COkay, I’m not sure, but I think this is creepy.
A friend send me this link the other day. In the video, you will see David Morales Colon from Puerto Rica, sitting on his CBR 600 F4. The only thing is, he’s dead. The video is from his funeral. He was embalmed, casually dressed and positioned on his bike.
Creepy? You decide.
I do a lot of thinking when I’m on my Dyna. Whether I’m cruising across the city or enjoying the open road of some highway, I find my mind wanders over a bunch of different topics. I’m sure many of you can relate. Usually my riding time is when I decompress. I allow myself to think through a situation and then I feel it slide off me as I open the throttle a little wider and hear the roar of my wonderful pipes.
This morning, my ride was short. Twenty minutes across town. Still, I found myself thinking.
It hit me this morning. Bikers are a dying breed. 
Like the cowboy, the gladiator, and the viking of the past, bikers will soon be part of our folklore. In many ways, that makes me sad. Because along with the death of the biker, I fear we may lose what the biker stood for.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe this is going to happen in the next few years. It will take another generation or two before bikers are fully extinct, but we are already an endangered species. Fewer and fewer motorcyclists understands the biker attitude and code. Fewer appreciate or even care about what it means to be part of a lifestyle.
I want to be careful in how I say this, because I get very tired of the magazines and blogs that are always talking about the way it was and dismissing everything about they way it is now. However, there is a little truth in some of those observations.
There was a time when you truly felt you were connected to everyone else who rode on two wheels. If you saw another bike, you knew you were among family. Even if you were total strangers, there was a bond that brought you together. You simply got it. And you knew that they did to.
Today, many ride motorcycles because it’s the “in thing.” Or they ride them because it’s practical. They’ve thought through the reasons for owning a motorcycle and in the end, there were more “pluses” than “minuses” on the page, so they went to their local dealership and purchased a new toy. The same dealership takes care of all the maintenance on their machine, and if a newer model becomes available, they quickly upgrade to have the latest and greatest.
A biker is different. Their machine is an extension of who they are. They want to know their ride intimately. That doesn’t mean they necessarily do all their own maintenance, but they are familiar enough to know when something just doesn’t “feel right.”
A biker doesn’t ride because it’s “practical.” They ride because they have no other choice. They cannot not ride. It’s in their blood. It’s how they live. For many, it’s how they want to die … on their machine.
I wish I knew how to say what I feel today, but I’m scrambling for the right words. I guess I just sense that this culture will soon pass. People will talk about bikers they way they talk about the Wild West.
You may argue that we’ve seen this before. After the rise of the biker culture in the 60′s through late 70′s there was a season when it seemed like the biker culture was on it’s last leg. Then came the television shows of the late 90′s and 2000′s. Suddenly it was cool again. Suddenly every dealership in town was expanding. Everyone was buying a motorcycle.
But the culture didn’t really revive along with the new found interest in motorcycles. It saw a small blip as a few of those purchasing machines actually fell in love with the lifestyle. But it was a small number. We’re seeing it now. As the craze comes to an end, and those same people begin selling their bikes in order to purchase the next toy, we are discovering that those who truly became bikers were few.
Yeah, we’re a dying breed. I’m just grateful I got to experience a taste of it.
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
I built a garden yesterday. Yes, that’s right, a garden. It’s just how I roll. I went to Home Depot, bought a bunch of 3X5X8 boards, a bag of nails, then came home, grabbed my hammer, my saw, and my drill and built. I was a machine. Neighbours stood in their windows watching as I created something from nothing. It was … well, miraculous.
Okay, maybe that’s not exactly true. Maybe what really happened was I got the wood home, stood looking at the massive pile and began to whimper a little. Maybe, in a moment of panic, I called my buddy up who just happens to thrive at this sort of thing, and maybe he came over and built a garden in the back yard while I fetched whatever materials he needed me to get. Maybe neighbours did stand in their windows, shaking their heads in disbelief that a bad ass biker could be so “constructionally-challenged.” Maybe.
We started building around 1:30pm and it was done by 4:30pm. Not bad for an afternoon of work! However, by 6:00pm, I was done. Exhausted. Dead. I fought to keep my eyes open. At 9pm, I headed to bed. By 9:30pm, I was handing the remote to Heather and drifting off to sleep, dreaming of sitting in front of my computer, writing articles, blogs, sermons, rather than swinging hammers and lifting stuff.
I woke up this morning ready to enjoy a fresh tomato from my newly built garden. Okay, just kidding, I knew there wouldn’t be tomatoes yet, after all, we still need to fill the thing with dirt and actually plant something. But, I did look out my living room window and smile with a sense of accomplishment at the beautiful structure that sits at the far end of my backyard.
Have you ever noticed how finishing a project can bring a sense of reward? Even though it was my buddy who did most of the work, I still feel amazing this morning knowing that I had a hand in seeing something built up from nothing. And, it’s not even finished! I can’t wait to see it filled with vegetables.
I think there are times when God looks at us in that way. His creation, still growing, still under construction. I think he looks at us and smiles and thinks to himself, I built him. I designed her. He knows we’re not done. This journey of becoming the very person we are meant to be is ongoing. While we may be bearing fruit, there is more to come. I’m sure he can’t wait. I’m sure he gets excited at the potential he sees in his creation. For God, it’s an exciting process.
Do you enjoy the journey? Do you stop and relish the accomplishments along the way? The moments when one part of the construction process is finished? Why not take a minute today and consider the areas of your life where there has been success. Enjoy those victories before you move on to the next area that needs change.
Off to grab my hammer … something needs building!
Did you know that I’m a bit of an introvert, somewhat shy, and a fairly private person?
I know what you’re thinking. HUH?!? YOU? Introvert? Shy? Private? Yeah, and I’m secretly a Billionaire who prefers to live a rather simple life.
It’s true. At least it’s how I see myself. Let me explain. An introvert is someone who is predominantly concerned with their own thoughts and feelings rather than with external things. Yes, we usually define an introvert as someone who is simply shy and quiet, and while these are characteristics of an introvert, the psychology of an introvert goes much deeper than simply shyness. An introvert goes into a large gathering and wants to know how they can “hide” in the crowd. They look for ways to lurk in the shadows others in the room. Watch me on a Thursday night at Bikers’ Church, and you’ll notice I disappear from time to time. I need to get away from the crowds and focus.
I’m also fairly shy. I struggle with meeting new people. I battle insecurities about being perceived as a dork when talking to someone for the first time (I know, some of you want to yell out, TOO LATE!). And yet, in my job, I am around people all the time. I am expected to carry the conversation when meeting someone for the first time. In my head, I often have to remind myself that I am expected to not be shy. And so, I put a lot of energy into overcoming the shyness when talking to someone new.
Finally, I’m a fairly private person. This one likely causes the most chuckles. After all, I write a blog, share many personal stories in my weekly talks, and seem to be a very open book for anyone who wants to examine my life. And yet, it’s all very controlled. Some of you understand what I’m saying immediately. I share my life on my terms. In my way. Everything I write is thought through. Yes, I’m fairly open about things, but I do so with a purpose and a plan.
I was reminded of this last one when I was about to open the box with my paint job from Arizona. A number of twitter friends were waiting with excitement to see my reaction when opening the box. Heather was poised with the camera, clicking away as I pulled each piece out of the packing beans. It was one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world. Not because I didn’t want to share the experience with my friends, but because I wanted to have a moment to know how I felt about the paint before anyone else saw how I felt. Of course, I was blown away and very excited, but that’s not the point. The point is, I wasn’t in control of how my reaction would be viewed. It’s the same reason I don’t enjoy surprise parties, or opening gifts in front of others. Weird, huh?
The thing is, I’m perceived very differently than I see myself. Most people wouldn’t describe me as an introvert, shy, or private. In fact, most would see me the very opposite of how I see myself.
What about you? Do people see you the way you see yourself?
I had an interesting conversation with someone the other day who suggested that you can’t control how someone perceives you. And that’s true, to a point. Their perception of you is going to be filtered through their own biases. For instance, when I pull up to a light riding my WideGlide, holding on to my Ape Hangers, my pipes rumbling loudly, people around me respond very differently. Some roll up their windows and look straight ahead. Others yell out to me, “Nice bike!” I’ve had people standing at bus stops wave to me. Kids, especially boys, get excited and stare. When I wave to them, they smile from ear to ear. Sometimes, mom’s get nervous and try to get the kid to look away. Other times, the mom’s seem as thrilled as the child. Yet, when I pull up to the same intersection in my car, there is no reaction.
The same is true when I walk into a coffee shop with my MacBook in hand. If I’m wearing a Sens jersey, I’m just another geek who likes hockey. But if I’ve got my leather jacket on, or a t-shirt that shows off my tattoos, I’m a biker who probably stole a MacBook!
So, who are you really? Are you the person you see yourself as, or are you the person others perceive you to be?
Or, could there be a third option? Maybe we are the person God designed us to be. Some of us have figured out who that is, while others are still on the journey of discovering who we were meant to be. But maybe, that third option … the one God created us to be is somewhere in the middle of the other two. Maybe.
What are your thoughts?
It was a little over a week ago when I picked up my new paint job and put my bike back together. I managed to get a five minute ride in before the bad weather hit. The bike sat, waiting to be enjoyed for five days. Finally, on Sunday I woke up to a gorgeous day. My plan was to take my bike to our Sunday morning teaching series, but when I went to fire it up, the bike wouldn’t start. For some reason, the battery had drained and I didn’t have enough juice to get it started. So, it was another day of riding Heather’s Electra Glide.
I did get the bike running later that day and enjoyed riding it for a few days earlier this week. Still, something wasn’t right. The bike wasn’t starting right away, and it just seemed like the battery wasn’t staying fully charged. I realized on Tuesday that my low beam wasn’t working, and so I decided to take a look at the wiring.
As I played with some of the wiring sticking out of the neck of the frame, I tripped one of Harley’s wonderful breakers. It was then that I knew I had a problem.
Yesterday, with the help of a buddy, I pulled the main wiring harness out of the frame. What we found amazed both of us. There were so many nicks in the wires, bare spots and cracks, that it was a miracle the bike ran at all! In a few cases, wires were shorting out against the frame, overheating, and melting to other wires pressed tight to them. There were dozens of wires spliced into the frame.
Some of the changes were a result of me removing all the wires from my bars a few years ago. You see, I have custom bars on my bike, and I have no wires at all on them. My signal lights and high beam switch are behind my left leg. I have no front signal lights. I have no starter or emergency off button. However, many of the wires that once connected to those things were hiding in the frame. Along with those wires, there were other wires customized by the previous owner.
The previous owner, a friend of mine, had suggested when I bought the bike from him that I should invest in a new wiring harness. Some of the wires were getting brittle, and it was only a matter of time before they began to wear through. It was one of those “I should do that some time” things, but there were other more pressing matters to use my finances on, so the new wiring never happened.
As I pulled the harness out of the bike and began to run fresh, new wires to only the needed connections, I was reminded again how so much of motorcycling parallels the rest of life. As a minister, I’m inclined to think of the spiritual aspect of life, and my mind wandered there a little.
How is your spiritual wiring? Perhaps you first plugged in as a kid when your parents or grandparents dragged you off to some boring church service. Are you still using the same connections? If so, my guess is they’ve become brittle and there’s like a few exposed wires. Perhaps they’re shorting out the rest of the system. Perhaps they’re simply causing things to run a little rough.
Every once in a while it’s healthy to take another look at how you’re wired. You may not have to yank out the entire wiring harness, but maybe it’s time to replace a few wires, to make sure the connection to God is good. I began my spiritual journey 27 years ago. During that time, I have done a lot of rewiring. I still do.
What about you? Time to look at how you’re wired again?
Of all the comments I receive about my blog, the most common involved the picture at the top of the site. For many, the first thing that they notice is that I’m not wearing a helmet. It’s amazing to me just how many people comment on that.
Let me make it clear that the picture was taken during the road trip I enjoyed last Fall. I can’t remember what State I was in when I took the picture, but it was either Colorado, Arizona, or New Mexico. All of which do not require those over the age of 17 to wear a helmet (See Helmet laws by State). Here in Ontario (like the rest of Canada), I am required by law to wear a helmet, and I do.
I don’t like wearing a helmet. I know that some of you have just written me off for saying such a thing. But, I don’t. If I had my way, I would ride helmetless all the time (except maybe in very cold weather or when it’s raining hard, then I’d prefer a full face). I don’t like the fact that the government has decided that I must wear a helmet for my own safety while riding.
Now, I know that some of you will want to toss out to me all the reports and articles that suggest wearing a helmet could save my life. It’s not the point. Those who fall back on the studies really don’t get it. If we’re going to argue that riders should wear a helmet for safety, then we should make it a law that they were full leathers as well. Heck, let’s just outlaw riding motorcycles all together, since we all know that you are more likely to die in a motorcycle accident than in a car accident. No, this isn’t about safety.
Others will argue that riders should be forced to wear a helmet because those who don’t will cost everyone when our health care system has to take care of them as they lay in a coma in a hospital bed. Again, if that’s your argument, then simply outlaw motorcycles completely and you’ll save even more. At the same time, outlaw smoking and gluttony, since those two vices cost taxpayers far more than any motorcyclist ever has.
You see, the issue is about choice. Every time our government introduces a new law (no matter what that law is about), we remove a little more “choice.” Freedom becomes a little less … free. Some laws are good. They protect innocent people from stupid people. Some laws are intended to protect people from themselves. And I have an issue with most of those laws.
Some argue that I should wear a helmet all the time because I am a “role model” to many within the motorcycle community. I say that if you choose to take off your helmet because I choose to take mine off, then you’re an idiot. You should probably hand in your motorcycle license until you can learn to ride for yourself and not for others.
You see, I’ve counted the cost. I’ve talked it over with my family. I’m comfortable with the risk. And, when possible, I choose to ride without a helmet. I love the feeling of freedom I experience when cruising down an open road with the wind blowing in my hair. It’s a choice I make. It’s a choice I should be free to make.
I wish Ontario would reconsider the helmet law. I know they wont. I would be shocked if there will ever be the day when I can ride without a helmet here at home. Perhaps the only way the law could change is if they introduced a waiver that riders could purchase. The government could make money by giving us the freedom to choose. But, unfortunately, far too many people think the government’s role is to protect us from ourselves. And far too many of us simply let them.
Until then, I’ll take my trips to the U.S. and find those areas that allow me to unhook my helmet, and ride free.
Look forward to your comments.
As many of you know, I’m a firm believer is utilizing social media such as Twitter and Facebook. When these tools are used right, they open the door to incredible connections with people from around the world. At least, that’s been my experience.
Last Fall, I headed out on the road for 25 days. During that time, I put over 13,000 kms on my 94 Dyna WideGlide. The bike now has over 200,000 kms (engine was rebuilt around 110,000 kms). It’s a phenomenal bike that has served me well during the few years that I’ve owned her.
A few months before I left on my trip, I met this very interesting biker chick on Twitter. Kelly (@FieryPinkGirl) seemed to be into everything. She talked about her graphic design work, working on her (very cool) Buell, and even dabbling into tattooing. Early into chatting with her, I connected with her fiance, Jason (@HellcatCustoms), owner of Hellcat Customs. He was equally interesting and seemed to be the kind of brother that I would love to find out more about.
As I planned out the trip, the three of us, along with three or four other twitter friends, decided to hook up at the Vegas Bike Show. While I spent most of my time with another twitter bro (@SmoothBiker), I did get to hang out a bit with Jason & Kelly. And, it was a blast. I felt part of “the family” with all of them.
Within a few weeks of arriving home, Jase got in touch with me and asked if he could paint my bike. He had always wanted to do a “religious themed” paint job, and now had the chance. I was floored at the invitation, because I had seen his work on Vegas and knew that this was one of the best custom bike builders I had ever met. To say that I was excited would be an understatement.
But then, a fire destroyed Jase’s shop. My attention turned from getting a paint job to helping a brother in need. Through the generosity of bikers from around the world, we were able to raise some cash to help Jase keep going while insurance was all sorted out. I had decided not to bring up the paint job again, because I figured he would be far too busy focusing on getting Hellcat Customs off the ground again. But, he didn’t forget. He’s not that kind of guy. He had made a commitment, and asked me when I was going to send down my tins. They were in the mail a week later.
I want to share some of Jason’s words about the paint job. I’ll interject some of my own thoughts as well as a few pictures to help illustrate. These are the first pictures and there will be much better ones taken in the near future.
Here’s some of Jase’s thoughts on the overall job:
Well I just got back from the UPS Store. Shipped my first custom paint job since the rebuild to Canada … I did things very different. I made myself very uncomfortable doing it, but for a reason. Normally I’d pull the paint completely off and start fresh, not this time. The parts had some digs, rock chips, and scratches it had received during its many miles this man has traveled on it. I fixed one dent in the tank and chose to leave some of the other imperfections on purpose… yeah I know, big no no for a custom painter. I chose to do it because this bike isn’t a trailer queen… its a real rider. Its been across two countries that I know of under its own power. The imperfections it came to me with are scars and badges of honor in my eyes. I painted it all here at my house in the kitchen, like I did my first few paint projects for myself years ago. I used a cheap paint gun and a cheap airbrush here at the kitchen table. I colorsanded it by hand with no block in the bath tub. it got polished with a polish pad and a drill… I went completely back to the beginning of my start to do it. I figured since this man did what he could to help out to start over that I needed to start completely over and do things the way I did back then and not the way we do them for show bikes and cars. The idea in this job was to produce something beautiful and different while I was restarting the company. I did. I did it different than I did months before…got to step back to my roots and remember how hard it used to be to produce a diamond out of nothing with no fancy equipment or tricks. I wanted to reconnect with myself and my skills, I did, much deeper than I woulda thought.
Rob Dale, he’s the owner… I really hope he is happy and proud to own this piece. Not because its a show piece, not because of the subject matter, just because its the only one…was done for him as a brother in older methods… I hope he sees things the way I do on how it turned out. This wasn’t a hired show bike build, this was a from the heart meaningful gift…one I hope has as much meaning to him as it does me. There were times during the job things this man has said to me really hit hard and caused a somewhat watery response. I honestly have only been able to talk to him in person for a few hours over the course of a weekend…yet somehow he feels to be blood. Our ideas about life and many of our life experiences are so closely aligned you would swear we lived next door to one another. He is def family.
Again, anyone who says social media is a waste of time, simply hasn’t made the types of connections that I have made. You don’t become family through something that is a “waste of time.” My feelings about Jase and Kells are mutual. They are family. Heather hasn’t met them yet, and still she feels the same way about them. She can’t wait to meet them face to face.
Jase then begins to explain the three parts of the paint job. I’ll use his words and include pictures.
The first piece in this 3 part job is the front fender… I used a video of one of Your speeches to get the image, it represents Faith.
If you watch any of the Bikers’ Church videos, you’ll see this cross behind me when I’m speaking.
What Jase doesn’t know is that this cross was made by a welder who is also a biker and attends the church. Mike designed this cross specifically for the church. He made the simple cross, the put the vines and thorns on it to represent some of the challenges we face on the spiritual journey. If you look closely, you’ll see a motorcycle riding up the cross, representing all the bikers who take this journey.
This picture doesn’t really do the paint justice. When you look at it in the daylight, it almost has a three dimensional look to it. It’s simply amazing.
Jase continues …
The second piece is the tank. The image on it represents Forgiveness and humble men.
Jason got this image from a image hanging in the church he attended as a child. It’s from the 1800′s, and it is something he has never forgotten. In fact, he was even in contact with his grandmother for inspiration.
I think this picture captures the idea of Jesus that I have always appreciated. I’ve never seen Jesus as week or “americanized.” Rather, I’ve seen his as a carpenter’s son. A man who worked with his hands. A face weathered by the climate of his day.
But also the Son of God. A man on a mission to set people free to experience the journey with him. Jason captured that image better than I could have imagined.
The third image really blew me away. This was all I had from him before I got the pieces:
The third is the rear fender. The image represents Love, Peace, and Hope … The Rear really was tough, the subject matter alone was hard enough with the low quality photo I had from the internet … but when you get really really personal with artwork it really scares me to do it, but I did anyways. Enjoy Brother … With that fender on there you will always have an angel watching your back and faith up front to guide your way.
Of course, this is a picture of my daughter, K.D. He took the image from this post that I wrote in January. He had some help, though. He spoke with both my daughter (@brisni), Heather (@pipesdale) and a brother from the church (@donbleecker) as he worked on it.
And yes, he captured her beautifully. It was completely unexpected. I was speechless as I opened the box and looked at it for the first time. Both Heather and Brit knew what was coming, and so they both stood and watched as I pulled the fender out of its protective covering.
I have gone out and looked at that image more times than I can count since putting the bike back together.
So, there you have it. A paint job that is so personal and tells much of my story like no other paint job could do. It’s simply amazing.
I realize that I have readers from all over the world that tune in to this blog. Still, if you are looking to get work done – not just painting, but any kind of customization – and you want someone who clearly puts his heart into everything he does, then you have to check out www.hellcatcustoms.com. He truly is a biker who understand. He’s truly a good friend.
If you didn’t read the first part of this story, I encourage you to go here first.
–
January 9th, 1983. My family headed off to church. Three months earlier, we would have all been still in bed. However, God was doing something in our hearts, and we were all hungry to learn more. So, we were off to church. Halfway through the service, an usher came and got my step-dad. He never returned, and following the service, the same usher informed us that there had been a fire at the house. He drove us home, and as we turned the corner onto our street, I was amazed at the scene.
Our gas furnace had exploded. It blew a hole in the roof and basically destroyed the back end of the house. The front half was still intact, but everything we owned was destroyed. I remember walking through the remains after we were allowed back into the house and was amazed at how black everything was. The smell of smoke was incredible, and the entire house just felt … dead.
We would spend the next three months in a small apartment/hotel while the house was rebuilt.
Over the next few years, I continued to enjoy riding as well as discovering the spiritual journey I was now on. At seventeen, I bought my first street bike: a Kawasaki LTD 550. I loved that bike. That is, until I blew the engine.
I had some incredible mentors who walked with me during those years. Some would call them “spiritual fathers.” As a result of their leading, I decided to head to Bible College in the Fall of 1986. In my final year of school, I met Heather. She had returned to school after graduating a few years earlier. She had spent some time in Montreal, and had made a few trips to Brooklyn, NY, where she worked with kids in the projects. She had decided to come back to school in order to get a bit more training.
We talked often about her time in New York. We talked about how there were so many who simply didn’t connect with or understand Christians. The church seemed to be ill-equipped to be an influence in their lives. It was passionate talk, full of dreams about “what if?”
However, soon after we married (in 1990), we slipped into doing “traditional pastoral ministry.” We served in some amazing congregations, and were blessed by some wonderful friendships. I tried to fit in to the “suit-and-tie” pastor. I did all the right things and spoke the right language.
And yet, it wasn’t me. Don’t get me wrong, there were times when I wanted it to be me. After all, we were seeing success in our church positions. Each role seemed to be a step closer to “successful ministry.” Doors seemed to open whenever we knocked.
Not that it was all perfect. We met a lot of stupid Christians during those years. We saw a lot of politics and games being played in the name of “religion.” And yes, we experienced the death of our daughter, K.D. I wont go into details, since I wrote about her here. Yet, each of those struggles pushed us to be more successful as pastors.
During all of that, I had sold my bike. I walked away completely from all my past. In fact, to this day, I talk with people I attended Bible School with who are surprised when they find out my story. They had no idea. I simply kept it to myself.
Then, in 2001, I bought another bike. Heather and I began to ride again. We connected with Hillbilly and Nelia. Hillbilly was a guy I knew way back when I was sixteen, but we had lost touch. While I began a journey through Bible College and into ministry, Hillbilly got messed up in drugs and other adventures. When we reconnected, I learned that he had cleaned up and had turned his life over to God.
The dream of a church for bikers was one that Hillbilly had been carrying for a few years. He had been praying for someone to come alongside him who could lead such a thing. The rest, they say, is history. We launched in January of 2002 and haven’t looked back.
Over the years I have learned a lot of valuable lessons. One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned is that nothing disqualifies someone from God’s love. While he isn’t responsible for everything we experience in life, God can take our experiences and use them for good if we allow him. He’s done that with my life.
I’ve also learned that God created me … just as I am. The way I’m wired … all his fault. That means God isn’t bothered by my love of riding. He made me that way. He made you the way you are also. He’s cool with who you are. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make changes in us … I know that there are many areas I could use change in, but he’s cool with who we are deep inside.
So, while others might find it pretty strange that a guy could be a preacher to bikers, God just smiles. After all, this is who he made me to be. Who has he made you to be?
Thanks for listening.
One of the most common questions I get is how I ended up pastoring a Bikers’ Church. After all, it’s not exactly the most common “lifestyle choice.” And so, I’ve decided to write a post (or two) telling you a little about my journey. I debated doing this post for about a week. After all, it’s about the most self-centred post a person can do. It’s a post all about me. But, let’s face it, isn’t blogging fairly narcissistic? Most bloggers use the forum to share their personal opinions on a variety of subjects.
So, let me tell you a little of my journey.
I wasn’t born into a biker family. But I wasn’t born into a preacher’s family either. My natural father was a bank robber. In fact, he went to jail before my second birthday, and spent the next fifteen years behind bars. He did break out of prison on a few occasions. In the early 70′s, he ended up in a shoot out in downtown Ottawa. While he was unharmed, he was arrested and put back in jail. To be honest, I don’t remember any of the incidents with my dad growing up. For some reason I believed he had died when I was a baby (not sure if someone told me that, of if I just assumed it). Mind you, I did grow up always wanting to be the robber when I played “Cops & Robbers” with my friends!
I wasn’t overly close with the Dale side of the family, although I did spend time with my Aunts and Uncles. In fact, it was a couple of my Aunts who taught me to smoke when I was nine! A habit I continued on and off until I was sixteen. The Dale side of the family struggled with a lot of pain. One Aunt committed suicide, my Uncle Terry was beaten to death in 1990, and another Aunt was killed when the small plane she was a passenger on crashed.
I was a loner growing up. For a number of reasons, my mom moved often. In fact, I couldn’t begin to name all of the different schools I attended growing up. My mom cared for my brother (who is five years older), my sister (1.5 years younger), and myself. She was my hero, and I wrote about her here. After her death, my sister discovered that there were actually two other siblings. A brother and a sister who were born between my brother and I. For some reason, she gave them up. Perhaps some day I’ll meet them.
When I was thirteen, my mom met (and married) Gary, an old school biker. It was then that my passion for riding became a reality. I bought my first dirt bike, and along with my step-brother, rode every day regardless of the weather. In his younger days, Gary had been a member of an outlaw motorcycle club. While he wasn’t riding with the club anymore, he was still friends with a lot of club guys. I can remember coming home and finding thirty Harleys parked outside my house. I spent time with guys named “Mountain Man”. I learned to ride with many of them.
A few years later, my mom began to search for meaning. That search led her to a church, where she turned her life over to God. In the Fall of 1982, our family began attending church. I had no interest in anything spiritual, and believed that church was for old people, women, and sissy guys. No real, tough guy would ever be a Christian.
That opinion changed a few month later when the preacher shared the story of Jesus. As I listened to what Jesus experienced on the Cross – the punishment that he took upon his body – I was in awe. Anyone who could be a strong as Jesus was worthy of my respect. I began a journey of discovering him. A journey I have continued to this day.
LIfe wasn’t easy after I began my spiritual journey. I thought it would be. I thought that being a Christian would mean that everything in life would begin to go better. I thought I would have no more problems. No more challenges.
That all changed on January 9, 1983. The day my house blew up. But, I’ll save that, and the rest of the story, for tomorrow.
Another incredible video. Happy Easter.
He is risen!