robdale.ca

When I was a pre-teen, my mom married a biker. For me, nothing could be better. My step-dad was a former member of a 1%er motorcycle club. While he wasn’t still in the club, his passion for motorcycles was greater than anything else in his life. Again, for a 12 year old boy, there was nothing wrong with that! On weekends, my parents would host parties, and I would come home to find Harleys lining the street outside my house. Bikers would be sitting on the front porch, the lawn, and all over the back yard. It was awesome! In my heart, I became a biker during those days, riding my dirt bike, counting the days until I was able to get my motorcycle license and a real bike.

I saw a lot of crazy things during those years. There was the time a very drunk guy invited two equally inebriated women to climb onto his bike and the end of the night. They took off, three up on the Harley. They didn’t get far. Two blocks later, they ran a red light and were t-boned by a car. All three lived, although the guy spent a few months in a full body cast.

Then there was the night a bat got lose in the house. At 3 AM, I woke up to five or six bikers crashing around the house, trying to catch the bat. Most were still battling whatever drink caused them to pass out earlier, and all were wearing pillow cases over their heads to protect their hair (and long beards) from becoming the nesting ground of the bat. There was even one biker hoping around on a single leg, his wooden leg in his hand, swinging wildly at the bat. In the end, it was our cat that finally got a hold of the critter.

Of all the memories, none is as vivid as the memories of Mountain Man. To be honest, I don’t know how tall he really was, but to a thirteen year old kid, he was a giant. For years, I believed he was over seven feet tall. In reality, he was closer to six and a half feet. Still, he was a big dude. People didn’t call him Mountain Man because he was short.

For many years, Mountain Man was a hero to me. You see, he stood up for me one time when our family was out having fun. We went to a park and my brother and I were horsing around on a slide. An attendant at the park tried to kick us out, and Mountain Man came over and suggested to the guy that he reconsider. With knees shaking, he reconsidered. And, my brother and I were left alone the rest of the day.

I wanted to be feared like Mountain Man. I wanted to be able to walk up to someone and suggest that they reconsider.

It’s funny how your perspective can change as you get older.

Today, I’m 6′ 2″. I’m probably only a few inches shy of Mountain Man’s height. I ride a cool bike. I’m told that I can be intimidating. And yet, I have no desire to be feared. If anything, I want to be seen as a man of peace. Sure, I’d still like to tell some people to reconsider, but not because they’ve angered me. I want to tell people to reconsider the choices they’re making because I see how their choice will lead them down a destructive path.

After we started Bikers’ Church, I hoped to come across Mountain Man. I met a few others who remembered the parties with my parents, but no one could tell me what happened to Mountain Man. It was only a few years ago that I learned he had died of cancer. He died alone. And suddenly, my childhood awe of Mountain Man became a sadness for how his life ended.

What kind of person do you want to be known as? What kind of person are you already known as? Sometimes the Mountain Men are not all they seem to be.