4/22/2013. - Day 27 - And they'll know we are Christians by our Love: Flagstaff. Fortune Telling. Sedona. Semi-Sturgis. Playboy?

4/22/2013. - Day 27 - And they'll know we are Christians by our Love

Our mini biker gang: Me + the exhibitionists 

Flagstaff. Fortune Telling. Sedona. Semi-Sturgis. Playboy?

I awake to the sound of snoring. Again. Oh well. The still unfamiliar feeling of sleep that comes most nights is so amazing that a few nights with snoring won’t kill me. Even if it will severely irritate me…

When I checked into my room last night, I entered to find that the current occupant had arranged her blankets so that they made a fort that covered the bottom bunk completely. The bedspreads had been tucked into the bunk above and the entire bed was surrounded by blankets leaving it undetermined if the occupant was there or not. By morning, after hearing the creature snore, I knew there was life inside. When I heard the flaps of the tent rustle as my roommate emerged from the dark fortress, I too decided to get up. I sat up and greeted her, and was surprised. She was about 70 years old—not your typical hostel dweller. I said good morning warmly and asked a bit about her trip. She then asked what my destination was for today and I answered that I would like to see Sedona.  She said she was moving on today, but wished me a good trip to Sedona and stated she was sure I knew of the “channelers” there.

Channelers? Like river channels? Or people who row through river channels? Or people who change your TV channels with the remote? Not even close.

I indicated that I was not familiar with channelers nor did I know of their existence in Sedona. My roommate then provided an explanation. She began, “There are other channelers, like myself, in Sedona, who communicate with the other side. We have been getting a lot of information from the other side and a lot of people are talking,” she continued. “Something big is coming. You can tell that it’s obvious by what just happened in Boston [citing the recent bombing during the Boston marathon]. It’s coming.” I could tell this was a very serious matter and made sure to make the appropriate “oh’s” and “um-hmm’s” in accordance with the statements she made.

Sidenote: Bridget Meranda, if you are reading this, please know that during this entire encounter, my facial expression remained completely serious outwardly, and conveyed that I was deeply interested and engaged, as opposed to freaked out and uncomfortable. I know that you are proud.

My roommate's tone became quite serious as she advised me to collect “at least 30 days of supplies” for whatever is coming. She then restated the importance of this message, and urged me to tell anyone that I thought could benefit from this information, especially young people, so that they are warned and ready. The messages from the other side are very clear. Get your supplies. Get ready.

And you are all welcome and can thank me later for passing on this critical information to each and every one of you.

I thanked the woman for telling me about the message and providing me with a warning, and promised to tell everyone and warn them as well. Then she was gone. I had to stand for a moment gathering my composure and trying to let that experience just sink in. Wow. That-just-happened.

I’m sick of pancakes but I’m hungry and broke so I go and make the hostel signature breakfast [pancakes] and enjoy them in the dining room. Lennart, the man who arrived by motorcycle last night is present, as are some new faces and we all enjoy light conversation over breakfast. Afterwards I go to the lobby to finish some writing and visit with Lennart, who is from the Netherlands, about his motorcycle trip. I cannot help myself from thinking of Goldmember and quoting, “I am from Holland, isn’t that veird.” Lennart offers to give me a pass for saying that once, but I better not call it Holland one more time. That was a long time ago. And it is the Netherlands now.

I know that I am going to say it at least five more times. I apologize for this in advance.

Canyon to Sedona

Neither Lennart or I have specific plans for the day and somehow it is decided we will take the bikes through the canyon to Sedona. I peruse the city of Flagstaff in search of a loading dock to get the bike out of the back of the pickup and encounter the most helpful employees ever at the local Ford dealership. I had approached the service techs and asked if they knew where I could find a loading dock nearby, and before I knew it, half a dozen employees came out and took the bike out for me. They also showed me an area with a concrete dock where I could load it back up after hours and promised to move the vehicles from around it so that I could manage it alone. They were overwhelmingly helpful and I thanked them over and over again. Just another reason why Ford is such a wonderful company.  Not only do they think of gypsies like me who may need to camp in their cars, and subsequently design them large enough for me to sleep in—but they also hire friendly altruistic employees. Groan all you want.

When I return to the hostel, I find James, another acquaintance from last night who is also two wheelin’ it, in the lobby with Lennart. James is also coming with us and with that, our trio is ready to hit the road.

We set out like the three musketeers from the island of misfit toys, with an assortment of bikes and odd clothing and random and assorted features. In our list of attributes are James' converse sneakers and plastic gallon water jug dangling from his bike, Lennart’s fashionable but not so durable leather jacket , and my white Elvis jacket over so many layers of clothes I look like the kid in the snowsuit from “A Christmas Story.” This is the first time my bike has been allowed out of the truck since “the incident” (which is how I will refer to it) in Seattle in early April. I am taking no chances on freezing, or anything else, and am in full gear. I promise that in a few more posts, I will explain the disaster that occurred on 4/3; but for now the wound is still too raw.

The road winds down into a canyon at a steep grade and with many switchbacks. It’s both terrifying and beautiful to ride through this area. I have driven it in a vehicle before, but have always wanted to get the opportunity to take the bike through it. The hairpin curves are thrilling and the view is spectacular as we make our way along the road.

We stop at an area where a fresh spring has been tapped and it pours from a spigot and tumbles back down into the stream. The locals are filling water jugs with it, and James approaches them and inquires if it would be impolite to drink directly from the spigot. They do not indicate a “no drinking from the spigot policy,” so James of course goes for it.

We ask for a group picture as proof of our temporary but tough gang. Lennart is the only one who pulls off looking mildly legitimate. I think I look like an uncomfortable Michelin Man, and James’ expression just makes me laugh. Good job holding us together Lennart. I send the image to my mother who immediately warns me not to get abducted. I'm not one who normally takes to riding around with strangers, but these guys seem a little less than threatening- I mean, has anyone ever been kidnapped by a guy from Holland in a faux leather jacket and another in Converse sneakers? 

The day is hot and it's getting later in the afternoon when we reach Sedona. I had to bandage every single toe and several areas of my feet and heels with layers of tape and moleskin just to be able to bear walking. Jamming that mess into my boot was not the easiest feat and I’m still hobbling. It should be noted that this specific post is being edited and finalized nearly six weeks after I actually emerged from the canyon. My feet STILL have blisters.

The local grocery store makes for a good place to stop and pick up a few things for a picnic lunch. We are all gypsies of a sort and our funds are tight, making the grocery store all the more appealing. After that we ride around until we find a park where we can stop for lunch.

The conversation turns deep at lunch somehow, as we all discuss our travels and various adventures and encounters. I comment that I’ve struggled on this trip because at times, I’ve been annoyed with the hippies or upset with others whose lifestyles or actions differ from mine or irritate me. I think about my roommate earlier today who I had a hard time taking seriously and probably passed more judgement on than I am willing to admit. I try hard to love everyone and then get angry with myself when I have low tolerance for other people. God tells us to love each other and I’m frustrated at my own humanity and the difficulty I find in this simple command. Lennart comments that “Free love is bullshit.” He goes on to say that you can’t love everyone. We ponder this and I explain that I think the interpretation of love is different for everyone, and what I am trying to do is find inherent worth in every human being in that God created everyone in his image and everyone has something good to offer. I’ve read Don Miller’s “Blue Like Jazz” half a dozen times and I always come back to the part where he talks about trying to find something to love in everyone and how difficult it is. I think back to a time when I sat in church one morning and all I could see that day were people around me who had hurt me or wronged me. Someone from high school who had been cruel, or an adult who had abused leadership authority and instead of building me up had made every effort to put me down, a lady who gossiped about my family and hurt me. I looked around the congregation and I was angry at all these people and then most of all, angry at myself for having hate in my heart in the middle of church. I felt surrounded by the enemy right there in the sanctuary and the real enemy was my own unforgiving heart.

Faith isn’t easy. Loving our neighbors isn’t easy. And admitting that it is hard and that we still stumble is definitely not easy. I went down to the river that day after church and sat there and reread that part of Don’s book where he explains his own struggles with loving others who had hurt him or wronged him in some way. He describes a great amount of guilt over any hurt he has caused others, which I also experience deeply; but he also goes into great detail about the ways he learned to love those people despite what they may have done that hurt him or irritated him or whatever. I sat there that afternoon and read and read, trying to get rid of my anger at these people, trying to remind myself that I make mistakes and treat others unfairly at times and that makes us human; and more than that, the ability forgive is the most important piece in the whole deal. I was so ashamed that sitting there in church I had such ugly thoughts. I think of this often because it’s hard much of the time to love the people that we don’t understand, or who don’t act in the way we do or follow the rules or moral code that we do. I get irritated with the hippies and the costume people on the street in Hollywood and whole bunch of other people for probably no reason at all. I get especially angry at the people who seem to intentionally try to hurt or act cruelly towards me. And it’s easy to get caught up in that anger and not look to forgiveness.

The people of Flagstaff know what it's all about.

James and Lennart continue to discuss the variations of “love” and ways it can be interpreted. What I think we conclude in the conversation, is that we may not be “in love” with everyone, but the concept was for us to “love” others, meaning respecting that every human has something of worth. This is deep stuff for a spring Sedona day, but it reminds me of just how much this trip means to me. To be able to step outside of my walls, outside of some of the close mindedness of the Midwest, and have conversations with absolute strangers about faith and politics and motorcycles and Converse sneakers.

On the way back James suggests we stop at the creek. He was there yesterday and knows where it is so he leads our pack. We spend a little time locating the area that actually has access to the creek, and then park and start climbing down the rock to the creek below. Yesterday, James made some rock stacks which remain today. We are alone down on the rocky beach save for a girl sun tanning and knitting off to one side of the path.

The sun is quite hot down here, and I roll up my jeans and wade into the water. James follows and then Lennart. The sunbather takes our photo. James and I visit and admire the rock stacks for a few minutes. In our short time together, we somehow arrived at a conversation on faith and James talks about his, stating that he doesn’t generally come right out and tell people he is a Christian. He feels that this can sometimes be a turn off for others, and prefers to live his faith as best he can, and let people see his faith through his actions. I agree and comment that many times Christians can unknowingly turn others from faith by being too outright and forceful in sharing their faith. Others can interpret the actions of Christians as judgmental and condescending, or as trying to force others to believe what they believe.  I think to myself what a strange thing it is for us not to be open about our faith and share it freely with others. I know that the method of delivery is generally how others are turned away from the church and from God, and I can certainly understand that in some cases; but I also find it sad that we must strategize and sensor ourselves around others, hoping our actions will expose us and hoping that maybe others will believe through our concealed efforts. I’m not saying that I want to be a fanatic, waving my arms around like crazy and screaming praises and shouting scripture. I just want others to know what I know-- to know about never being alone and being loved unconditionally and not having to be perfect or good at everything is enough. I just want them to know they are enough, no matter what or who or where they are. But we live in a world where religion and faith are scary sometimes and people often get the wrong idea and nobody wants to be responsible for turning others away from Christ.

 

This weighs on my mind as I walk towards the opposite area of the creek to climb up onto a rock ledge for a better view of the creek and its small waterfalls, and a moment of reflection. Lennart and James are wary of getting their clothes too wet which I think is ridiculous when it’s so hot out. I have already tread too far into the creek in efforts to get to an area where I can climb the ledge so I’m already soaked. As usual, this is my custom in getting too close to the water on all occasions and ending up much less dry than I intend. We are all laughing and making harmless jokes. I make a comment that I should like to push them both into the creek and run for it but they remind me that running is not my strong suit at the moment given the condition of my feet.

The Playboy himself. I should add, I declare ownership of the
rights to this image. 

I reach the top of the rock ledge in time to see James making his way back to the rock stacks-in his underwear. Not fair. Boys can go anywhere in their underwear but it is not the same for girls. There is a host of other things that they get to do and we don’t but I won’t go into that now. Lennart is next to toss his jeans aside and soon they are both using my phone, which I carelessly left in the pile by my boots, for their exhibition images.  I shout that I will not be sorry when I have posted the images on the internet and they become famous models.  The girl who is knitting has turned her back towards us and is obviously unimpressed.

I come down from the ledge and gather my belongings, knowing I should get a head start on the climb back up. As I start to put my gear back on, I talk to James about my reflections over the course of the day, and about the hippies. I admit that the reason I am probably irritated by them is because I feel insecure around them. They talk about conservation of the Earth, going without a lot of worldly possessions and modern conveniences-- and I feel judged. I don't always recycle, and I rather fancy motorcycles and air conditioning. And the hippies seem real keen on loving everybody and that is hard for me. But the problem isn't the hippies, the problem is me. Me and my own insecurities and feelings of judgement. And that has nothing to do with the hippies I admit to James. It has to do with my own self consciousness in not being "perfect" and seeing my human flaws more clearly in the presence of the hippies.

And that is another hard truth. That sometimes the things that we have a problem with touch a nerve or make a shortcoming of ours more real. They force us to think about things that make us uncomfortable in a lot of ways and all of this has nothing to do with these "irritating factors," so much as it has to do with our own insecurities; ultimately, our own humanity.

I gingerly pull my boots back on and then start the climb back up the rocks and back to the road ahead of the boys. It will most definitely take me a long time to get my muscles and feet to cooperate enough to hoist me upwards. The boys come next and James has destroyed his sunglasses but decides to wear them on his head anyway. He opts to get back on his motorcycle with broken sunglasses and his pants rolled up to his ankles. James is classy. 

I note that I want to stop beside the gradient sign on the way back as my brother and I have been swapping pictures of who can find the steepest gradient. We ride back up the switchbacks and are nearly to the sign when James drops back. Lennart and I stop and watch as a girl gets out of a car parked on the side of the road, and onto James’ motorcycle. I locate the gradient sign and go over to it so that I can get the picture. Before I know it, James comes whizzing back my way, the girl on the back holding a  camera and snapping pictures. Approaching our group from the opposite direction is the car she came from. Everyone stops and we discover that she and her parents are on vacation and she wanted a ride on a motorcycle. James was conveniently riding by and stopped. And now here we all are. This trip is funny like that.

Keep an eye out for reindeer. Noted.

Lennart and I go on ahead and James offers rides to everyone and then follows. The bike is loaded up back at the Ford dealership, and then goodbyes are said at the hostel. Lennart is a giant like me so when it comes time for us to hug goodbye, there is an awkward moment where we both go to the “over” position since we are usually taller than those we are hugging, and there is some confusion over placement of arms when two trees hug each other. James gets some entertainment from this and then I hug him and am out the door.  As I reach for the door to my truck, James rushes out and tells me that he is glad we met and that he will pray for my safe journey. I too will pray for his safety as he travels around on his bike. Faith finds us in such unexpected ways. It brings a smile to my face to enjoy small gestures like a last minute blessing from a new friend.

"Welcome to New Mexico"

Back on the road I am growing more and more tired after the late start. I could have stayed another night in Flagstaff but have a need to keep moving. When I cross the New Mexico state line, I decide that I need to rest before going further. The welcome center is well lit, and patrolled by police. I have never slept in a parking lot, and I have only slept once in my car when I was too cold and too lazy to pitch my tent at the Grand Canyon. But right now I am too tired to be very choosy about sleeping arrangements and despite the bright security lights illuminating the lot, and the constant chugging and gear shifting of semis as they move through, I’m sound asleep in no time.