VMC Meet Day 2 (@ Laughlin and the Mob Rides)

My biological clock was in good form and I woke up before dawn but had the good sense the work on sleeping in until 6:30 which left me with four hours before the big group ride started. I got up for good then showered all the while thinking about how to get to Cinnabon over at the Riverside Casino and Hotel. I walked along the river walk and into the casino, around the casino, upstairs from the casino, to the casino map and was still unable to find it, not even a whiff. I decided to walk it off and spend some time praying again for La Crescenta and about my own day ahead and really enjoyed the stroll nearly as much as I had imagined the cinnamon roll would taste. Almost.

I stopped for a little bit and watched the waterfowl at work. A few Coots, Ring-necked Ducks, and even a Double-crested Cormorant were working the river. The birds in the middle of the river would drift by on the main current only to pick up and fly back upstream for a ways and float back down occasionally diving after fish. Actually, the coots would run/fly, flapping their wings and running on the water. The few birds plying the shoreline, mostly pairs of Mallards, would paddle themselves upstream looking for tidbits in the river grass and moss but it seemed to me a lot of hard work for the rewards. While the river offered life sustaining sustenance it made them work for every scrap.

Deciding on a real breakfast I went back to the Aquarius and ate at the diner having a skillet of scrambled eggs, sausage, and potatoes which were too obviously from a frozen package. There was a big table of six Victory riders breaking up as I came in and we exchanged greetings. Towards the end of my meal a guy came in and sat down at the table next to me; he could have been a rider but I wasn’t sure with his nicely trimmed hair and clean shaven face while wearing casual clothes like a business man on a work trip. I went out to my bike early thinking I’d be one of the first out there and this was not the case as there were many riders out wiping down their bikes, cleaning the windscreens, and checking out their gear. About 20 minutes later the guy who sat near me at breakfast came out in worn riding pants complete with wallet chain, a finely festooned riding vest, and his hair all spiked up. I chuckled at this and then pondered my own transformation with new harness style riding boots as opposed to the lace-up with ankle buckles style I had been wearing, my new leather jacket I’d gotten with this trip (and winter riding) in mind as opposed to my mesh jacket with padding, and I was wearing a Victory bandana. The bandana is no stretch for me as I can be seen in any water park, rafting trip, Mission Arizona, or desert work trip photo with one. Nevertheless, even my choice of helmets for the group ride was to look like a cool cruiser as I went with the shorty helmet instead of the full-face helmet I had ridden in with. We do tend to dress the part and work for acceptance, something that can work to my disadvantage as a Christian living in the world but not being a part of the world. It’s a fine line that gets rubbed out in the sand like the batters’ box chalk lines on a ball field by the second inning.

Riders started mounting up and the parking structure rumbled and shook with the roar of the engines, especially Ron’s Kingpin. We pulled out of the structure and out to the parking lot where we could form up and the ride leader called us over for the pep talk; we’d ride in staggered formation, within 5 miles of the speed limit and right at the limit when going through a couple of little towns. The ride leader’s handle is LordandMaster; unfortunately I never got the chance to explore that with him but I have my doubts that it’s the same Lord I call Master. I’d never considered a motorcycle handle for myself until this trip when I was asked what mine was for my banquet name tag. I’ve had a lot of nicknames in my life; some would be decent riding handles, others, not so much, and still others inappropriate in any case. While Jer-Bear works around church and the kids it hardly fits the type of persona I’m trying to project as a tough rider. Thoughts on how I would come up with a handle swirled around in my head the rest of the trip. I have a couple of scenarios that might work for me but what is the correct etiquette on something like this? Wouldn’t it be somewhat pretentious to come up with one myself and have a readymade story about it? Shouldn’t you earn a riding moniker and have it bestowed on you in some tribal ceremony? I see the need for research before I make an unalterable blunder. Who knew trying to fit in a riding club could be so complicated?

We rumbled out of the parking lot, eighty bikes, two of which were the first Victory trikes that I had seen. We soon crossed the Colorado River into Arizona and made our way to the Kingman Victory Dealership and a free BBQ lunch. Don’t worry, he probably broke even with all the clothing and gear everybody bought and his store got a lot of attention that day. It was quite a site with sixty or so bikes stretched out over a quarter of a mile ahead of me and another twenty behind me. We wove our way through some small towns after lunch and worked our way up to Meadview where we could have ridden down at twenty bucks a bike for a look at the lake; no one did. We stretched at a little gas station market and looked at the mountains that separated us from the Grand Canyon which we could have seen by riding over a 20 mile dirt road to the Skywalk; image the dust that would have been raised for everyone except the LordandMaster. A young mother with two small children came up to me to find out what so many bikes were doing in one place at one time. I told her it was a club meeting ride and that we were also doing a fundraiser for the Susan B. Komen Foundation. Even with the controversy for that group she thought it was cool and went away happy we weren’t a rough and tumble biker gang that had come to town.

 That was the turnaround point and when we headed back and I put myself closer to the front of the pack and wished later that I stayed back when we made an interchange and I got stuck waiting. It took a pretty fast pace to catch up and lead my sub-pack back to the group and once there had to maintain an uncomfortable pace of over 80 MPH to stay with them, so much for staying within five miles an hour of the speed limit. It was just like a bunch of rental horses once you turn them around to head back to the stables. There wasn’t much time to enjoy the desert surroundings doing that kind of riding and I was glad when the leader pulled over to gas up his smaller bike and basically told everyone that we could go on. It was nice following three Victory Visions at a statelier pace the last thirty miles back to the Aquarius. I wiped down my bike and went to my room for a little reading of “Taken” by Robert Crais before going down to the banquet.

Kevin and his group from San Gabriel Valley and Santa Clarita had a table filled up so I found one and joined a couple from Flagstaff, Arizona. They store their bikes in Phoenix to get more opportunities to ride through the summer. Soon another solo rider joined us from Corona and then Jerry and Susan from Phoenix who ride one of the trikes sat down with us. I’d struck up an acquaintance Jerry and his wife as this was their first time at an event like this, were more nervous about it than I, and he had the same name so memorization was not a problem. Our table was rounded out by a couple from Utah who had to trailer their bike south to reach passable roads to join the meet. They don’t know my old high school teacher Joseph Jesnsen but we had bikes in common to talk about. Age wise, I believe that I was about the middle of the age range at the table which is another strange occurrence as I’ve spent so much of my time with young students and their parents, also younger than I am. During the raffle drawings I was the only one at the table not to win anything and we held out for me to win the 50/50 drawing. No luck. The evening came to an end without having a lasting acquaintance started unless we all happen to make next year’s tenth anniversary event and actually remember each other.

I went out to the casino, worked the poker machine to break even for the trip, went to my room and finished “Taken”.

VMC Meet Day 1 (Getting to Laughlin)

Friday morning, the 10^th of February came and I had my kickstand up and wheels rolling by 8:20 in the morning and hit the 210 West moments later. As the Verdugo Hills Golf Course slid by on my right I felt the tug of leaving home and being on the road alone but once I was heading down the grade to the Hansen Dam basin I was into it. With no traffic to speak of west bound and the heavy work traffic east bound I was tempted to shout out “SUCKERS!”. Who but me would hear it and then I’d have to live with the echoes of it in my helmet. Next up was the wonderful 210/ 5/14 interchange where I could choose LA, Bakersfield, or Palmdale; not a very romantic sounding trio of destinations. I took the 14 northbound and quickly left the heavy development behind through the Newhall Pass. My Victory Cross Country paid little attention to the upgrade and I was passing folks who delayed putting their foot down to maintain speed and I reminded myself to remain vigilant even when I found a nice bubble in the traffic. Shortly after the interchange and as the truck lane merges again with the freeway is when the less astute drivers remember to depress their gas pedal to maintain uphill speed and jump on it to make up for slowing to 60; they seem to find their aggression about then and you have to be wary of them running up your backside.

On my way up to the Pearblossom Highway (138) I noted some of my landmarks; Sand Canyon Road just because it sounds interesting, the Red Rover Mine Road that would lead me to Hauser Mountain up above where I had built my first, and only, microwave radio site from the ground up, then Acton, known as Yuckton by less enthusiastic residents I’ve known where there is an interesting business with western wagons and life sized or larger plastic animals for sale that I’ve always meant to go to and bring Cindy back a six foot rooster. Perhaps it would be better to drop in on a ride some time so I’d be less likely to let my humor stray and lay an egg of a joke. I passed by the off ramp to the Angeles National Forest Highway that would have beautiful, chilly, and only ended  me back at home until I found the exit to the 138. This route took me along the western side of Palmdale with the speed limit of 60, residences along the east side, and stop lights every half mile. I’m never comfortable about this speed limit here; it just seems unnatural going so fast in a neighborhood.

Once I got out of the town and heading along the 2 lane highway toward Littlerock the Angeles Forest was on my right and should’ve been shrouded in snow this time of year only now there were just patches on this north facing slope, still pretty but it left me with worries about a possible new drought. Going the route I’d chosen allowed me to avoid the 210 East to the 15 and only cost me about 10 miles of travel. It was worth it since this route is free of the urban surroundings and let me feel like I was away much earlier than the shorter, faster route. I kept an eye out for other riders making their way along to Laughlin but found none. I kept some hopes of finding some at Barstow, just up Highway 15 from Victorville where I made the change from the 138 to 15. It was good to be on the 15 for only 40 minutes or so with the Vegas crazies hitting 85-90 MPH; not that I couldn’t run with them on this bike but it’s just out of my comfort zone and the sooner I was off of the 15 the better it would be.

I gassed up at Barstow and checked my mileage which was a respectable 50 MP/G for the highway ride then paused for lunch and to take a few notes for this post and then looked around quite a bit for other Victory riders heading my way. No luck there. The group from Santa Clarita and the San Gabriel Valley all left Thursday making it a four day ride weekend and I was planning to meet up with them at the ride sign-in at the Aquarius in Laughlin. No luck there either as it turned out. I headed out of Barstow and jumped on the 40 east toward the 95 where I took the 163 toward Laughlin and where I gassed up to be ready for Saturday’s ride. The 40 was nice, quite a few trucks but they were orderly and professional. The Joshua-tree groves here and there were nice and for some reason made me think of my grandson Jeremiah; sometimes strange dots are connected on a long ride and you take your pleasant thoughts when they come and where they take you.

I didn’t see another Victory rider all day until I pulled into the parking structure and our “designated” area where I found about 30 bikes and more groups of 2 or 3 bikes at a time pulling in as I made the acquaintance of Rob, a rider older than me who rode a 1999 Kingpin, the first year Polaris started making motorcycles. He was a proud owner and technically much more savvy than I about the bikes and their equipment. His was equipped with loud and hot pipes, neither of which is a favorite thing to do with a bike for me. Rob is a Veteran, proud of it, and passionate about honoring the Armed services and he had patches on his vest to prove it. This would be a fairly common theme amongst the riders many of whom ride honor guards for fallen soldiers and others returning home to their communities.

I stuck around the sign-in area hoping to meet some folks and snag an invite to dinner but none was forthcoming. I wasn’t feeling very outgoing as my heart and mind where with the CVHS students and community with the tragic suicide at my old high school; I know several students there and considered going home once I found out what had happened while I was on the way out. Instead, I prayed in my room and on my walks for them but it was hard to shake the feeling that I wasn’t where I was needed or where I should be.

As I wondered around the casino scoping out the bars and other gathering places I saw many of the other club members who were easily identified by their club gear mostly in the form of vests festooned with club patches, Victory caps, tee shirts, and mechanic’s style Victory shirts. I only have the cap for when I’m not on the bike; maybe I’ll have to add a vest or something so that I can be more easily identified at club events. I saw Kevin, my L.A. area contact but he was heading out with a group; he wouldn’t know me by sight and I’m not one to intrude. After dinner by myself I walked along the river and listed to a flock of Canada Geese up stream, played a few bucks worth of video poker, and then went to my room to read and catch up with Facebook news of the tragedy. It was a sad day indeed for our little town.

I ended up getting to sleep a little later than my regular time which is early. With over 300 miles ridden that day and a 200 mile day full of the unknown starting in the morning it was a good choice.

Anticipation

“Anticipation, anticipation
Is makin' me late
Is keepin' me waitin' “ Carly Simon

It is one in the morning and I’ve been priming the pump, hoping for inspiration, looking for a reason to write. Priming the pump by reading scripture, reading about writing, planning a pathway to PAR’s story; even this blog as well as Calvary’s Thread has been meant as a warm up to a larger work. Who is to say what actually woke me up to get a drink this morning and crawl back into bed only to have sleep elude me as worries invaded my thoughts and danced around in some bazaar rehearsal of personal interchanges that I would just as soon avoid. I fought off the destructive thoughts by engaging in the fantasy of rebuilding my past with some out-of-reach sports glories only to have me start in thinking about my upcoming trip and how it will relate to PAR. The struggles continued until I gave into the small voice that told me to write and now here I am writing about wanting to write. It’s makin’ me late, keepin’ me waitin’ for sleep but that’s what anticipation does.

Friday, I head off to Laughlin, NV for the Southwest Region of the Victory Motorcycle Club (VMC) meet and ride. Anxious anticipation; I won’t know anyone there, been a Lone Wolf rider and now looking to see what the pack might have to offer, what sort of story materials will be there. At this time it looks as though I’ll ride out in lone-wolf style, by myself and on the route I choose. Riders from the Southwest will converge on Laughlin so at some point in time I will likely see others and we’ll fall in together for the remainder of the run. Anxious anticipation; I am out of my element having worked with youth for so long I’m more at home and more friends with them than any adults even approaching my age. Now I’ll be trying to mingle having been told by my one contact with the ride just to “look for the bad looking bikers in the Casino and start introducing yourself.” I’m committed though, to see PAR through and experience what he might feel going out to find people he doesn’t know, riding his bike to a place he’s only been to with friends and his only love, not on vacation but on a mission. My mission? It is to break out of my normal pattern of sitting back quietly observing the interactions of others and forming my own story for them. Now I need to interact quietly and observe myself meeting new people, interacting with them to find common ground to see what it is God wants for me in the situation. Anticipation has loosened the mooring lines of my mind to the pier that has kept me from running the rapids of writing a story that will lead to uncharted places. That’s a very exposed place to be and I’d rather be in bed.

Saturday the VMC has a group ride with “75 to 100” bikes going somewhere to “have a free lunch”, you know what they say about free lunches, and then come back. Doing a big group ride has been on my list and may find its way into PAR’s future so this is good. I’ve been anticipating riding along with rumbling bikes on the two-lane highway to some cool place to have lunch and hang with new friends, assuming I break out of my introverted cocoon Friday. While many of these folks are going to be bad looking bikers, they are not a hard-bitten motorcycle gang and outlaws and will be providing me with materials for the stories I’ll write and posts I’ll make here. Anticipating is keeping me waitin’ to go back to bed to be ready for a full and busy day at the office. But first, I’m anticipating how I am going to present myself to complete strangers as a man of God, a spiritual person first, and biker way down the list. Tricky that; don’t want to be overtly sanctified and scare them off and don’t want to be of the world so much that I indulge in hypocrisy. Saturday evening there will be the VMC banquet and I should be able to tell if I’ve made friends or alienated people. PAR will be with me; our Lord and most of the folks interested enough to read this will be too. I can sleep on that, “So I'll try and see into your eyes right now…And stay right here 'cause these are the good old days”.

Mr. Jerry’s Wildlife Ride(s)

Good Lord! There is nothing quite like a pre-dawn encounter with a skunk while riding a motorcycle. I leaned into the curve on Shields Avenue and as I reached the apex and was about to lightly accelerate to come out and head down to Briggs I saw the white stripes, black as night body, and the waddling gait of an obstacle. Thank God He put those stripes on Mr. Skunk. I knew in a flash I was in trouble but what was I to do? I could break firmly and throw myself dangerously close to the retaining wall and chain link fence to pass in front of the poor animal. I could goose it and accelerate into the low inside part of the curve and into the oncoming lane to risk the far curb to pass behind but (or butt?) within range of the potent end of the little beast. This would have been the aggressive approach and for sure would have startled the skunk. I don’t know how fast he could have turned around and given me his opinion of the maneuver but I knew the option of running him over was bad for both of us. He would be dead and the bike and I would carry the evidence that folks downwind of us would recognize for quite some time. The calculations were nearly instantaneous. I opted to not panic but to slightly let off the gas and come out of the lean to pass dangerously close to the skunk’s weapon of choice praying for benevolence from my new friend. He somehow recognized that I had no ill intent toward him and completed his trek across Shields to continue up the embankment as though nothing had occurred and thus letting me make it to the office unmolested.

I have had other wildlife encounters on both two wheels and four; this is a two-wheeled account, self-propelled but two wheels nevertheless. There was a 5 year period of time when I rode a bicycle to work in the early mornings. Picture the YouTube video of the bicycle and the wild antelope. I was coming around Linda Vista before getting into the arroyo just where a little v-canyon comes down the mountain to the road. As the sun was going to break over the hills I saw a big deer, a four or five point buck, grazing about two feet from the curb. He rose up on his hind legs with his forelegs pawing the air. I thought he was going to give me a big head-butt and skewer me. Instead, he pirouetted and bound up into the canyon to the cover of darkness and the scrub oak. Exhilarating.

Back in the day, during an epic trip with my best friend Jim leading the way somewhere in Wyoming and in free range grazing area we were riding along a beautiful two-lane highway in the hills weaving our way along, he on his Honda 350 Scramble, me on my Honda CB500 Four. We came upon several steers grazing in the long grass on the outside of a corner in the lazy sunshine. Jim beeped his horn which sounded like the Road Runner with a cold but it had a profound effect on the cattle. The biggest of the bunch bellowed, shook his head in fright and anger before bounding across the road in front of me with the others rousing from their torpor to follow suit. The animal was huge and an impact with a ton of beef was unthinkable so I went into full avoidance mode and instantly banked left behind him. Then I cranked the accelerator, banked right and passed safely just in front of the others. At the time it was all slow motion in my mind. By the time we came to a stop at a pullout further up the road it was nearly stop-motion for both of us and we burst out laughing. Hey, when you are 18 it’s easy to laugh off close calls.

I’ve saved one of my favorites for last. It was on the same trip, part of a six thousand mile adventure and we were in Yellowstone National Park. Jim and I had a bear plan in place in the event that we came across one of the infamous bear-jams but never encountered any during our trip. We made camp near the visitor center our first night in the park. During the evening we heard the eerie bugling of elk echoing across the forested valley. It was awesome. The next day I took the lead as we worked our way through the park to see the sights on our way to the western entrance of the park. I had set a sedate pace through some of the most beautiful country we had seen up to this point in our trip. There was no traffic to speak of and we weren’t in a hurry preferring a gentle pace to wind through the forest. I came around a blind corner with a brush covered hillside to the inside and there she was, a full-grown female elk strolling across the road. She stopped, I stopped, and I can’t even recall if Jim caught up and ever saw her because I was instantly enthralled by her. She stood there looking at me as I stood over my bike a mere fifteen feet from her. Her eyes were huge and level with mine. I got enveloped by them as she wondered why I was there just as I wondered what she was doing in the middle of the road. It seemed to last for a very long time and etched itself into my memory. The sun-dappled road, the doe elk in her soft brown cloak worn with complete elegance. I uttered, probably stammered, a quick heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving as she turned and disappeared into the underbrush. No rush, she glided.

Shh…On Two Wheels, More or Less

    This past Sunday I was sitting in the balcony for the service because that’s where my family was and my personal preference is to be with my family and worship and, whenever possible, hear God speak to me. Early Sunday mornings it is my custom that when I awake to take that Sunday morning’s bulletin and pray through the services, the participants and their particular part of the service, for the church staff and their ministry area, for the congregation that morning, our missionary partners, and the various items found in the bulletin which is a wealth of information and prayer opportunities. Thank you Nancy for being so faithful to email this goldmine to me, I appreciate all you do in His service. Because of my early morning prayer session I was there in anticipation and ready to be blessed hearing from Ashley Adamson, our wonderfully blessed Director of Children’s Ministry. Ashley is the real deal, filled with the Holy Spirit, and actively pursuing God’s will. She makes me wish I were a little kid again even knowing I’d have to face those teen years and all that angst again. I believed that God was going to speak through Ashley to me and I was not disappointed. As is so often the case, it turned out to be very timely for me.

    Ashley spoke to us about the blessings of silence, how we should seek out solitude to go with it, and to go so far as to create special places and times for ourselves to be silent before our God. We should never be lonely because He is always with us and should take advantage of such times when we find ourselves alone to embrace the solitude of the moment and listen for the voice of God. These are “great opportunities for Godly discovery”. She talked about the discipline to practice silence in His presence and how difficult an activity such a passive sounding thing can be. Imagine, not speaking, putting your mind in a receive-only mode, shutting down the thousands of random thoughts about your life, and directing your inner thoughts to the task at hand, hearing God speak to you. OMG (yes, I spent time with a bunch of teen babysitters last night at church), this is the hardest thing I undertake in my spiritual life! The silence part is not all that difficult for me as I am by nature, a quiet and introverted person, much to the contrary as to how God has determined to use me over the years. I am generally slow to speak and when I do it is usually with conviction. A very good friend has referred to me as an Ent; go ahead and Google the word for a laugh. It’s those times that I’m not following my own general rule that tend to cause me trouble. My biggest problem for this discipline is the quieting of my mind and harnessing my thoughts and bending them to be completely surrendered to listing for Him. Ashley referred to Richard J. Foster’s “Celebration of Discipline” as a great resource of this practice and I have to concur; read it, you’ll like it. I use the word “practice” here because that is what this should be, practice and discipline. Starting out, go as long and completely into it as you can. Then the next time go longer and deeper. Sounds like a workout doesn’t it? If we want our spiritual abilities to improve then we have to exercise them. A principle that I have shared with young and old audiences is “SAID”, Specific Adaptation to Imposed Demand. If we practice being passive in front of the TV then we’ll get better at being passive. Trust me on this one, I’m pretty strong in the passivity department and it’s my biggest hurdle to writing. If we practice the spiritual disciplines then we’ll get better at being spiritual beings, in touch with Our Father and, as with any healthy practice, we will live longer and be filled with Joy. This is such a tough discipline for me that I often times go a long while without it and it then requires a difficult season ahead to send me to solitude. One such season starts about a month before Mission Arizona, peaks during the trip, and levels off a week or so afterwards. I seek short respites from the turmoil to charge up and find His direction and usually at some point during the trip when I’m feeling lost and ineffective and pleading for a meeting He tells me that He’ll meet me in the way and then He does. Is it any wonder that when I believe it to be His will that I embrace MAZ?

  Well, all this and I haven’t even touched on the “very timely for me” part or put this on two wheels. Perhaps there will be space for a paragraph on that toward the end. This has gone in a different direction than I thought it would but I’m having too much fun and feeling too blessed to stop now. Ashley used the forced silence of Zechariah (Luke, Chapter 1 is the reference) during his son John the Baptist’s incubation as her biblical anchor for the message. How great was that! It was the first Sunday of Advent, Zechariah starting on the journey to bring John the Baptist, the herald of Christ our King into the world. Sweet. Ashley shared how Zechariah’s silence was forced, a punishment for his unbelief, but that it was in truth, a real blessing to him. He came from the temple and the people knew he had seen a vision but was unable to speak. After his term of service in the temple was over he returned to Elizabeth, his wife and continued following the vision and she became pregnant with John the Baptist. The confirmation of Ashley’s contention that this was a blessing comes when Zechariah completed the command from the vision, naming his son John (vs. 62 – 66) and then bursting into prophesy (vs. 67 – 79).  I can’t help it, I have to quote part of the prophesy here, Luke 1, 76 - 79:

“And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High; for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him, to give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God, by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace.”

My friends, this is how I pray for my own children, their children, their spouses and significant others, and my beloved wife; that they go before the Lord, prepare a way for Him and give the people knowledge of their salvation. I thank Him for the tender mercy of their blessings in my life. Neighbors, this is how I pray for the children God brings into my life, the people who cross my path, and especially those that are yoked with me in shared service for MAZ and the children. I have a confession to make here. Typing this I broke down completely and wept with conviction because I don’t actually do this enough and fear that I’ve failed Him and in some way let somebody go by that needed a blessing right then. While I feel strongly that the Lord wants me to be writing, I believe that this is God’s highest calling to me; to pray for the children and bless those around me.

I was going to continue on with my timely practical application of Ashley’s message that I used on two wheels but I just can’t, maybe later this week. I have to leave this post here and encourage you, my friends, to seek out the quiet place, the silence, the solitude, and hear God speaking to you. You’ll probably be broken by it but a broken and contrite spirit, God does not despise.

In His grip, jerry

The Bigger the Bubble the Better…or is it always?

The Bigger the Bubble the Better…or is it always?

    While moving along the roadways I like to keep free space all around me, a big bubble of unoccupied pavement makes me happy. Aside from just plain being safer, the stress of the ride or drive is greatly reduced and I end up at my destination a much nicer person to be around and that is something everybody likes. Don’t they? Yes they do; just ask anyone who has been to Mission Arizona with me, especially that little songwriter, Allie, so perceptive for someone so young.

    I love finding that luscious pocket of free space and seeing how long I can hang there while maintaining my preferred speed for that particular road. Medium to light traffic on three or four lane roads are best for this and relatively easy to maintain the bubble. The heavier the traffic of course, the harder the task becomes. Of the four zones of the bubble the front zone is most in my control, the side zones the next, and the most vulnerable to intrusion is the rear zone. Tailgaters are the most intrusive and make me the most crazy when I’m in a vulnerable mood. Generally it’s best to extend the front zone while being tailgated but in heavier traffic this invites divers. That’s right, diver drivers; those people who rush up the side lanes from behind you and dive into the lane in front of you looking for that one or two car length advantage. The worst divers are those who cruise along coming up to a junction with slow lanes and dive in at the last moment; these are gore point accident causers waiting to happen. Don’t be a diver.

    On two-lane highways it is harder to maintain the beautiful bubble but not impossible unless you have heavy traffic. Then is when I’m tempted to decrease the front zone to discourage the divers. I hate being in the number one lane in a long train of cars patiently rolling along passing the slow trucks, especially on Highway 5, and having a diver run up the slow lane to dive in. It is dangerous and they save about five seconds of time for the extra close lane changes. Once I’m in the open though and have that bubble fixed around me and traffic is relatively spread out, I can set the cruise control somewhere within 5 MPH of the speed limit and roll along with slight adjustments in speed and lane selection to pass those slow trucks or move over for the rabbits. That’s right, rabbits; those drivers who push along at 10 or more MPH above the speed limit. I like having rabbits around from time to time in traffic like this as I can just move out of their way and let them run. Rabbits attract the hounds or law enforcement types and give them something to chase other than me. Rabbits reduce the likelihood that bubble lovers will get speeding tickets. You are welcome to be a rabbit if you like, just don’t run up on my rear end in heavy traffic hoping to intimidate me to move over when there is nowhere to move. That’s when I fantasize about moving over on my bike enough to let them squeak by and put a boot in the door as they do. Some fantasies are best left in the mind.

    By now you are thinking “jj has personal space issues”. On the roadways yes; on foot and particularly around people I care about, not so. The fact is that I am a collector of fine hugs and keep a rolling top 10 list of huggers. My collection and enjoyment of hugs probably started in the little church we were married in that had started in the pastor’s home. Everybody hugs nearly everybody there and the pastor’s wife, Lois, has a permanent shrine in the hugger’s hall of fame. No matter what mood you were in if you got a Lois hug you were better when the hug was over than when it began. This was good training for my years of Junior High Ministry at LCPC; those kids, as a class of humans, are some of the best huggers on the planet and they do it without any sense of reservation. I love them. If you are thinking “How do I get in the top 10?” as I said, it is a rolling top 10 ten and proximity and the warmth of the hug will generally get you in. There are some who are perpetually on the list. It should be no surprise that my grandchildren, Teya and Jeremiah are there all the time. It may surprise you to note that my dad made this list relatively late in life. I cherish those hugs and wish I were close enough to have them more often.

    At couple of observations about hugging; good, honest hugging. Those of us who are open to giving and receiving hugs are often the same people who are open to hearing and sharing life’s ups and downs with others. We need them around us to help us through tough times; we need to be the giver to help someone else through the valleys. Good hugs support one another. Hugs that drag someone down are wrestling maneuvers.

    The point of this post; the challenge? Love and respect the bubble on the roadways. So, if I’m speeding up Briggs at 5 MPH above the posted speed limit don’t ride my tail while fantasizing about the Grand Prix and a car length behind me. At most, if you got by me or even had Briggs all to yourself, you’d save 10 seconds from Foothill to Shields and 10 seconds just isn’t worth the risk that excessive speed in a residential area exposes you, your own children, and anybody else to. With the rubber down and on the highway, give yourself and me space. Off the roadway, join me in my bubble and crack the top 10. Peace.

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.