’s, but now they were “the Miracle Mets,” overcoming a 100 to 1 long shot to be in the World Series.  We all remember the night Gary Gentry pitched them into first place in August.  How Jamie Qualls broke up Tom Seaver’s no-hitter in the 8th, again a Cub.  How they swept the Braves in the first League Championship Series, and beat the Orioles is 5 games!  Thanks to our high school being under construction, I was home that afternoon to watch with Just and Abner, and when Davey Johnson, who would later manage the 1986 Mets to a World Series Championship, flied out to Cleon Jones in left, we went nuts.  Abner thrust a bayonet into the ceiling, and cheers could be heard everywhere throughout the nighborhood.  The Mets were World Champs!  And it was only fitting that Gil Hodges, another old Dodger managed them!  Schools were closed the next day, but we went to celebrate with our friends.  School was out, the Mets were in, and all was well with the world.  TV’s had been brought to school that day to watch, and now they had won.  Never again would New York baseball ever be the same, nor their fans, years of drought were finally rewarded, Yankee fans even cheered, maybe not knowing why, and all the world was a Mets fan.  For the Mets and their fans it all changed in 1969.  The same year we put a man on the moon.  One giant step for he told us, but that October all the world was a Met fan.  And watching them beat the Chicago Cubs last night brought it all back. 

I had quit watching baseball for a few years, but my ears perked up when I heard the Mets were in the playoffs.  New names, kids to me, but that old “Let’s go Mets” cheer still sang in my heart.  How many years we cheered with no victory, and now they were going to the World Series for the fifth time.  And visions of Seaver, Koosman, and Jones danced in my head.  Ed “never throw a slider to the Glider” Charles.  Jerry Grote, Donn Clendenon.  Tommie Agee’s and Ron Swoboda’s incredible catches.  Today was yesterday all over again!  All was forgiven, the Mets had won.

I had never not been a Met fan, but I quit following them for a few years.  My ears only perking up when I heard the name mentioned.  Not a non-believer, not a backslider, just too busy with other things I guess.  It happens with people and God too.  Sometimes the excitement, the church experience, and a miracle wear off over time.  Some call it backsliding, but you can also put other things in front of God in priority.  You don’t lose your salvation, you just don’t enjoy it first hand.  But God hasn’t forgotten you.  Paul had to address the Corinthian church over this, losing their first love.  They attended church, tithed, and did all the things the church required.  But they also went back into serious sin, as if all sin isn’t serious.  They committed sin such as sleeping with their father’s new wife, and many things hidden but unto God.  They had come to Jesus, they were saved, and would even teach about him.  But something had happened, they lost their first love, and other things, a spirit of anti-Christ, in place of Christ, took over.  And Paul’s letter and directive probably amazed them, and still does today.  He told them “STOP!”  Not you’ll lose your salvation, but stop and repent and turn back to Christ.  A message many will not apply today.  It seems Christians love to kill the wounded, and isolate the sick and dying.  Jesus told us to visit the sick, to not forget those in jail, and to love the unlovely.  And each time we do it, we are doing it unto him.  We all will sin again today and tomorrow, but Jesus Christ remains the same.  Testimonies come out of tough times, and Jesus never left us, never forsakes us, and never turns from us.  We do!  And when we come to terms that are actions are sin, then we can truly repent, and go on from there.  He had made the atonement for our sins, and all are blotted out.  Even the new ones yet to come. 

The hardest person we will ever forgive is ourself, the one we think we know best.  But if God can forgive us, do we know better than God?  Did Jesus die in vain for only some of our sins?  Are we rewriting a new scripture out of pride?  So next time you think “God could never forgive what I’ve done,” if he has he did, and if you haven’t asked he will.  Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends.....eternal life in heaven.  Forever to celebrate.

The Mets celebrated last night, but still have a World Series to play.  Only a short time to celebrate.  And whoever wins the World Series will start all over next year.  Once forgiven, we are always forgiven in and by Jesus Christ. We may not win every game, but we are in the playoffs every day.  And when the names are called, we are Series winners, on a bigger field than any stadium.  So don’t be like an old Giant or Dodger fan, don’t wait until a new ball club comes to be your savior.  Don’t put off the celebration or the relationship with Jesus one more inning.  Or game.  We win!  We just have to play the game.  We have Jesus to save, the spirit to manage, and God to root for us.  And so I am rooting for the Mets again, and no one seems to have missed me.  God misses you, and is still waiting patiently for your return.  Good seats still available, and you can watch live.  You can be in the action.  Return now to your first love, and don’t look back.  The best is yet to come.  Let’s go Mets!  I’ll be watching.  Will you?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

the sun finally sets on the British Empire

Here is a question for all your gearheads, would you rather drive a car that feels like 80 at 120 mph, or a car that feels like 120 at 80 mph?  When I was asked, it was in reference to motorcycles, but my mind immediately raced, pun intended back to my MG’s, who’s motto of “SAFETY FAST,” always made me smile.  We all know the jokes about Lucas Electrics, he being the Prince of Darkness, and how gentlemen don’t proceed out after dark.  From an old Lucas ad.  It reminded me how a true sports car must be one where the top comes off, or goes down.  That you use spanners, spares, and make sure your tyre in the boot has air.  And I thought of sports cars growing up.  Today we sports editions of mini-vans, SUV’s, and other aberrations that fill the roads, but at one time in history a sports car meant British.  With Italian a close second.  They came from across the pond after WWII, and never left.  At least until 1980 when the last MGB was built, the company aka works closing for good.  But I had two MG’s, a 1972 Midget, butterscotch with black interior, try that against you shades of grey, and my 1980 MGB was russet brown, a strong British color with biscuit interior.  How many colors today bring honor to potatoes and bread?  Tops that were impossible to fold the same way twice, reliability that never let you wander far from home, or a tow truck, and an excuse to look for alternative roads that bent and curved.  My MGB even had a tonneau cover, so the top could be left down as was proper.  British sports car meant MG, Triumph, TVR, Jaguar, Aston Martin, Austin Healey, Lotus, and Caterham.  All very proper and very English.  Cars bought by the pound sterling, back when it was the reserve currency, and the sun never set on the British Empire.  Which made top down motoring even more fun, and for a country known for its liquid sunshine, open sports cars ruled the countryside.  And in many places and hearts in the colonies, America to you blokes.

But Britain never kept up with the times, stuck somewhere between just before and just after WWII, and combined with high taxes, the highest rate was 95%, unions with unreal demands, factories that should have been closed long ago, or at least after were, and liberal government policies executing their unworkable theories, the sun finally set on the British Sports car Empire, with only Jaguar and a few other brands existing, in very small supply, and even smaller demand.  A friend of mine who worked in the London factories at the time said the joke was “will the last person out of London please turn off the light.”   Times were not good for the sports car devotees, but back to my MG’s.

Perhaps its most endearing quality was you felt like you were going 120 mph at 80, if you could achieve it.  60 felt like 90, so not going real fast was needed to get the thrill achieved.  You entered curves differently relying on the car and driver prowess instead of electrically controlled suspensions and steering.  You learned to heal and toe when shifting and braking, not using a paddle aided automatic.  You learned how to pick your lines in the curves, and most importantly how to dress for the weather, just in case the British sun invaded your sunny afternoon in your drop head coupe.  On my Midget the top never really did keep the rain out, or the wind, it somehow magically directed it onto you.  Which maybe explained the musty smell most older British cars possessed.  But for those few shining  moments their was Camelot, where the skies were clear, the roads curvy, the top down while you wore you British cap, and listened to the song of the exhaust.  British sports cars on the right day were almost a religious experience, and on bad days a reason to be forgiven later.  Safety Fast if possible, fun even in the rain.  And I want another one bad.  For short trips, no freeways, but taking the old surface streets, maybe stop at a café that isn’t some franchised glop, wave at another brave soul if one happens to be brave enough as I am, and stop and talk over a pint, Diet of course, and talk of how the car let me down, never ran right after dark, was the one I met my wife in, and trade stories of British humor in their engineering.  And of how I wish I had never sold it and want it back.  Talk of cars sold, and intuitively agreeing in unison, they were the best cars we ever had.  All the while knowing all the parts that were falling off were made of the finest British quality.  Good show don’t you think?

And so we became slaves to our cars, who every once in a while would let us exercise the freedom they were intended for.  We found no freedom in ourselves, for although we were the masters, the owners, we had very little or no freedom.  We were a slave to the car, depending on when or if and where it wanted to go, or break down.  Paul ran into a man in prison named Onesimus who had stolen from his master, and although he had been set free, his conscience now made him a slave to it.  He found out that there was slavery in freedom, and after meeting Paul in prison, would find there is freedom in slavery.  Paul told him how he was a bondslave to Jesus Christ, how he had cast his cares on him, and he had taken the yoke of Jesus, for it was easy.  And in becoming a bondslave, found freedom in the spirit, when being yoked to Jesus.  We are all yoked to something or someone.  Usually an inanimate thing that cannot love us back, but yet we worship it.  Once it was with MG’s, and today many worship at the altar of BMW.  But when Paul chose Jesus, he voluntarily became a bond slave, yoked to the one who would not only save his soul, but guide him in life.  And give it purpose.  When yoked to Jesus we are joined to the creator of the world, the savior, the master who loves us.  The great shepherd who guides us, the friend who shows up on the side of the road at 3am with parts for our car.  And installs them for us.  Jesus is the one who is good to us and for us-all at the same time.  Onesimus was to find this out from Paul, and find it to be truth when he accepted Christ. 

Sin finds us out, but if we know Christ he has taken the beating for us, for it.  When we worship anything but him, when we have the spirit of anti-Christ, the instead of Jesus attitude, we become a slave to it, and lose our freedom.  A car that may run great when it runs, will eventually let us down.  And when we least expect it.  The rain will fall on the just and the unjust, top up or down.  But when we are yoked by Christ, to Jesus, we are protected.  And it is a yoke that we are invited to take, to take voluntarily.  Free, to make the choice.  Yet many get stuck with no parts, no gas, no lights, and no way home, when they knew better.  Knowing Jesus is knowing better.  Better than AAA, with no mileage waivers.  And his yoke is free for all. 

But yet we yearn for those days when the car runs, the sun is out, and we have the top down.  Days we really appreciate when we have the freedom of the wind in our cars, and we can have that freedom in Jesus.  He is the finely tuned machine we need to lean on, who keeps us in tune, and has what we need when we need it.  Lucas may be the Prince of Darkness, but Jesus has overcome the dark, he is light!  And top down motoring at its best.  Stuck in your so called freedom?  You need Jesus, who will set you free in your slavery to him.  Paul knew, Onesimus found out, have you?  Everyday without Jesus is like a day in prison with walls and bars that keep you from being free.  But you can be free in his spirit, and lost in his love.  Just by turning to him now. 

Their may be no other freedom like a British sports car on clear, sunny day.  Top down, the exhaust singing a tune, and the curves inviting.  But all it takes is one Prius, or pothole to ruin your day, and interrupt your ride.  Don’t become a slave to something you have no choice in, Jesus offers you the choice.  No other god or religion will.  True freedom.....

So maybe 60 feeling like 120 can be good.  At age 61 I don’t want to feel like 120, I want to feel like 25.  Only in Christ will I be the kid I want to be.  All because a loving father sent his son to die for me.  And give me eternal life.  Guided by his yoke, so remember whatever you are yoked to, will never be a substitute for being equally yoked with Jesus.  The sun finally set on the British Empire because it had lost its way....being where the Son sets is the best way to tomorrow.  Starting today.  Jesus Christ, he is the light left on for you.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

your last ride

I am often asked by those who don’t ride, what was/is your favorite ride?”  Depending on my audience, I can let my mind wander through the miles ridden, the meals eaten, and the people met.  Roads come to mind, as do states, was Theresa with me, and what bike I was riding. But when I ask myself the same question, I find I break it down into two categories, was and is.  Was, is tougher, there have been so many, and I find each ride, no matter how bad or how good has some merit to me.  Is, takes me to the roads I travel on a regular basis, which limits me to anything south of Tulare, or about a 280 mile radius.  But I have found myself echoing the same answer, “my last ride and my next ride.”  I have learned to enjoy the ride I am on, whether it is stuck in traffic lane splitting, or wearing off foot pegs in the hills.  I love to ride, and given all the opportunities, I try to enjoy every ride as if it may be my last.  The one that when I hang my helmet up for good, when my wrist will no longer twist any more, the one that I will have to remember for a long time.  We don’t often have a choice of when we will stop riding, so I have learned to enjoy each outing as if it may be my last.  To some that may seem fatalistic, but to me it is realistic.

In June of 2012, before I got sick and had open heart surgery, I had ridden 1000 miles in two days in 100 degree heat.  It could have been, and should have been if not for the miracle God performed in my life.  For the first time on any ride, I was separated from my motorcycle, and waking up after surgery never knew if I would or could ever ride again.  But I was alive, and my memory fresh, well sort of, and at one time had convinced myself if I never ride again, I will deal with it.  But fortunately God had a better plan, and after only 7 weeks after surgery, making medical history, I rode for 25 minutes on my Bonneville.  Perhaps the hardest ride, yet the most satisfying ride I ever took, I was so weak I was afraid I would fall over, and so fragile it may have killed me if I did.  But I was riding again, a new first, and hopefully an old last that I will always remember.  And I learned a very important lesson, we can plan for our first, but we never know when we will take our last.  So today I treat each ride as if it was my last, because I have seen scripture come alive in my life, and we are never promised tomorrow.  But we are promised something better....eternity.

If I live to a ripe old age of 81, I only have another 20 years, leaving me with less miles to look forward to than to look back on.  Picking up Sportrider magazine yesterday, I saw an article about my friend Ray Adams.  Mickey had built him a turbo charged B King, dynos at 264 horsepower, and Ray loves it.  It is his everyday bike, not bad for a man who just turned 71.  He loves to ride, and has passed down the passion through his son Curtis, known as the “fastest man at Willow,” and to his grandson Bradley, who wrote the article.  We are friends who at one time agreed we are not getting old, just older.  My inspiration for not growing up, just going faster.  But I know that he is even closer to that last ride than I am, if we both die of old age.  So I find that how I live not only may not increase my days, but it adds value to them. 

But if I had died in June 2012, it may have also been Theresa’s last ride too.  We are riding partners, and she will not ride with anyone else.  My ego tells her it would be a let down.  But when we ride together it is something we have always done, since our first night we met.  It is part of who we are, and whether on her Bonneville, or buddy seat sitting, someday she will be faced with her last ride.  But she is also blessed that she gave her life to Christ, as I have.  We have no fear of tomorrow, for wherever we spend it, Jesus is with us.  Alone or together, no matter how we ride, we are never alone.  Really never apart is a better description, for Jesus never leaves us, so we are never apart.  And each ride brings us closer to heaven than the one from yesterday.  We have learned of value of having Jesus in our lives, and he brings a richness to the ride I didn’t know I didn’t have before I was saved.  And so I am so thankful for the passion God has given us for riding and for the road. 

I have lost count of how many different bikes I have ridden this year, I demoed a 2016 Indian Scout on Saturday.  Nice bike for a cruiser, but no suspension.  Which can be fixed.  My recent bike is a Triumph Explorer which I swap out today.  I will probably ride back on my Street Triple, unless Mick has something else he needs miles on.  And my old Tiger 955 has the bags loaded with food for Dustin Arms, where I will teach tonight, and deliver needed food for the hungry.  Each bike different, each riding style different, but all fun.  And maybe that is why I ride.  I like the freedom, love the road.  No place I’d rather be on earth than on the road splitting time zones.  But riding is fun, and why have fun if you don’t enjoy it?  Same with God.  why serve a god who cannot deliver?  Who cannot promise eternal life? Who tries to run your life and control you through religious doctrines?  Why serve anyone but Jesus Christ, where you can have full freedom in the spirit, where you can make the choices, who delivered on all his promises including resurrection?  Why live for today when you can live for eternity?  So why do you not enjoy every ride like it could be your last? 

Eternity awaits all, and all will die.  If reading this you still have a choice on where you will spend it.  Heaven with Jesus, or hell without him.  Still in denial, think about “if I die before I ride,” where will I end up?  We will all take one final ride, and it will be in a hearse.  Rich or poor, rider or not, saved or lost, a hearse will be your last ride.  A choice no one will have to make for you.  So today, consider Jesus Christ.  Ask him to come into your life.  Trust him.  Start reading your Bible, get involved in a church.  Meet others and share how he changed your life.  Choices you can still make.  And rest assured that when that last ride comes, you know your destination.  We are not promised tomorrow, I never planned to have open heart surgery.  I once doubted if I would ever ride again.  But I never doubted heaven, because I know in whom I believe.  So enjoy the ride you are on, cherish the old ones, look forward to new ones.  Knowing that a loving God has everything under control.  We will all take a last ride, enjoy yours today because it just might be.  In Christ.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com