Rockford's last file

James Garner, aka Jim Rockford, is dead at age 86.  Former racer, actor, and Hollywood legend, he died from apparent natural causes.  Notice I mentioned racer first, as many don’t realize his racing career reached from the film Grand Prix to real racing at Baja.  Fielding many teams over the years, even under contract to AMC.  And given chances to go professional, he stayed with the screens, both big and small.  Married for over 60 years to the same wife, Lois, he is maybe one of the last great ones in his generation.  But I will always remember him as Rockford, and always wonder if he was really acting, or just being himself through Rockford.  Just like I think Brando really was Johnny from the Wild One in real life.  But James Garner, the man is gone, only his movies, and TV series, Maverick and The Rockford Files will live on.  His last file closed for good yesterday,his final decisions on where he would spend eternity made. No more guest appearances, no more “where are they now?” and no more acting.  His career is over.  A great career, I am sure Turner Classic Movies will be showing many of them, The Great Escape, Lover Come Back, and Victor, Victoria among them.  A few days of Garner, and then back to normal scheduling.  Maybe someone will finally resurrect Rockford for TV, so I don’t have to watch him on Netflix on a small screen.  His legend will continue, the man is gone.

After reading his autobiography a few years back, he appeared to not be quite the man Rockford was.  Seems the Jimmy living on 29 Cove Road in Malibu had more morals than the racer/actor.  And I hope, not only hoped, he found Christ before he died.  For his last file in life, is forever, with no reruns.  All the awards, from SAG, to Emmy, to even his Purple Heart won in Korea, mean nothing to God.  They are not bad things, just gain you no entry to heaven.  They are wood, hay, and stubble to God, and the only trophies you find there are of what Jesus did.  For it was Jesus who died for our sins, and is the only way to gain entrance to heaven.

Looking back at Rockford, maybe he was a lot like many of us.  He was barely making it, got late calls from the bank.  He had brushes with the law, and many times when innocent was thought to be guilty.  He was misunderstood, and finally vindicated by the end of the show.  He fell in and out of love, but recovered.  He had a great relationship with his dad, family values we called them, and was loyal to his friends, even when Angel would sell him out for a few cents on the dollar.  His door was always open, he rarely denied a friend in need, and faced death many times, only being shown grace by the script writer until next week.  His life was a weekly series, and many times ours is too.  Work Monday through Friday, sleep in on Saturday, do the chores, church and riding on Sunday.  With little in between that we think is worth remembering, much less writing about.  But to God it means a lot, He keeps notes on us.  Good notes, notes that He will reveal to us on Judgment Day, things that may have been ignored on earth, but are heavenly to Him.  We may not have the abilities to drive like Jimmy did, to pull off the perfect Rockford reverse turn, but we all have been given the chance through Jesus to make the turn to God in our lives.  To turn to Jesus, instead of away from God.  To be guaranteed the rights of heaven after our earthly career is over, and find life really a training ground for heaven.  But others sadly give too much credit to what they achieve, no fear of hell, and live like it.  They don’t realize that no one ever came back from hell, and that no one ever wanted to return from heaven.  Their thoughts are on the right now, on themselves, and think they live good lives.  But when their file is pulled, when the curtain drops on them and their show of life is cancelled, it is too late.  They had the chance....but chose to deny God, and God honored their request.  What will your file say, heaven or heaven denied?  And it is your choice...Don’t listen to the same angel that Jimmy did, an Angel scamming on you, who only lived for the moment.  Too many of us have, or do, and soon begin to believe the lies we tell, and turn away from God in shame.  How can a loving God ever forgive me, I am a horrible sinner, I have ____________-fill in the blank.  But Jesus died for all sins, and repentance covers all of them.  Forgiven now, today, and for yesterdays sins.  A whole new file opened on you, with a place reserved in the book of life with your name on it.  A full pardon from hell, a pardon meaning your sin never happened, just like Rockford was pardoned from San Quentin.  And just like his adversaries would remind him, our adversary the devil will remind us.  Just refer him to Jesus and the end of the book-we win!  For forgiveness is a great thing, show it to others.

I can see my next trip to Malibu to Paradise Cove Road in a few weeks to see where Rockford kept his trailer.  To where he lived.  After the may fans have made their mark.  Maybe ride up the PCH a few more miles than normal, maybe even eat at the Sandcastle.  Many of Rockford’s fans I’m sure are already, we have been there many times, even eaten there.  Much bigger on TV, it is small, and really a trailer park.  In Malibu.  And I will think and pray for my friends and family who don’t know Jesus.  I will remember Jim Rockford, and his show.  I will remember his racing, his smile, and that pleasant manner.  I will remember Jim as Rockford more than as Garner for that is who he was to me.  I will remember his many times talking with Angel, hoping in his final days he called upon God, and the angels escorted him to heaven.  After death it is too late, series ended, contract not renewed.  So where are you with Christ?  Are you assured of heaven?  What does it say I your heavenly file?  Is your name entered into the book of life?  Or are you betting on your earthly achievements to gain you access?  Or your friends, family, or church attendance?  Or are you in full denial, saying nothing, which is really saying “no.”  Take the time now to ask Jesus into your life.  Be saved, forgiven, and assured of heaven all in one instance.  Be a Maverick for Jesus, be part of the Great Escape from hell, and be a Victor in life, even if you are a Victoria.  “Lover come back,” God calls to us from us from heaven.  He sent Jesus just for you.  Where will His name be in your final credits?  Give Him all the credit now while you still can.  Jim once commented on Lance White that “Lance is perfect, it is his only flaw.”  When God looks at me, a sinner saved by is grace, He sees me the same way.  Be seen by Him today. A sinner saved by faith in Jesus Christ.  Flawless to the end.  And in the end, the only way to heaven.  You may now return to your normal schedule.  I just hope heaven is your new normal.  Just like Rockford had contacts within the department, it helps to have that one contact in heaven.  When the files are opened on you in heaven......

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

an encouragement to all my infidel friends

I still don’t know the man’s name, although we had shared pleasantries at church for years.  But this Wednesday night our paths would cross, in way I didn’t expect.  After the service, he came up and wanted to talk.  He was unemployed, like many of us were, not because we wanted to be, in 2008.  Seeking advice, and some consoling from his other church friends, he went in hope of help, but left discouraged, and confused.  They had told him he was an infidel, worse actually, because by not having a job, he wasn’t taking care of his family, and scripture tells us, if you don’t work, you don’t eat, and when you don’t take care of your family, you are worse than an infidel.  And he was deeply shaken by it.  Oh, Lord, what do I say?  HELP!

And so I asked him if he was saved, “yes, and so was his family.”  They were strong in church, both attendance and involvement, and in this time of uneasiness, they had all drawn closer to the Lord.  They prayed together, shared together, and he was encouraging his wife, who was having an even worse time with it.  My answer was simple, “you aren’t an infidel, you are taking care of your family, meeting the needs spiritually, and allowing God to work in all your lives. Your friends are giving you bad advice and misquoting scripture, for it says if you WON”T work, and you will.  You are taking good care of your family, God is with you.   Too bad your friends have an attitude like Pharisees.  They can only hope they don’t lose their jobs, and can only wish they are as blessed as you.”  Great advice, even from me, but they are God’s words.  With so many still un or underemployed, there would be a lot more infidels based on their criteria.  Thankfully God knows better, and we know.  The smile and bounce in his step as we parted assured me that the words came from the spirit and weren’t my own.  I’m just not that smart.

It is down to just me and Gabe at the Pantry, where we give out donated clothes to the homeless, downtrodden, and the needy.  In an alley off 15th between Market and Island, we have set up a shop, where they can shop for clothes, for free.  We are able to counsel, pray, encourage, and see God meeting needs the three days a week we are open.  And with many looking for work, we can be overwhelmed by requests for jobs.  But God has shown His grace to and through us.  One man showed me resume, and I helped him interview, gave him confidence, and he got the job.  After we prayed.  Yesterday two other men blessed us with the news they just got jobs.  One a wild looking younger guy, was picking out some nice clothes, he was hired as a cashier.  He was excited, and wanted to look nice so he could do his best.  God was meeting a need through us and those who donated the clothes.  The other man’s story blessed us even more, as sometimes we wonder “are we making a difference?  Does anyone really care?”  But his excitement and enthusiasm was contagious.  He had just gotten work, and wanted to thank us.  He told us it was because he had gotten some nice clothes from us, that he didn’t feel ashamed when he interviewed.  Being dressed nice improved his attitude, gave him confidence, and it showed as he got the job.  Can I hear an AMEN!  A simple thing like clean clothes, fresh socks, and vote of confidence from God had made all the difference.  And again God showed me why He has given me Matthew 25 as a scripture to minister.  When Jesus asks the church “where were you when I was naked, hungry, lonely, thirsty, and without hope, where were you?”  they didn’t have an answer.  And Matthew 25 has given us the incentive, vision, and strength to carry on.  And not only to be blessed, but to bless others.  To love, care, and show compassion, for but for the grace of God may go I.  And so you could never compensate me for the time I put in voluntarily, you could never meet the blessings we see from Jesus.  Matthew 25 –it works.

Just before my friend Lee died a few years ago, I asked him if he was afraid to die.  We were alone, and we needed to talk.  He told me “no, not at all.”  But he was worried who would take care of Suzi, his wife when he was gone.  When I asked him “who was taking care of her now?” a huge smile lit up that Lee face of his.  He knew...the same God that was taking him through this situation, and had taken care of them for years would not abandon her after his death.  If that smile could talk, it would make a great sermon, but words would only lessen the impact.  For Jesus is that personal, and should be.  He takes us through the tough times, and when we walk through that valley of the shadow of death, He is with us. Never leaving our side, really having gone ahead and blazed a trail, making sure it was safe.  For life can be like that-aren’t you glad Jesus isn’t?

So to all my fellow infidels, who may be out of work, out money, out of food, or naked or in jail.  Jesus hasn’t forgotten you, in fact you are at the top of His list.  He is waiting for you to call on Him so He can provide.  And in the times you don’t realize He is, He was.  Don’t be led astray by some Pharisee who really is wretched on the inside.  Money may buy a fine dog, but only love will make it wag its tail.  And that love is Jesus.  So don’t be concerned that you aren’t doing enough, just do what He asks.  Be part of the blessing, and be blessed.  It works in church, and in an alley in the Hood.  It works in prison cells, and even while riding.  It is individual and for families.  It is infinite, yet personal.  Some call it religion, we know better.  We call it Jesus.  An encouragement to all my infidel friends.  We should all be so blessed.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

 

two's a couple, three's a trike

I was trying to explain to this non-rider the other day that a trike isn’t a motorcycle.  By his talking I was sure he didn’t even know what a trike was, but he kept insisting anything that wasn’t a car was a motorcycle.  So I asked him if he remembered when ATC’s were outlawed because they were dangerous, he did.  But they were motorcycles, because they were sold in motorcycle shops.  What about Polaris and their three wheeled snow mobile, the Spyder?  Again, yes, because it is sold at, you guessed it, a motorcycle store.  And I could see I was getting nowhere, and was about to invoke our number one rule, “never argue with an idiot, because you will never win,” when a guy on a trike pulled up.  And we asked him, “does he consider his trike a motorcycle?”  And he didn’t, he owned some motorcycles, the two wheeled type, but was glad that he could ride his trike on the HOV lane, and insure with  his other motorcycles.  Thanks for your help, but no thanks, as I was no better off.  And why I even was in this conversation I don’t know, because I really don’t care.  But when I see a group of Spyder riders, riding down the road in shorts, flip flops, and tank tops, and think they are motorcyclists, I get upset.  We are a special and unique breed, and we have enough trouble at times within the ranks of real bikers, without letting in anything not a car.  And I am not alone, as even certain clubs don’t recognize trikes as bikes, but will allow them, just as long as they pay their dues.  Maybe money does talk, sadly it rides too.  And as many of us older riders get older, and can’t stand up the bike at a stop, many are turning to trikes.  Even Harley sells a factory model, and I see many on the road.  But they also used to sell gold carts, were they motorcycles?  And remember their Servi-car, was it a motorcycle?  Meter maids rode them to give out tickets, could you imagine Jon and Ponch on one?  Have you ever seen a CHP trike?  Maybe I should have rested my case, but still we haven’t decided what is a motorcycle, or what isn’t?

Merriam-Webster defines a motorcycle as “a vehicle that has two wheels and is powered by a motor, and that can carry one or two people.”  I’ll go with that.  But then adds, “an automotive vehicle that has both wheels inline.”  Automotive type?  What other vehicle has both wheels inline? Doesn’t both refer to two?  At least by any part of the definition, no trikes allowed.  But what really is a motorcycle, is it more than words to those of us who ride?  Maybe an additional line to old M-W would be its ability to white line, or lane split.  Never seen a trike do it, but see baggers of all brands do it all the time.  Never seen a Spyder split lanes either.  Maybe I should just rest my case there.  So much for the tangibles, but maybe it is the intangibles that make it a motorcycle, and make us motorcyclists.  The wind in our faces, the leaning in corners, the freedom of two wheels, of not being in anything, but on something.  A freedom that after almost 800,000 miles of riding, I cannot describe.  All I know is that it is good, and if a trike can make you fell that way, ride it.  Ride your Spyder.  Just know they aren’t, and ain’t a motorcycle!

Trikes don’t handle, although Spyders do, because of the design.  Still not a motorcycle.  Trikes tip over, bikes do too, still not the same.  Both can ride in the HOV lane, only one can lane split, bike wins again.  Remember when you were a kid, didn’t you want a two wheeler, to get off of your 3 wheeler?  Big Wheels were fun, but that shiny red Schwinn was what you really desired.  Two wheels.  Maybe even then you knew the difference....so, I rest my case.  Two is better than three, two’s a couple, and three’s a trike.  Four is car.  All move the body, only two wheels move the soul.

In John 9 we find a man who has been blind since birth.  Now older, an adult, Jesus gives him his eyesight.  When asked, he tells them, “I cannot tell you if he is good or bad, I was blind and now I can see.”  After repeated questioning by the Pharisees, this man was an obvious sinner, sickness was believed to be a result from sin, they just didn’t or wouldn’t get it.  And when he gave all glory to God, well, he asked them if they would like to become disciples of Jesus?  And they became enraged and cast him out, even after telling the Pharisees that if Jesus wasn’t of God, He couldn’t do the miracle.  And then Jesus confronts Him, “do you believe in the Son of God?” and them reveals Himself as the Son, the once blind man shouts “I believe,” and is saved.  Leaving the Pharisees to question if they are blind, blind to the truth.  To Jesus.  What a day, from blindness to sight, from death to life, form obscurity to fame, and from a stranger to a friend of Jesus.  Pretty full afternoon, do you think we can see as clearly as this man did?

So call it what you will, no matter where it is sold, if it has more than two inline wheels, it is not a motorcycle.  It can be a trike, it can be ridden in the HOV lane, and certain clubs will not recognize you.  Because although you ride, your ride isn’t a motorcycle.  Don’t change the definition to meet your needs.  The Pharisees were told they were blind because they had seen, and were made blind to the truth, but the blind would see, and see the truth.  And be set free.  Perhaps the two most beautiful words that God will ever hear from us is “I believe.”  No substitutions, no politically correct definitions, and no urban legends.  THE truth, Jesus, who is the only one who can set you free.  Don’t be confused with thinking you are saved because you  go to church.  Or your parents are Christians.  Or you signed a membership card.  These are not bad things on their own, but don’t save.  Only Jesus saves.  It is personal, and not legal.  A move of the spirit, and no matter what you believe, if it is not THE truth as in the Bible, it ain’t the truth.  And you aren’t saved.  Losing a wheel doesn’t make you a bike, joining a church doesn’t save.  There is a physical reason why you can’t lane split on a trike, and the Bible tells us the path is straight and narrow-two wheels only can make the trip.  The gate is narrow, leave your trike behind and ride a motorcycle.  Leave your sin behind and enter the gate and be saved.

But to those who ride trikes and Spyders, I welcome you.  Just know what you ride is and isn’t.  Just like the truth, it will set you free.  I’m glad you are out of the cage of your car and riding.  Make the big jump today, two wheels do move the soul, let Jesus change yours.  Don’t split lanes with your religion, turn to the truth, be set free and ride forever.  Only in Jesus, trikes, Spyders, and others welcome.  Maybe you really are what you ride after all.  And you are who you follow.  See?  Only the blind man did.  And your answer?

love with compassion,
Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

safety fast

The salesman at the Harley store the other day asked me if my Bonneville “was an English Triumph?”  I answered “as far as I know,” while rolling m eyes, while a third man, stage left giggled at his question.  Of course Triumphs are English, just as Harleys are American, and Hondas are Japanese.  Then he thought for a minute, put his e-cig in his pocket, took out a generic brand cigarette, lit it and after a few drags, said “I meant an old one.”  Then tried to cover up by engaging me in enduring all the misquoted facts he knew about English bikes from 50 years ago.  He had lost me at the first dumb question, really lost me when lighting up, but the following me around now was bothering me.  All I go there for is to pick up the free newspapers, but I did see the new Street 500-blackest bike I ever saw.  No chrome anywhere, helps keep the price down.  Normally I would have asked questions, and for a ride, but I could see where it would have gone, and 15 minutes would have turned into 2 hours, which would have turned into, well you know.  But it got me thinking of the English, old English, to me meaning the 60’s and 70’s, when BSA was gasping for life, Matchless, Vincent, and other proud names were gone, and Triumph went on strike, the final nail in its coffin.  But never out of business, read the story of John Bloor and his resurrecting it, a true success story.  But I thought of Bristol Motors out on Route 22, which sold MG and Triumph cars, not the same company as the motorcycles, and my mind took me back 40 years. 

Set in lovely North Plainfield, it was among the many obnoxious businesses that lined both sides of the road.  Unlike today where we have auto parks, this one was stuck in among store fronts, and stuck out because of it.  Lines of shiny new MG’s, all with black convertible tops, as only a true sports car should be, lined up.  Bright blues, British racing green, and reds, an occasional yellow, and the color of my Midget-butterscotch.  Colors today not found on any car, never saw a grey sports car have you?  Small cars that you folded yourself into, and once inside had lots of leg room, lots of shoulder room, and lots of headroom.  And all without putting the top down, which literally opened up a whole new world of driving.  And sitting low, you saw the lower parts of cars you didn’t while in your dad’s Rambler.  Your line of sight was the belt line of any other car, and you could be missed in traffic.  They had to be small, gas was expensive in England, 77 cents a gallon, and MPG was important to them.  But more important was the fun of driving, going around corners, hearing the exhaust singing to you, and feeling the wind everywhere.  All while giving the sensation of going much faster than you really were.  Not a bad thing, but not a car to race against any GTO, SS396, or your father’s Oldsmobile.  But it had an intrinsic quality called fun, and you didn’t have to go fast to do it.  And just as long as they stayed together, the fun was to be had.

MG stands for Morris Garages, and their motto was “Safety Fast.”  The fast catching any young man’s attention, the safety maybe putting him to sleep.  Like the girl with a nice personality, she had to be fast or have good looks to if a second date was in order, and the MG had both.  Light weight meant better handling, better acceleration from a smaller motor, and better braking-not breaking.  And they went around corners faster, and gave the illusion of speed, even when doing the speed limits.  And many muscle cars learned that when being passed by one in the corners.  Straight line acceleration is fun, but it takes mucho horsepower to be fun.  Here was a small package, that all you needed was corners to have fun with.  And fun they were.  But the key word to driving one was fun.  Somehow you found yourself smiling when just sitting in one.  Once started, with its burbling exhaust, it sounded cool, like a bratty kid, you could corner him, but never catch him.  And even shifting through the gears felt good, looking through the short windshield at the three wipers it took to clear it, it was that short, but also that wide.  Fun could be had reading the owner’s manual, and guessing what the English meant when they spoke of dropping the head, checking under the bonnet, or placing the tyre among spares in the boot.  It all added up to a fun driving experience.  It was fun, funny, and like a good friend, you were willing to look over the warts on his nose, or his BO because he was your friend.  Such was the MG experience.  Gone after 1980.  RIP Morris Garages.

But back to fun.  I like to ask people “what good is fun if you don’t enjoy it?”  And they think I am crazy, and in any relationship, it helps if you are the crazy one.  But do you have fun like you used to? When is the last time you turned up the volume in a stereo store just to hear what it sounded like?  Or ran a test drive car through the gears?  Or went into a corner too fast, scaring the salesman?  All things we used to do, and some we still do.  They are fun, don’t hurt anyone, but to the PC attitude we are heathens to their culture.  When really they are to ours.  How many of their kids will remember the good time in mom’s minivan?  Or the time she did a burnout?  Or turned up the stereo so loud she couldn’t talk on her cell?  Rebels all, just no fun in it any more.  So I ask again,”what good is fun if you don’t enjoy it?”

And being a Christian, you should have more fun than anyone.  We are perpetual kids, we have a loving and forgiving Father, and we know how the story ends.  We win.  Shouldn’t that make you happy, isn’t winning fun?  Yet of late I encounter too many Christians who all seem to belong to “Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows,” and live like it.  They live like they are dead, and are overwhelmed by the economy, kids, job, their spouses, and anything that comes there way.  A good night is when the Padres don’t lose, so you can see their plight.  They have given their lives to Jesus, just haven’t given their life to Him.  They read their Bible, pray, go to church, but are miserable.  They aren’t letting Jesus into their lives, and wonder what is happening, I’m doing all the right things.  All except following Him, letting Him be Lord.  They are like Jesus says, “why do you call me Lord, but don’t do what I asked?”   They are missing the trust it takes to enter a corner too fast, hoping the car is better than their driving.  They live and drive with the cruise on, and live life like Goldilocks, not too fast, not too slow.  Not too soft, not too hard.  Don’t share Jesus, I wish I had.  They are their own gospel, feeling safe and secure, but never seeing all God has to offer.  When it comes time to share testimonies, they don’t have any.  For the best testimonies include when God saved  you from yourself, a situation, something you couldn’t do yourself.  They miss the miracles, but mostly they miss the fun.  And knowing Jesus is fun!  And it should be.  Joy unspeakable!

My friend Lance used to say “there is no thrill like driving an English sports car.”  Top down, wind in your face, hair blowing.  Hearing the engine, smelling the oil burning off the manifold.  Feeling the road.  Using all your senses, heightened to the point of exhileration.  Sounds like a life in Christ to me.  So start living in Him, maybe religion is for old people after all.  Get personal.  I see this orange 1980 MGB for sale, less than $10k, all reconditioned.  Oh for a test drive.

Don’t live your live wishing you had taken that last drive.  Enjoy life, have fun.  Jesus did and still does. Just think, why would anyone want to be like me, and ask yourself where Jesus is in your life?  What is your witness?  Do you even want to be like you?  Then after asking, trust and obey.  Watch as fun enters your relationship, and others want to hear about this Jesus in you.  He did all the suffering so you could have all the joy.  Come down off your cross, and share His victory, and enjoy it.  Have fun, some are just dying to have fun, He died so you can.  Safety fast. Maybe I will take a ride in that MG, just don’t tell my wife.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

before freeways

Growing up we had Route 22, the closest thing to an Interstate Highway, before we had the Interstate System.  A curious road, once known as the busiest road in the nation, who’s brilliant designer channeled it from 3 lanes to 2 just as you get closer to New York City, creating an even bigger traffic jam.  A road lined with red lights, jug handle exits, and many famous to those who travelled it land marks.  Unforgettable sights such as The Flagship, Leaning Tower of Pizza, Two Guys from Harrison, and forbidden places like the Greenbrook Motel.  But not all America is like Route 22, and even 22 as it goes into the Pennsylvania countryside may seem boring to those city folks or subdivision types who commute on it, but to me it is the open door to getting out of the city.  To places where no Walmart or Mickey D’s has polluted the economy.  Where stop signs still rule, and stop lights warn of intersections, with signs showing the mileage in each direction.  You thought you were nowhere, only to find you are only 22 miles to somewhere.  Or less.  Where towns have more cattle than people, pumps you cannot pay at, and menus written on erasable boards. Where fresh pies, baked on the premises happily ruin your diet, and sweet tea is offered as the drink of preference.  A far cry from an Interstate, the roads have names, not numbers, the people have names and not just faces.  It is a land uninhabited by Mapquest, not on any AAA map, yet so close you can miss it.  These are the roads and places we choose to travel.  Where we spend our time on the road.  Our escape routes from the city, and or trip back to an America before freeways.  A road not may will take, out of fear of the unknown.  And never know what they are missing.

Did you know you can ride from San Diego to Los Angeles without using any freeways?  And that many towns exist off of freeways, just not accessible by them?  On our recent 11 day, 2000 mile ride, we were never farther than 500 miles from home, and only rode on freeways when we had to, about 300 total miles.  We took some roads that we wondered where they went to, ate at places where the owner carries a spatula and sells his homegrown tomatoes at the counter.  We found home made burritos for $3.49 and left full.  In a country market.  Where we met a priest on a mission for cat food as he explained.  We ate pancakes that would embarrass IHOP, for half the price, and twice the size.  We learned that Mr. Kennedy eats there every day, and it must be 9:15 as he is going back to his farm.  That Joe from Brown’s Cycle eats there every Sunday morning.  And all served in sizes and flavor that no designer food restaurant could ever duplicate.  Where food covers the platter, no whites of the plate in evidence.  But of late, we see the city folk encroaching, and things are beginning to change.  We see the yuppie influence, where they know the price of everything, but don’t know the value of anything.  They envision life here as it is where they are from, and courtesy and respect are foreign terms.  Where their coffee cup is always full, and at a fraction of the price for their latte.  Their detailed BMW’s sticking out among the pick ups with mud on them and the smell of the ranch, the only time they open their windows are at the drive up.  They pay by credit card, don’t tip well, and can operate an i-pad, but cannot hold a conversation.  At least not without a cell phone to text on.  America is changing, and I miss America.  I have seen the future, and give me the back roads and all that goes with it.  Give me people with all our foibles anytime.  Give me variety, pancakes not from a box.  Pies from a recipe, not written down, and a smile and welcome where they really mean it.  Give me roads that lead to other roads, that go somewhere.  Past farms, small towns, general stores, and kids waving from front yards.  Where your change is counted out as it is handed back to you, and you are thanked with a smile.  You’re welcome, and you are.  Roads that predate even Route 22, a time and place that a young Dorothy Gale envisioned, “somewhere over the rainbow,” that she didn’t realize she had already found.  Roads built that are meant to be ridden on by motorcycles, with curves, elevation drops, and no white lines.  That start where they begin, and go onto other places.  Nowhere and everywhere, all at once.  My kind of ride....

Many a sojourner, a traveller of earth, has set out to find God, only to arrive at a dead end.  They took all the right roads, followed the directions given, but yet ended up nowhere.  They started lost, and ended up even more lost, and wondered why some get it, and others don’t.  What is the secret to a life with God?  What exit in life do I take?  Why don’t I know where I am or where I am going?  Sound familiar, it is, as we all at one time or another have tried to work out our own salvation.  We read books, tried astrology, maybe even went to church.  Some picked up a Bible, but when it made no sense, or offended their morals, put it down.  They were looking for something, not realizing it was really a someone who they needed.  They carefully planned their trip, did all he right things, graduated college, got married, had kids, but yet were unfulfilled.  They knew the price of what they had, just not the value of it.  Values were placed by what it cost, or could be invested and resold at.  They never just go for a ride, not realizing they were being taken for one.  They may even be religious, but not at peace.  They have a form of godliness, but don’t have the savior.  They have no peace, because there is no Jesus.  If only they had taken the time to put down the cell phone in traffic, and read the simple bumper sticker ahead of them, “know Jesus, know peace.”  A peace not found on any web site, and a destination of the heart, not of the mind.  Where God gets the glory, you don’t.  And when you come to the point where you find you can’t save yourself, that your values don’t add up, you find Jesus is right there with you.  A familiar face you have never seen, and welcomes you.  He takes you down peaceful paths, past still waters, and to a time and place you could only dream of.  And promises you a place that is beyond description.  A ride down roads just to see where they lead, led by Him.  And suddenly we are not strangers any longer, but friends, and we long for heaven, just to be with Him.  For before freeways, before highways, surface streets, lanes, or paths, there was Jesus.  The way.  Just waiting for you, arms open.  Offering you what you are looking for, at a price you can’t afford-free.  A price so expensive it took God to pay it.  And for only us to enjoy.

And He comes to you, just as you are.  City, country, subdivisions, and even behind bars.  He goes to you-free delivery from sins.  He is the portion of life you are missing, the ride you can only dream of, a meal that can be eaten over and over.  He is not an end, but a beginning, not an exit, but an entrance, with the road open for you to follow.  He is that road that many will pass over, afraid of what they might have to give up, not knowing what they have to gain.  What would you do?  Are you along for the trip, or still looking at maps to life?  Right now, wherever you are, He asks you to let Him into your heart.  To ride along, to show you where to ride, where to eat.  To give you value to your valuables.  To get out and into life, for He is life.  He is the fork in the road you need to take, are you coming along?  All roads lead to somewhere, only one leads to Christ.  He made it that simple.  Don’t make it difficult.  Let’s ride.  There’s this road I know, just not sure where it leads....aren’t you glad God does?  So close you can miss Him-don’t!  Long before freeways, He was and still is the free way!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com 

the BMW in the bedroom

Looking back, my parents never liked motorcycles.  And one event in my life probably justified that belief more than others.  I had always worked, from age 12 with a paper route, through high school, and then in college, before I dropped out.  So I had saved money, I wanted to have something to show for all my work, which resulted in motorcycles.  And 3 of my first 4 were BMW’s, the first two both totaled, I was hit both times in Florida, and my next one was a 1974 R90S, all bought new.  I had delivered a lot of The Star ledger!  But when it came time to take a month off from work for my cross country trip from New Jersey to California, I had a little help from my friends putting my R90S in my bedroom...up a flight of stairs on the second floor!  Much harder than it sounds, and even harder to get down, their house was filled with the aroma of Sunoco 260 filling its tank, and of the one time I started it inside...I just had to hear how it sounded.  But for a period of two months in the summer of 1975 my parents could claim they had a BMW in the bedroom.  A claim I am sure they never told anyone, but that really happened.  Today we talk of barn finds, finding vehicles hidden away in barns or sheds, but  you never hear of finding them in a bedroom.  Or storing them in one.  But it set a precedent, for over the years I have been impressed when others brought their motorcycles into the house, Por Favor had a TM 250 in his living room, and an RD350 in the closet-they both ran, and Pete and Benjie used to keep their Harleys in their apartment, and Brett and I parked our bikes in our motel room one year at Laguna Seca, so maybe it isn’t as unique an event as I thought.  But I will never forget the steps getting it up, then wondering how I would get it down...with a lotta help from my friends.

My first three houses were ranch style, after being raised in two houses with second stories.  Even my grandparent’s houses had steps, so it was inevitable that my house would have them too.  And living in one with four levels, I have climbed more steps in my days, usually when I forget what I need when I get to the garage from our bedroom on the top floor.  21 steps, I know them all by heart, and will probably go up and own them a dozen times today.  So I have even gone to the point of having reading glasses on each floor, just in case, as each floor has a bathroom.  Think of them as a library on every floor....all motorcycles still live in the garage.  On the first floor, no steps to the street.  But it seems my life is filled with stairways, even visiting Dave in jail the other day, the waiting room on the second floor is up by elevator, but you must walk down stairs to get the elevator to inmate visiting.  I was so amazed at the woman visiting her husband in her wheel chair, I forgot to ask how she got there.  Did she have to use the stairs?

And so stairs are a part of everyday life.  Even sung about in song, by Led Zeppelin in Stairway to Heaven.  One of the all time greatest songs since 1971, it over the years has still not yet divulged its true meaning to us.  Even the writers, Jimmy Page and Robert Plant won’t tell....or can’t due to the influence of drugs, but stairways to heaven even proceed them.  And are not new to God, in fact over 5000 years ago He revealed the original stairway to heaven to Jacob.  In Genesis 28 we are told of Jacob’s ladder, where God showed Jacob angels going up and down from heaven to earth.  But the word in Hebrew is “sulam,” meaning stairway.  Not a ladder in the modern sense of the word, but a stairway, the original stairway to heaven.  So wide, think if all the 6 billion plus of us have a guardian angel sent from God, then returning back to report, that is one busy stairway.  A heavenly escalator beyond description.  And in use now for over 6000 years, it has served billions, and McDonalds thinks it has served billions!  And it exists today, and will into the future, as it is mentioned in both the Old Testament, and the New.  In the past, and in the future!  Bringing not only angels, but Jesus Christ, the original barn find, returning to earth for His church.  We are told how Jesus tells His disciples how “He saw heaven open, and the angels of God descending upon the Son of Man.”  Reinforcing God’s promise to Jacob in Genesis about His ever presence, His protection, His promise of taking him home, and of never leaving us.  Sounds like Jesus to me, I will never leave you nor forsake you....truly God is in control. 

But He still leaves the choice up to us.  An open invitation to climb Jacob’s staircase to heaven, or follow the footsteps to hell.  We are all on the path, and only Jesus offers the way and the direction.  He is the ladder, the way to heaven that God showed to Jacob, as the word it, used to describe it, in Hebrew can also mean He.  He as in God, as in Jesus, as in the Holy Spirit.  Even before that night in Bethlehem, one night thousands of years earlier in the same town God was affirming His promise of a way to heaven.  Of a way out of this world.  Today many will refer to the man upstairs, when referring to God.  But God is not only what He is, but who He is.  And we get to call Him by His first name, Jesus.  Make it personal with Him today, get to know Him.  He knows your name, do you know His?

Many have heard of the car found in the barn, and even if it is an urban legend will believe.  I really had a BMW in my bedroom, but found out it really belonged out on the street.  Which was better for me than sleeping in the garage in its room.  Up the stairs was hard, down again was harder.  Today many are falling down those stairs into hell, when it can be easier to climb them to heaven.  And unlike the Led Zep version, you cannot buy it.  It is paid for, a free offer, and a free ride.  You couldn’t afford it, for all that glitters is not gold.  So as some try to buy a stairway to heaven, God sent a person to show us the way, to be the way.  And like Huey Lewis and the News sung in Jacob’s Ladder, “step by step, one by one...” take that walk with God up Jacob’s ladder today.  A staircase of grand dimensions, with stairs wider than can be imagined.  At the end of a straight and narrow path.  But it takes faith, and God has given each of us enough of it to choose Him.  But it is still our choice.  God has prepared a mansion with many rooms for us, Jesus tells us it is so.  I wonder what will be at the top of the stairs in heaven for me?  All I know is that the trip will be easier than pushing 450 pounds of motor cycle up them.  And the reward will be greater.  And if there happens to be a BMW when I get there, there will also be room to ride it.  Now that’s a bedroom I can learn to live in. 

My dream home for now is like Steve McQueen’s Santa Paula Airport hangar.  Cars, bikes, beds, and living all in one cool room.  A big room for all our bikes, and friends to gather.  But today we will have to be content with our garages, and the steps to them.  Make your next step Jesus, and insure a heavenly room with room to ride in.  You’ve heard the songs, read the book, bought the album, and seen the posters.  Get ready for the trip of your life.  A highway to hell or a stairway to heaven?  There’s still time to change the road you’re on.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com