God Said, "Let’s Ride"

A couple of years ago my daughter Lauren gave me a tee shirt for Father’s Day, a nice biker’s shirt, black with orange graphics highlighting the white text: “God Said LET’S RIDE” in large print with the scripture reference “1 Kings 18:44” directly beneath it with “He clearly prefers 2 wheels for transportation”, and separated by an orange line, the admonition “Remember His admiration when your fuel shows “E”, you’ve swallowed more bugs than air, your butt fell asleep 100 miles ago, and it just started to rain.”  I love that shirt and it’s fun thinking that God would smile on my 2 wheeled travels.  It also nice to think that someone close to me, in the family, takes an interest and gives a nod of support to something I’m doing that I like and that maybe God is in it as well.  If you have someone you love that is doing something they like but that may be a bit on the edge, don’t miss a chance to surprise them with a little nod of support.  Who knows what a blessing the whole thing could turn into?

I know that some of you, particularly the theological powerhouses that may read this, will look up the scripture.  To be sure, it is taken completely out of context but I assure you it is completely for fun and when I wear the shirt, riding or not, occasionally doors open for conversation.  This is the section of 1 Kings where Elijah has spoken the Word of the Lord and brought a terrible drought on Israel because “Ahab has done more evil in the eyes of the Lord than any of those before him” (17: 30). Elijah called down the drought and the Lord hid him in the wilderness because he was the last prophet alive from Jezebel, Ahab’s wife, who killed the others and the pair set up the worship of Baal whom Israel turned to.  Elijah stayed with a widow and her family by God’s direction and supported her and her family with the jar of flour that was never used up and the jug of oil that never ran dry until Elijah called down the rain. In the third year of the drought Elijah ordered Obadiah, a faithful servant of the Lord in Ahab’s house, to bring Ahab to him.  Then Elijah defeated the 450 prophets of Baal with the miracle sacrifice and had them slaughtered. It was then that Elijah ordered the rain and gave the order to Ahab in chapter 18 verse 44 when Elijah’s servant reported the cloud as small as a man’s hand was rising from the sea to “Hitch up your chariot and go down before the rain stops you.”  Elijah spoke it, Ahab responded, God gave a small sign that He was about to answer Elijah’s prophecy, and Elijah ran with it.

Yes, I revel somewhat in that “God said LET’S RIDE” and in particular when I’m about to ride to something somewhere I feel God is sending me. To be sure, it is pretty humbling to read on where after Ahab obeys and rides off to Jezreel that “The power of the Lord came upon Elijah and, tucking his cloak into his belt, he ran ahead of Ahab all the way to Jezreel.” (18:46) Even though He may bless the use of 2 wheels, 4 wheels, boats, planes, or trains; He clearly prefers us to have His power come upon us and lead the way.  God wants us moving, being filled with His power, and doing His will.  I think someday that I will make a bucket list of sorts for things to do on my Victory, hope and pray they are blessed, and get to work on them. Oh, what the heck, let’s get that started right now:

V  Ride PAR’s path of discovery (that will be found in the story that I’m writing)

V  Go to the granddaddy of all biker’s weeks at the Sturgis Rally

V  Go to Street Vibrations in the “Biggest Little City”, Reno

V  Take a charity ride

V  Find some brother and sister riders and see where it takes me

V  Open the book Daniel gave me for Christmas a couple of years ago “Great American Motorcycle Tours and to go for it

V  Dream up PAR’s next adventure, write it, and ride it

V  Wear the long-sleeved Life’s Good tee shirt with the cruiser motorcycle on the front that Cindy gave me whenever I ride and need the long sleeves

That should keep me busy just praying for His guidance for it all. 

My prayer for you my friend? To hear God say “Let’s Ride” and that you get up and go.

The Way Home on a Santa Ana Day

I have several routes that I use to and from work depending on the traffic and mood of the day which for a motorcyclist can be affected by many things, including weather.  The most direct route and the one I take most often uses the 210 freeway for about fifty percent of the ride, about seven miles or so. Between the Pasadena end of the freeway and my office in Alhambra there are any number of ways to get there and none of them really interesting except for when I take the long way through the residential area down Marengo or Los Robles Avenues as I’ve done over the past year while Fair Oaks has been under construction, clogged and bumpy.  The way home can be a different story and often depends on how the day went at the office; office being a relative term since I sometimes spend the day at microwave radio sites in the hills and desert areas.  I love getting out with the operations guys in the field to work through problems on projects and find our way to solutions that meet a variety of needs.

My favorite route home when I just want to putt along and alter my perspective before walking through the door is one hundred percent surface streets. From the office I head up Garfield to Mission Street.  When you look at the Google map Garfield changes between an Avenue and Road and back a few times; nothing like an undecided roadway to add to the adventure.  North of Huntington Drive Garfield enters a very nice residential area lined with tress, great homes, and churches.  At Mission I hang a left and take it through “Old Town, South Pasadena” with Antique and Ice Cream Shops, eateries, and stores and crosses the Metro Rail tracks where I inevitably have to wait for a train or two.  This little section is part of the Historic Route 66 and makes me wonder what it would be like to ride the whole route some day; long interesting, and, of course, historic.

Once I get to Orange Grove Avenue I go right and eventually cross the 110 Freeway and then I am again in a residential area with well kept apartment complexes and large homes with deep front yards.  The Pasadena Tournament of Roses Association property is here just before getting to Del Mar; it is a huge parcel with a plantation style mansion used for the headquarters.  I then cross Colorado Boulevard near the huge Elks building and where I can catch a glimpse of the Norton Simon Museum.  Just after Thanksgiving grandstands begin popping up along here like lichen on granite; they will get them up just in time for the Rose Parade.  Then it’s over the 134 Freeway to West Holly Street where I take a right.

I am now getting to my favorite part of the ride home; halfway there and beautiful.  I go down Holly and across the arroyo and then veer right onto Linda Vista and that takes me along a tree lined street with set back houses, some with wrought iron fences festooned with trailing rose bushes.  Linda Vista stays up above the Rose Bowl at the bottom of the arroyo which also includes Brookside Park, Rose Bowl Aquatics, and the two Brookside Golf Courses.  The canopy of trees is complete along stretches and is cool in the sun-dappled shade and it nowhere near resembles the cubicle I left behind only fifteen minutes earlier. Toward the end of Linda Vista I enter a lazy inverted S-turn and come out of the canopy for a glimpse of the furthest two holes of the golf course to the right and the mountainside to left.  I track alongside the 210 Freeway for bit and watch the traffic either zoom past or move like the muddy Mississippi more resembling a parking lot than a freeway.  Linda Vista becomes Highland Drive and then I head right to Berkshire dropping down along side the Flint Canyon Tennis Club and along another tree lined track until I jog right down Chevy Chase Drive to Descanso Drive where I bank left.  Going up Descanso takes me under the huge oaks, past The Descanso Gardens, one of my wife and my favorite places, and then on up to Foothill Boulevard until I hit Briggs to the terrace and into the garage.

On a mild Santa Ana day, not too long after I had moved up to my Victory Cross-Country in December of 2009, I had decided to take my Descanso route home and found myself behind a dark gray Toyota Corolla with three young ladies in it that I estimated were in their late teens or early twenties. We were a couple of hundred yards from where we would emerge from the canopy and enter the lazy ess turn along the hillside when out from the driver’s window came a cigarette butt; I could clearly see the arc as the ember traced its path in the early evening gloom of the canopy.  The butt hit the pavement and exploded like a miniature sky rocket spreading glowing tobacco and paper over Linda Vista and swirling out like a Ground Bloom Flower at a family fireworks celebration.  I was incensed, infuriated, and utterly incapable of expressing any of it.  I got past my initial impulse to race up and scream in the window in futility and slowed to find the butt and run it over and then I pulled over to observe that the smaller embers had gone out.  By then I would have to abandon all reason to express myself to the smoker and instead let it smolder while I relived my emotions from the recent Station Fire.  What was she thinking?  Obviously she wasn’t thinking, couldn’t have been thinking, to do something so stupid and careless. Careless is what it was; she did not care about her actions and what could have been the consequences. We were less than three months removed from the end of the big fire in October of 2009 that had started on August 26, 2009.  It consumed over 160 thousand acres and became the largest fire in modern fire history of L.A. County; destroyed 89 homes and over 209 structures. During this fire we lost two firefighters, Arnaldo Quinones and Tedmund Hall, while they were fighting the fire at Camp 16. You can understand the strength of my emotions when I tell you that my family was twice evacuated over four days; once from our home and then from my in-laws, and that on the Monday of those evacuations I observed Goss Canyon at the end of our street in Briggs Terrace fully engulfed in flames over 60 feet high and felt that all would be lost for us. It was a miracle that no homes were lost in our neighborhood.  Walking to the end of the street overlooking the canyon when we were allowed home you could see the place where the miracle workers took a stand.  There was an arc of un-charred grass down the canyon slope and just the down-slope branches of the scrub oaks had been scorched and extinguished as they turned back the fire.  These were the brethren of Arnaldo and Tedmund who saved our homes.

What is it about us that we treat the earth as our ash tray, our garbage can? Isn’t it enough that we are filling canyons with our refuse and struggling to find the next great place store the artifacts that may one day describe us to future archeologists?  You can walk down nearly any street at a normal pace and rapidly lose count of the cigarette butts on the sidewalks and in the gutters. When I walk along the streets in Alhambra I can stop and begin counting gum stains on the sidewalk.  If I take one step I lose sight of dozens of them only to have hundreds stretch out in front of me.  I’ve ridden along, driven along and observed all sorts of trash coming from vehicles.  You can understand the beer can thrown into the brush; who wants to get caught with an open container in the car these days? I’ve had a passenger in my own car throw out a banana peel because “it’s bio-degradable”. I lock the windows on him whenever he’s in my company truck.

Some photos of Camp 16 after the Station Fire and the memorial set up for Arnaldo Quinones and Tedmund Hall, heroes.  R.I.P.

One Fine Sunday

It was a beautiful spring Sunday, no June gloom as yet, and Dallas on ABC had promised it to be a day in the mid-seventies, clear, and with only a slight breeze so I decided to ride to church.  I enjoy riding to church whenever I’m going solo and don’t have something bulky to bring like a card table for the Youth Missions Stock sales.  To be sure, it is fun to arrive in a way that is different from most others but I think it is something more basic than that for me.  I dress in my armor; riding boots, helmet, gloves, and riding jacket. The armor is not as complete as it might be since I don’t wear padded or re-enforced riding pants and from time to time wear a ¾ helmet instead of the full face style.  But, it is far better than what I wore nearly 40 years ago with my first bike; helmet (always), but sometimes only short pants, a tank top, no gloves, and deck shoes without socks. It makes me shiver to think how grown up I am now. There is something about the preparation required to ride that I really like and I relate it to the scene from Cat Ballou where Lee Marvin’s character is transforming from the drunken sot into the cold blooded gun slinger; the matador’s music going on, the serious look as he puts on his pearl handled twin gun rig, black hat with the sterling band, the gloves, the stitched boots with the silver stirrups, and finally the look in the mirror to see that he was completely ready to meet his adversary.  Most rides are like that for me; getting ready to meet the adversary, putting myself in the mood to be defensive rider, and ready to meet the task at the end of the ride.  For church, that’s being ready to pray, worship, and fellowship with folks I haven’t seen for a bit.  I think that putting on riding gear is sort of like the ritual of putting on Sunday School clothes used to be for me; the dress pants, shirt, tie, and jacket.  We need some preparation for worship because it is something special and requires that we pay attention to how ready we are.

On this particular Sunday, riding down the hill toward Foothill I passed the occasional early Sunday morning walker.  There were some couples with dogs, singles with dogs, and only a stray couple or single without a dog. Just above the L.A. County Sheriff’s office was the scene of the day that gave me a cause for a double take; an activity I stay away from while on the road. I try to take everything in at a glance and keep the road with all its vagaries in front of me; safety first, ride on, and all that stuff.  Nevertheless I did the double take.  On first glance I saw an attractive young lady walking along with a dog while she read a book; the girl with long brown hair bouncing with each stride and the dog a beautiful golden retriever, freshly brushed out with the winter coat still filling it out. The retriever had that gait where the long hair down the sides and front ripples along like a field of golden wheat. That, as described was not worth a double-take.  The golden had a nice athletic stride as did the “owner”, her golden head held high and proudly caring the handle of her leash in her mouth which seemed to smile from nose to ear.  I nearly laughed out loud at seeing the marvelous picture of happy contentment on the dog as she walked herself while her partner (do we really own dogs?) blissfully walked along in some literary fantasy world.

Friend, what has given you cause for the double-take, given you such amusement that the scene sticks in your mind to bring a moment of joy again and again?  Or, what rituals do you practice in getting ready for time with family, competition, or time with God?

The Road Back

Before I actually get started and for the record; yes, there will be a post "The Back Road" at some point in time.

Why and how did I get back into riding? First you have to understand my previous riding. My dad approached me with the idea of getting a Honda 450 to commute to college after I had "borrowed" his Honda Mini-trail 70 for much of my senior year at CVHS and when I got started at Glendale CC. Picture a 6'3" basketball player riding to GCC on a bike not much bigger than a mini-bike. I thought you might like an opportunity to smile. I ended up with a new Honda 500CB, four cylinder motorcycle. Smooth, quiet (relatively), 50+ MPG, and I went all over the place on it. Once my parents left me (a subject for another story that involves my dad taking a job in the bay area and me staying at CSUN) it became the only way I had to get around for some time, rain or shine, flooded streets to CSUN, and a few long trips here and there. This may bring a smile to LCPC folks; I rode up to Bass Lake during a Junior High camp that my mom was an adult advisor for and, Bass Lake being the place she grew up, I went to visit Grandpa and Grandma Matt and help out with the camp. I gave rides to the kids around the camp as a free time activity. Wonder how that would sit with session these days?

I gave up the bike and riding shortly after we got married and thought that was the end of it. Now and again I would consider riding but was just too busy to follow through and it didn't fit the life we had. Then about 6 years ago I received a motorcycle calendar with bikes from my era on it from my most awesome wife. I looked at bikes every day that I worked in my cubical for a year as it hung right next to my Dilbert strip. As the year closed down I looked more closely at bikes and riding and seriously wondered if I could get back to it or even if I would like it again. I devised a plan that started with me going to the CMSP (California Motorcycle Safety Program) even though I still had a valid M1 rating. I don't know why they never took it away but you could blame it on both Democratic and Republican Governors and State Legislators, they all had their shots and that's as political as I'm likely to get here. The 1^st evening of the program, a Friday, we were asked to get into groups and pick a group name. We had the older guys with one younger man and I was senior in our little group; the young guy was outvoted and we became the "Wild Hogs" after the recently released movie but he didn't seem to mind. We all went through later that evening showing our license and when the instructor saw my M1 he asked why I was in the class. I told him it had been 25 or so years since I last rode and that I wanted to re-enter motorcycling the right way and maybe even see if it weren't for me after all; good answer. Day two was an all day thing, half on bikes which were a collection of 250cc motors, and half in the classroom. About 30 minutes or so into the riding I pulled up to one instructor to wait for the next maneuver and he looked at me and said with a big grin "You're having too much fun!" and to that I replied with a plaintive whine "Does it shooooow?" I knew then that I wanted to be riding, it really felt right.

Step two of my process was to rent a bike for a couple of days to thoroughly test out the gut feeling about it even though it was probably a foregone conclusion; read here that I already bought a riding jacket. I rented a Honda Shadow, 750cc model, from Eagle Rentals in L. A., rode around the streets for a bit to get the feel of the bike and then hit PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) to go up to Santa Barbara to see my daughter, son-in-law, and pretty new granddaughter. It's still one of my favorite rides and I like to stop at Point Magu to look out over the wetlands to the ocean; it’s beautiful almost any day of the year. After going through the construction zones between Eagle Rentals and Santa Monica I hit PCH just above the pier and within a few minutes of cruising north I found that this felt completely natural to me and I knew then that I wanted to be a rider again; almost as if I should be a rider again. Don't get me wrong here. I did not let my guard down and ride willy-nilly down the road without a care in the world. On the contrary, staying alert to the drivers around me, the drivers in the long view ahead of me, the pavement and road conditions that I'm coming up on are all a part of the ride for me, part of the challenge, and part of what I like to excel at while riding. Really, this should be a part of how we move about no matter the means or circumstances. Friends, be vigilant in all that you do.

Step three of the process was to plot a course to being a motorcycle owner again which I have accomplished but that is a post for another time. If you've read this far then I'd like to have you consider something; have you ever left something good behind and wonder about it for a long time afterwards? Have you considered this activity and wondered if it could be a good part of your life and who you are; if you could somehow find the pace of it again and have it enhance who you are and the way you travel through life? If you have, then I encourage you not to stop considering it just yet but instead give it a 30,000 foot view and see how it looks from way above and if it still holds the old allure then bring it a little closer and see if it might actually fit within the greater view of where you want to go. If it's not then it may be time to let go or put it way up on the shelf for another time and place. If so, then get real close and dip your toe in to see if you like it and if you do, keeping it in perspective of the larger you and all that defines you (read here, loved ones, spiritual health, etc.) plot a course for your return and always stay alert.

My friend, keep the iron side up wherever you are heading, however you are traveling because unless you travel around in a rubber ball then the rubber is best on the road and the iron best in a reasonably vertical fashion. Be safe, be well, and let me know how the road goes for you.