Mo-To-Ci-Kel

According to my mom Motorcycle was one of my first words.

I don't know why, except for the normal boyish attraction to loud noises and shiny helmets. I do remember that my great grandfather had a little Enduro or Trail Bike that he rode around the community near his Southern California orchard. The next time I remember a motorcycle coming into my life was a picture that my uncle showed me.

...See, John is 12 years older than I am, and my mom and I lived with my grandmother and my uncle for the next 6 years. John was the kind of uncle who a little boy could look up to. Building forts, skinning his knees (and even cutting his fingers off with a lawnmower! how cool is that!), listening to loud music he kept getting told to turn down... but more importantly, he was my friend, listened and could keep secrets... adult enough that i looked up to him and close enough when we hung out he always made me feel his peer. (Check out his blog here, it's pretty darn good reading)

...But I digress. The picture was of him astride a motorcycle with his hair dyed and spiked and a tank top on, with fingerless gloves. The epitomy of cool. Well, to a 12 year old boy in 1987 that is. Now, the funny thing is this was a staged photo from halloween, but I was still hooked. I wanted a motorcycle.

My best friend in High School had an old Yamaha 125 dirt bike. we rode it and broke it and welded it and rewired it until at last 4 wheelers took it's place and my buddy got his license. and his first big street bike.

Now my parents had decided that I was (... which I admit now) not mature enough at 16 to get my license. Somehow though, they figured that not being mature enough to drive also meant that I was not mature enough to ride with my best friend who did. Not in the truck or car and certainly not on his bike.  Of course, this didn't stop me from taking his bike around the block, or up and down the 4 mile stretch of paved country road out on his grandpa's farm where I worked, but I was still not "allowed" to ride the street bike. This was greatly reinforced when just before his 18th birthday my friend hit a deer on his bike. It was a balmy summer evening just at dusk on the highway between two farming communities in Eastern Oregon. Though my friend had seen the deer, slowed down, and the deer had left the road, when he hit the throttle to speed pack up, the deer veered back into the road and collided with his bike. He was wearing an open face helmet, and though he and the bike walked away, he wears a full beard to this day to cover the mangle the pavement made of one cheek.

Fast Forward a few years (.... 2010, is 17 years a few?) The first bike I called mine was this 1983 Honda rebel. It had belonged to my grandfather (... more about this in a later post) and I borrowed it from my brother during the divorce. My ex forbid me to have a motorcycle, so perhaps it was not only the limited finances and gas savings, but some rebellion that yet lingered in me that goaded me into borrowing this bike from my brother. In any case I passed my endorsement test and rode this all around try-cites and out to work. A friend at church gave me a gift of a well worn leather jacket and took me on some easy rides around town. I was hooked. 

The rebel was a good starter bike for me, I learned to watch my surroundings constantly, and honestly, riding the bike has made me a much more cautious driver as well. I eventually said farewell to the honda and returned it to my brother. 

The next spring I was on a bus with my daughter headed to an overnight field trip to Seattle. Of course, a 5th grader does not want her dad bugging her when she's with her class, so I had my nose in Facebook on my phone, and saw an old church friend was selling his bike. When we stopped for lunch I called and made the arrangements to pick up my new motorcycle the following week. 

1991 600 Yamaha Radian. My friend - at 82 was looking at fixing up an older bigger bike, and needed the money from this to do it. He was the Chaplin for the local chapter of CMA, and though I had not talked to him for awhile, it was a good deal and worked out for both of us. I'd ride this all summer as well, to work and back mostly, but also on the first "long" ride, from tri-cities up to deer park, north of Spokane with some friends for a weekend getaway at a cabin on a lake. I ended up selling this bike last fall to a student from College Place, WA. I knew I needed something a little more cruiser, and with more HP, this bike just was'nt comfortable on the highway.

May, 2013. This is my current bike. Its a 1993 800 Suzuki Intruder. Throaty in the first couple gears, the style suits me, and it's comfortable for longer rides. I know eventually I'll want something a little bigger, but for now this is it - the price was right and it fit my needs for commuting to work, cruising around town, and providing spice for some weekend scoots and getaways. 

So there is something that is almost primal and unrestrained about riding a motorcycle. Out on the road with the wind in my face and the bike rumbling beneath me, especially when I'm out enjoying a ride through the country or mountains... but even on my commute to work there is something that calls my spirit to revel in life and this journey that God has set before me. I find that I have some really good prayer time when I'm out riding. Just me and the Road and talking to God as if He's riding with me. Of course he is in every literal sense.... but sometimes I imagine him riding just ahead of me, and we talk as we enjoy the thrills of the open road. 

I mean, Jesus rode a donkey covered with the cloaks of his followers into Jerusalem.... not a camel (toyota) or a chariot (lexus) or horse (domestic pickup) but a donkey..... the cheapest mode of transportation at the time.... I don't think it's too much of a stretch to translate that into something in our time with two wheels, jeans and a helmet (he did say to obey the laws after all... )