Ride Angels

 

Jed, an angel by Webster's definition. Procedure done, heading home. Photo credit to Sue, another angel.

I have found that there are angels associated with my rides, and already one connected to my ride that doesn’t start until three more days. Most of these people wouldn’t consider themselves to be such a one, they were being true to themselves and being who they are, they couldn’t help themselves helping me.

I’d like to share two examples, one in the long ago past and one ongoing. But first a word from my friend Webster. Noah says this about ‘angel’: a spiritual being serving as a divine messenger and intermediary and often as a special protector of an individual or nation. Both people and instances described below fit the definition.

1972 - During the late summer of 1972, Jim McClelland and I set off on a planned six-week ride to cover about 6,000 miles. We were told by bike shops and people we were talking to that people would jerk us around and just plain be nasty to us. After all, the “Easy Rider” movie was only a year or two old. With one slight exception, we found the opposite to be true and that guy was being opportunistic and greedy and he didn’t win anything from us.

One angelic visitation I keep in mind was during the day Jim and I had planned to ride into Yellowstone National Park at the eastern gate. We broke camp and hit the highway as planned. There was no one sharing the two-lane strip of asphalt when we passed two boy scouts hitchhiking. We looked at each other, shrugged, and went back for them, strapping their packs on top of ours. Within minutes, we came over a rise that overlooks a plain and we saw the rain a mile or two out front of us. We pulled over and explained things to our guests as we pulled on our cheep rainsuits. We had nothing to wrap our gear in and no windscreens to protect us on our basic bikes. The boy scouts decided to tough it out. We rode over 150 miles in the rain into Cody, Wyoming only to find out the entrance to the park was closed due to snow, in August.

Everything the four of us had with us was soaked. We found a laundromat and hauled everything in and began loading dryers. Our plan was to get dried out and find a cheap motel for the night, not an easy task with all the caged park visitors doing the same thing only without the need for a dryer. Before any of us could drop the first quarter in the slot a woman came out and she was aghast at what she saw. It was a reaction that made Jim and me think we were about to be kicked out. Not so.

“Oh, you poor boys! Here, let me…” The owner/manger of the laundromat opened the four dryers’ controls and turned them on while she told us to dry everything we needed. When I asked her if she knew where a decent motel was, she saw the ichthus I wore around my neck and explained that most of the motels would be full right then but that she knew a preacher who ran a half-way house we could stay the night at. Jim and I took her up on the recommendation but the boy scouts opted to go their own way.

This was one exceptional angel and I offer a prayer of thanksgiving for her kindness every time I remember her.

On our way out of town the next day we passed by the hitchhiking boy scouts who, when they saw us coming, suddenly needed to find either change or keys in their pockets. Jim and I waved as we rode on and into the park.

Wednesday, September 6, 2023 – This was the day I had planned on changing the oil in my Victory Cross Country in preparation for my 2000-mile ride starting next week. Simple, right? Not so much.

I have limited space in my garage to do oil changes but then, I don’t need much for the procedure. I got everything I needed ready for the operation and loosened the drain plug. And loosened and loosened it until I was sure something was wrong. It wasn’t backing out. I figured I could wedge a chisel in to give it some leverage for the threads to bite. But then what? I’d have a bike with no oil and be standing there with a drain plug in my hand and no way to adequately secure it to hold oil, even for a trip down the hill for gas.

I needed an angel or there would be no trip for yet another year. I texted Jed.

Instant response. “Hi Jerry. I have the proper fix it kit for the drain plug here…” When I asked when a good time would be he said, “Now is good”. I cancelled my attendance at the weekly lunch with my father-in-law and brothers-in-law and Cindy went by herself. I geared up and rode over to Jed and Sue's.

I was feeling like a doofus, a term I am applying quite liberally to certain drivers while I’m either driving or riding along. Jed explained the procedure and told me he had done this to both his and Sue's bikes and other friends’ as well. I felt a little less doofusly. When Jed started out with the same steps I had done and then brought out the chisel, I began to feel normal. For me, anyway.

We hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Maybe months. From our last little ride up to visit a bunch of glampers in Buellton. While the engine cooled, we caught up with each other. I helped him through the procedure while between steps he handled a sale of an engine and transmission out of an old Ford Mustang. Well, okay, I watched a lot and fetched an item or two.

While we wrapped up and put tools and materials away, I asked him how much I owed him. “Lunch”. Sue came home while we were moving the engine and transmission out for the guy coming to buy them. She told us she had stuff to make lunch and invited me to stay.

Fix-it – done. Lunch – served. I owe them more than they can imagine. I thank them profusely and the only thing they did was talk about joining me for the Ride to the Flags on Sunday.

Our angels may not always be apparent and it may well be the only angel we have is our own vigilance on the ride. So, ride safe and keep an eye out for angels and hazards alike. And keep the iron side up.

Jerry “Shakespeare” White.