robdale.ca

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.

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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.

For many bikers, there comes a time every year when the bikes are stored away for winter. Those who ride all year long simply cannot understand the pain and anguish we feel as we go through our winter storage routine. For months, we groan as we read the status updates of our friends who are hoping on their bikes in mid-January for a day long run. Some of us can’t take it, and we pull out bikes out, throw them on a trailer, and make a pilgrimage to the land of year-long riding. No, some of you will never understand what it’s like to have a season when riding is not an option.

At the same time, you can’t know the thrill of having riding season begin. We watch the weather channel religiously, marking the days on our calendar to when we can ride again. For us in my neck of the woods, that season usually begins some time in April. Oh, there can be days in late March where the weather is a few degrees above freezing, and a few brave souls (read: crazy people) will pull their bikes out for a quick spin around the block.

This year has been incredible. In Ottawa, we had no snow accumulation in March. The temperature was far above normal the entire month. Many people have had their bikes out for close to a month now (some even longer). Even the street sweepers (the ultimate sign that riding season is upon us) have been out, cleaning away the winter debris. This upcoming weekend, we are expected to shatter the record for warm temperature in this area. Amazing.

Most of us go through a spring maintenance routine before starting the riding season. While each person’s ritual is different, most include:

• checking or changing the oil
• checking or replacing the spark plugs
• checking tire pressure
• checking lights, brakes, etc
• making sure all cables are lubricated
• adding fresh gas
• washing the bike

Again, there are far too many things I could put on a list like this, but my point is, there is a ritual that almost all bikers follow before they head out on a true “first ride” of the season.

Even those who are not all that serious about taking care of their bike usually follow some sort of routine at the beginning of the season. It’s like having a new year’s resolution. “This year, I’m going to wash my bike more. I’m going to care for it better.” They may not stick to it, but at the start of the season, their intentions are certainly good.

Yes, this weekend will be a time when many will dive into their spring maintenance ritual (if they haven’t done it already). It will be a weekend filled with smiling, happy bikers in the National Capital Region of Canada.

It’s also Easter weekend. Tomorrow is Good Friday. This Sunday is Easter Sunday. Can I suggest that you consider another routine? I have no idea where you are with any spiritual mindset, but perhaps this is a good weekend to take stock. Maybe there’s a little tweaking that needs to happen. Maybe you need a total oil flush. But why not take some time this weekend to do a little maintenance on the spiritual side of your life?

If you’re in Ottawa, I’d invite you to join us tonight for our Bikers’ Church service. We’ll be celebrating communion as part of the evening. Regardless of where you are, there will be services happening on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Maybe it’s a good time to check out a place near you and take a little time to remind yourself that there is more to life than the hear and now.

Whatever you do, don’t neglect a little spiritual maintenance to go along with your bike’s spring maintenance.

Happy riding, and Happy Easter!

Yesterday, I shared part one of Jason Annania’s account of the terrible accident in Arizona. He continues today.

Again, please check out Jason’s facebook page. You can friend him here.

Here is the most significant part of the entire story, the ENTIRE event. When the citizen rescuers picked me up and saved me, they laid me down less than 6 feet away from and face-to-face with the group leader. As an operating room nurse, being aware of people’s conditions tends to take precedent with any given situation for me. I get tunnel vision on that injured person in front of me, and there was no one on the ride with more significance for me. Until I speak with her husband and discuss things, I cannot tell a word of what I saw. All I can say is that I haven’t slept since the accident because of the tunnel vision view burned into my very psyche. It’s a picture I was face-to-face with for an hour until she was taken to the helicopter. I’ll be dealing with that moment in time for the rest of my life.

I heard the paramedics discussing where to take all of us. I told them I NEEDED to go to the facility I work at. They said, “Hey man, we got a lot of traumas.” I said, “Hey, I’m stable. Put me on a list and I’ll wait.” In the end, they were able to take me there straight-away, no fuss, no muss. The most uncomfortable part of the trip (other than the bumps jostling my leg) was that no one could get and IV started in me. Even now, my arms look like pincushions. I’m stuck all over every IV location over both arms. That’s gonna leave a bruise.

The rest of my story is all in the aftershocks that radiated across the entire country. I’ll speak more about it all in my next installment. Let me hit some high points.
I told the hospital that patient confidentiality does not apply to me in this case. I wanted anyone that was looking for me to be able to find me. The incident left everyone with the feelings felt by people that experience a car bomb or something. People don’t know how to relate. I knew that I could be a touchstone for people that needed to make some sort of contact, to have some sort of closure. It’s had that effect. People I’ll never get the chance to meet have called me from across the country just to ask what they could do to help and to tell me that I was in their thoughts and prayers. The solidarity and support expressed by the entire country is humbling to me. I’ll never have the words to be able to express to people how much I’m touched by their visits, phone calls, and e-mails. I was amazingly fortunate. I had relatively minor injuries and will be going home today. Yeah, I had my losses, but many, many people lost more. My heart is with them. For me to make some sort of laundry list of my concerns would be selfish beyond forgiveness. I’ll heal. That’s all that matters. No, it’s not. Everyone else effected by this tragedy need to be cared for so that they heal. They outpouring reflects very positively upon the art of motorcycling. I don’t think anyone would hold it against me if I never ride again. It’s too early to tell.

I know that even now, I leave people with a lot of unanswered questions. I’ve lost perspective with this monster e-mail. Feel free to send me questions for me to address. I’ll send out another piece in the next day or so, once I know what things I’ve left out. 3 days without sleep can hurt more than broken bones! Still not as much as a broken heart and countenance, though…
Remember, I love you all. I’ve made myself available for you to help you heal. You won’t be doing anything wrong by taking advantage of that.
Your friend forever – Jason

I think it’s important to keep Jason and all affected in our prayers.

Jason continues a few hours later:

Here is just a little bit I want to add to my story. As we all know, Dayle was the group leader I wrote about. After talking to P.T., he told me that she would be proud and honored at what I’ve written and that it honors her to name her as the special person that I had a higher-level connection with. P.T. says we were cut from the same cloth. After getting to hear his voice, I’m overwhelmed with things. Putting words down in writing might be easier than saying them during difficult times, but right now, even those words aren’t enough.

Dayle did not suffer. She might have hung on with life-support, but she did not suffer. I watched her very closely for an hour. When you read my account, I can’t put the emotion into words any better than I already have. I watched the rescue personnel work on Dayle, doing everything in their power to help her. With all the commotion going on all around us, I was still very able to hear the medics say that they just couldn’t get a response from her. I knew. I just knew. In the little glass box that was my universe that day, there was nothing that could have happened that would have been worse. Wait – I’m wrong. She could have suffered. She didn’t. That would have made the day worse.

I get confused as to what different sites I post to, so I’m giving the people with the power to do so the freedom to cross-link/repost/whatever all of this to wherever this will do the most good. Much love, Paul. – Jason

And finally, his most recent update:

Greetings friends. I came home from the hospital tonight. I was just in time to see what came of the media interviews I conducted earlier in the day. I’m glad I was able to get my post up on this site, because I was kinda disappointed as to how the interviews came out. One was better than the other, that one also had some gross factual inaccuracies. I just hope it was the right thing to do. If I made a mistake, or if I didn’t do the task justice, I am sincerely appologetic. I just want to make everyone happy. That’s what makes me happy.

As far as transitioning back to life at home, this is hard. I hurt more and more in extra places every day. I am severely handicapped right now. I’m barely able to ambulate around the appartment. I’m really impaired now. Does anyone have one of those ADA approved shower/bath benches that they could loan me for a few months? That is the one thing that is at the top of my gotta-have-it needs.

I’m sorry. I feel like a colossal failure in your eyes to have to ask for help. I thought I was going to easily make accommodations for my injuries. I guess I heal less effectively with each successive event. Add to that the less than steller interviews and I have to hang my head in shame. I am sorry I turned this into my own private blog. That was very selfish of me. The focus that I needed to take was to spotlight the gifts we have lost and to be an advocate for those unable to speak for themselves. Paul, I let you and the family and friends of everyone lost or hurt, down. I hope that someday, when the pain fades, that the community that I tried to defend and elevate, can forgive me.

If this is how I feel, I’ll never be able to come close to understanding your losses. What did I lose? Some material possesions, my ability to perform activities of daily living (but that’s only temporary), and probably my job. Mostly things that if you can’t walk away from, you don’t deserve anyway. Everyone else involved has suffered REAL loss. The art of motorcycling deserves a better voice than mine.

I’m sorry everyone. I’m just going to crawl into a hole. I don’t deserve your love and support. Even this is unforgivably selfish. I need to stop now, after having grossly over-stepped the line. If I’d stayed in the hospital, at least I’d be able to get good enough medication to stop the pain.

I have never met this man, and yet he has been in my prayers every day since I first made contact with him. So are all the others involved in this accident.

Arizona has become my “home away from home” only because of the people I now know there. It is a place Heather and I fully intend on spending more time visiting. I care deeply about the biker community of that area. And so, my heart goes out to those like Jason who carry a burden that most of us can not understand. I invite you to join me in praying.

By the way, within a few hours of Jason’s most recent email, a number of people responded and provided him the equipment he needed. Again, that’s how the biker community is with each other. I love it.

Some of you have heard about a tragic accident in Arizona where a truck crashed in a group of motorcyclists. A number were killed and the story is very tragic.

Jason Anania was one of the bikers hit by the truck. He has written a number of articles explaining the event from his perspective. I have his permission to repost them here. I debated posting these, because I don’t like to focus on the negative, however I felt it was a great reminder that life is precious and you really don’t know when and how something terrible can happen.

Jason’s only request was that I link to his facebook page. You can friend him here.

Here’s part one:

Hello everyone! I wanted to wait until I got home later this afternoon (it is officially Sunday – just barely), but I’m too wide awake and I have a heart too full of things to share. I want to make sure that this is all very respectful of everyone involved. I’m going to just start at the beginning without dragging things out too much. It’s my opportunity to present the whole story with the hindsight added to things. Gather round the campfire…

I initially didn’t know if I’d make it out to this ride. I had an appointment with my chiropractor first thing in the morning, but I wanted to be prepared, jut in case I could make it. I was able to get in and out of there quick (Dr. Jodi, I wish I was on your adjustment table right now), so I headed over to the kick-off point. I probably just missed everyone heading out. I wasn’t sure of the route, but I knew the destination. Factoring in any gass-up time, I figured I just might catch up with them. I got to the Roadrunner straight away, and was early. I started up a conversation with a husband and wife that arrived by motorcycles right before me. The wife was riding a Nightster and I shared pictures with her of “The Punisher” (my 883 Iron that is all blacked out with some comic book hero, Punisher-like skulls on it). When their food showed up, I excused myself. She is the manager at a local auto parts store in the north valley. I did plan on looking her store up, but now I just need to track her down. Period. Once I got outside, I was welcomed with the hearty greetings of the group.

Out of respect, I’m staying away from names, even if we might all know who is who. Dignity. I walked up and gave the group leader a hug and received a big one in return. The two “social butterflies” of the group made sure that introductions were carried out, even from halfway across the patio. I waved “hi” to a few new faces and to a few good friends. I took my seat at the end of the table, being sure to seat myself where I’d have a good view of all the eye-candy in the parking corral. While waiting for food, we did motorcycle enthusiast things – We checked out all the latest rides to grace the group, we talked about accessories, where we wanted to ride next, etc. I showed off the new saddle on my Bonneville and the other little bits I’d done to have it mirror my much beloved T100. It’s the one in my profile pictures. Man, I miss that bike. Just before the food got there, I was standing down at the other end of the table when the couple from inside came out. We shook hands and embraced like old friends. I promised to find her store. Now there is no way I can’t go. I just hope I can find it!

I remember the seating positions and what people had for lunch. The gravity of something so minor weighs so heavily.

We all headed out after lunch. I was the first one out of the corral. A couple bikes were parked in the other lot and were waiting for us. As things shook out, I found myself near the front of the group. Since this was my first time riding with them for the day, I was checking everyone out. I saw some riding styles from friends that were not quite like what I’m used to seeing. Not better, not worse… Just definitely different from the usual style. Those individual nuances are for me to cherish. I’m sorry at can’t share more. After 10-15 minutes on the road, I watched the positions change as 2 bikes headed off on the I-17 exit. As we drifted along, I remember the distinct though of, “Oh, a couple people are heading back already. Boy, it’s a nice day. I guess I’m making the right choice by staying on for the journey to the la…BAMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was that quick. It was the longest moment of impact I’ve ever experienced, and trust me, I know of what I speak. That collision lasted forever. I kept waiting for it to end. My boot was ripped off, and before I hit the ground I knew my leg was broken. I remember being hit by a wall, very uniformly across my back. My Bonneville was spun out to the left of me and I hit the ground. I stayed conscious and lucid the entire time. I let out a guttural howl as I waited for my breath to return. Once I got it out, I heard someone holler to ask if I was ok. My mind processed one million things that next moment. The world just exploded. I had no idea what had happened. There was not a sound of breaking rubber to be heard. I was in the #3 position as the entire group sat at a stop light. The group leader was directly in front of me. A fraction of an instant before the world ended, I saw her rise from her seat and throw a quick glance over her shoulder. Game over. As I assessed myself, lying in the road, I could feel my right foot flopping around on the end of my leg. I knew that it was, at the very least, an open tibia fracture. I also knew that the humanity-ending event that I had just experienced was way bigger than I even knew. The little sliver that I saw was life-shattering and devastating, but I knew there was more going on behind me that I couldn’t turn over to see.

Once I was able to throw a glance over my shoulder, I saw a truck in flames. In the quick glance I had, I though it might have been a fuel truck. The flames were disturbingly close. Right then I heard a voice shout, “We gotta move him. This truck could blow!” Thus reinforcing my initial impression that it was a fuel truck. A moment later, multiple hands were cradled under me and lifting me. I told them about by leg and they made sure to stabilize it. The way that leg was all floppy, there was no way I could lay on my back. They laid me down on my side. I was with it enough to realize that I needed to take some actions. Since I was laying on my side, I was supporting my own helmet-covered head. I knew I didn’t hit my head, and it was pretty clear my cervical spine was not too acute. I was able to pull my phone out of my pocket and knew I had to make some calls. I tried using the hands-free speaker, but there was too much background noise for me to hear anything. I loosened my helmet and handed it off. A woman that had come out from one of the local businesses cradled my head until someone brought over folded blankets for me to rest my head on. I slipped off my headphones (I remember I was listening to an educational Podcast at the time) and the woman that had cradled my head took my headphones and placed them in my left chest pocket and zipped it closed. She was very conscientious. Next I called my boss. “What?!?!” Let me explain. I’m a nurse. I called my boss and told her that I was in a HUGE accident. She asked why I was calling her. I told her because I would be coming to her as a level 1 trauma and I wanted her to be ready. Then I called mom. Mom is a nurse, too, so I knew she could handle this. I was with it, so I wanted her to find out right from the horse’s mouth that I was ok.

I’ll post part two tomorrow.

I’ve heard all the concerns before. It’s dangerous. What if something happens to you. Think of your children. Or, it’s noisy, you get hit with bugs, what about the rain?

Yeah, I’ve heard them all a hundred times. And every time someone brings up another question, I think of the cliche statement, “If I have to explain, you wouldn’t understand.”

How do you explain a passion to someone? I’m not talking about those who ride for fairly practical reasons: cheaper on gas (most often, this isn’t actually true), faster commute, easier to park than a car, etc.

But I don’t ride because of some practical reason. In fact, many times, it is less practical for me to jump on my bike than it is to climb into a car. I carry a laptop with me every day. In the winter months, I simply toss my bag (along with my lunch) on the car seat beside me. During riding season, I carry my bag over my shoulder, making sure I have it set just right so that it doesn’t interfere with my arms. Or, I bungie it to the back of my bike, adding another five to ten minutes to my routine before I can head out from the house. No, it’s not very practical.

I certainly don’t save gas during the riding season. When I’m in my car, I find the quickest and shortest route to my office. The vehicle is just a box getting me from point A to point B. On my bike, I debate how long I can go before I have to get to the office. Often I’ll take the long way … the very long way.

Every year, I read about people killed or seriously injured on their motorcycle. I’ve watched many friends go down. I’ve officiated the funerals of a few who have paid the ultimate price. I’ve even experienced my own accident. It’s not fun. And yet, none of these experiences keeps me from my machine. It calls to me and I can’t wait for the next time I press the starter button and hear her roar.

So, why do I ride? Because I’m an addict. I’m addicted to the feeling I have every time I open the throttle and feel the power pull me down the highway. I’m addicted to the peace I experience as I get alone with my thoughts and process whatever may be going on in my life at that moment. I’m an addict to the connection I have with God when I enjoy the incredible openness of seeing his creation from a perspective you simply cannot get in a car.

I’m also addicted to the connections I’ve made with other bikers. While there are idiots in every lifestyle, I am constantly amazed at the number of incredible people I’ve had the honour of getting to know within the biker world. Some are local, some are hundreds if not thousands of miles away. All hold a special place in my heart. It was the love and passion of riding that connected us all.

I write these words and I find myself frustrated at my inability to explain it. Perhaps it really is true … it can’t be explained to those who have not experienced it. It is something you simply understand, or you don’t.

I think it’s time to ride.

One of the people I met during my road trip in September/October was Cindy, owner of Style Saver Scarves.

She recently had her product featured on Garage Girls. I figured that since we’re still a month or two away from riding here in Ottawa, I’d show you the video in case you want to order one of these great scarves. Check out their website here.

Dear Bike,

I know the weather is pretty nice for Ottawa in January. I know that they are calling for temperatures around 0 C (32 F) all week. But it’s not time to go out. Yes, we’d have no problem riding at this temperature in the Fall, but it’s different then. There’s no snow on the ground.

It’s just not time.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that you’re not together right now. I’m glad some of your parts are taking a vacation. It keeps us from getting tempted.

Hang in there. It will only be a few more months until the riding season is here. I promise.

In my last post, I shared about the process to becoming a member of a motorcycle club. As a result of that process, membership is incredibly important and something that is taken very seriously. Guys are proud of their club. In fact, in some cases, their love for the club overshadows everything else.

This time, I want to talk about the sense of family found in most motorcycle clubs. Again, if you haven’t done so, please read the second post in this series, where I explain what I mean by motorcycle clubs. It will help those who might disagree with some of what I will say below.

Family

One thing you will discover with most clubs is a strong sense of family. They truly see the other members as brothers (and sisters). They will do anything for one another. Anything. If a brother is in need, his club is there. It’s one of the things I love the most about clubs.

A club stands together. No matter what. Even if a member is in the wrong, they will stand with him. If a member acts like an idiot in public and finds himself in trouble as a result, his brothers will be right there beside him in the middle of the trouble. That doesn’t mean they will condone the behaviour. Often the club will address the behaviour of the member and make it clear that it’s not acceptable. However, that meeting will take place privately. Publicly, you will simply see people who stand together.

Lessons for the Church

I can’t speak for most churches, but I want Bikers’ Church to function in that way. In fact, it’s been a priority of ours since day one. When someone becomes a member of Bikers’ Church, there are expectations on them. We expect them to treat other members like family. To stand together. To defend one another.

We believe this so strongly that there have been a few times when we have challenged a person who broke this fundamental principle. We challenge those who publicly criticize another member. We take issue with those who treat another member with a lack of respect. We expect our members to stand together. To defend one another. If there’s an issue, we’ll deal with it. But it will be done privately, among those who are affected.

I remember a few years ago one of our guys breaking down a few hours from Ottawa. One phone call and he was looked after. Another member headed to meet him with his truck. It didn’t matter what else was going on. A brother was in trouble and others rose up. I could tell story after story that demonstrates this sense of family.

I think of my family growing up. There was my older brother and my younger sister. There were times when we would get frustrated with each other about one thing or another. I might criticize one of my siblings to my mom. But if someone outside my family attacked my brother or sister, I would rise up to defend them regardless of the validity of the attack. You simply do not go after my family without going through me.

Gossip and Murmuring

I don’t believe there is anything more damaging to a church than gossip or murmuring (groups of people whispering, complaining, and bad mouthing someone). Nothing drives me more crazy. I do everything I can to keep gossipers off the leadership team at Bikers’ Church. I don’t want them around. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dangerous.

When I hear of people within Bikers’ Church who are murmuring, I do what I can to address it. Among our leadership, we have a policy. If someone approaches a leader to criticize another member of the church, the leader is expected to interrupt the person and say something along the following lines: “Tell you what, if you have an issue with that person, then we should address it. Let’s call them and arrange a meeting between the three of us. You can share your criticism directly to them, and I’ll help mediate the issue for you.” It’s amazing how often people don’t want to go to that step. Why? Because they really aren’t trying to resolve an issue, they’re just looking to complain.

Conclusion

Look, I realize that even in the best of motorcycle clubs, there are times when this sense of family falls short. Let’s face it, even in the best of families, the ideal sometimes fails. The point I’m trying to make is that for the most part, that sense of family is celebrated in the club scene. It’s something many churches could learn.