September 2014. Update: Meet Duke!
Adam stuck around. It's been nearly a year. On top of volleyball and motorcycles, now there are two more things he loves: Duke. And ME!
Thursday, April 28, 2016
December 2013. Update: Meet Adam
December 2013. Update: Meet Adam
Ok, so technically I met Adam in September, when we were both assigned to the same co-ed work sponsored volleyball team. But we didn't start dating until October, and I wasn't entirely sure he wasn't a weirdo/serial killer until about now. Here's Adam:
 |
| Christmas 2013 |
He seems pretty promising. He's not married, and loves Jesus so he passed the initial tests. He also loves motorcycles and volleyball. He's definitely one to keep an eye on.
Afterwords Afterward: Sometime in November, 2013. Duluth, MN.
Afterwords Afterward
"Trips like ours are greener grass left unknown for fear of believing trite sayings; sayings that are sometimes true. But our friends back home live an existence under the weight and awareness of time, a place we are slowly escaping, a world growing fainter by the hour and the mile. Our letters will arrive like messages in bottles cast from the luminary of distant shores."
When I was in high school, my step dad and I were talking one day and I had shared that I wanted to build a house someday once I was settled and married. He asked why. I began to explain how I wanted to make a house that was really a home, something I created, something that I helped build. My step dad stopped me and said why again, but this time followed with why would you wait? Build your house. Buy the land and build the house.
At that time, as a teenager not even done with high school, I could not even fathom such a thing. I looked at him incredulously and told him that wasn't how it worked. I couldn't simply just run off by myself and build some house and expect a husband to show up on the doorstep and life to fall into place. Life didn't work that way. There was an order. I couldn't believe he was even trying to persuade me to do something so ludicrous.
I'm standing on the corner of 17th Ave E. and 6th St. right now, staring past a thick concrete retaining wall, up a crumbling staircase and on up to a large square stucco building. The house is an earthy tan color, and there's an old fashioned light post aglow in the front yard that will illuminate a concrete walkway when the sun sets. There's a wiry tree beyond that and, though barren now, come spring it will be festively adorned with pink blossoms.
The house faces the beautiful waves of Lake Superior, standing watch as they carry ships to and from their destinations. Inside there are ten rooms, five second hand dining room chairs, a half dozen framed photos, several mugs for tea, a handful of seashells, and the still-boxed belongings of a girl starting a new chapter. A fire is burning in the living room, pushing smoke up out of the chimney and swirling it through the crisp fall air. A tired motorcycle rests in the garage and awaits the beginning of the riding season in the spring.
I climb the steps to the large front door and take the keys from my right jacket pocket. I stop to take in the fall air, fresh and cool. As I approach the top of the stairway, I glance at the cold metal sentinel lion affixed to the blue door, watchful of those who enter but familiar with me by now. I turn the knob and step into the front entry way, followed by a few stray red and yellow leaves that swirl around my feet as I push the door shut. I'm home. And it feels amazing to finally truly be home.I didn't build this house. I didn't get married. I didn't do anything in the traditional order, and lots of times I was sure I did it backwards...
But I didn't wait for life to happen to me.
We don't have time to wait for the lives we plan out in little pictures in our heads. We don't have time for the trajectory that's painted in the movies with a white picket fence and 2.5 kids--in the correct order of course. We don't have time because we never know when that time is up. Life is not going to come to us. We need to bring life to us, chase it fiercely at all costs, need to embrace it, and never stop living it for a second because right now is all we have. Keep your dreams, keep your hopes for that picture in your head. But if it ends up drawn out differently, maybe a new color here or an extra line or two there, that's ok. If you make mistakes, make like Bob Ross and turn them into birds.
This was not the way I wanted it to work out. This was not what I thought would happen. In fact, I don't even know that three months ago I even knew what I wanted or had any idea about anything for the future. I passed the reins to God and even though I was frustrated, he was like "Hey, I got this. I'm gonna show you how perfect it already is and you will not believe all of the amazing and wonderful things I have planned for you!"
If there is ever a time in your life when you think you can't just let go and let God - call me. Because I've been there. I've been in a similar spot thinking there's no way this is the place I'm supposed to be. I've struggled against everything and insisted on my own way because I was afraid to simply hold onto my faith alone. But then I did and I can't even begin to tell you how in awe I am of the entire process looking back. Truly awe inspiring things happen when you decide that it's OK for things to not be the way you think they should be, when you give up forcing your own way, when you have the courage to put it all in His hands. And when he says you are enough, and right now, how things are, is perfect---It's perfect.
June 2013: The Beginning of Something Beautiful...
June 2013: The Beginning of Something Beautiful...
Upon returning from my nearly 10,000 mile journey, my Pastor asked if I might be willing to give the sermon at my church before I embarked on my latest trip--moving to Duluth, MN.
Here's what happened:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEDyLFyLZag&feature=c4-overview&list=UUK3Fzq4E4eu4RcNz5XV6TQA
Upon returning from my nearly 10,000 mile journey, my Pastor asked if I might be willing to give the sermon at my church before I embarked on my latest trip--moving to Duluth, MN.
Here's what happened:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEDyLFyLZag&feature=c4-overview&list=UUK3Fzq4E4eu4RcNz5XV6TQA
5/31/2013. - Day 66/Day1 - A Note on Apathy: Why you don't need to leave but you can't stay here.
5/31/2013. - Day 66/Day1 - A Note on Apathy: Why you don't need to leave but you can't stay here.
I used to think that the horrible experiences I lived through in my childhood with regard to the domestic violence in our home had ruined me. I used to apologize when I experienced symptoms of PTSD, wasn't comfortable in certain situations, or had panic attacks. I repeatedly told others I was sorry for my feelings, and made excuses for why I shouldn't be allowed to feel that way. I felt there were parts of me broken forever, parts of me that would never heal. I thought there were things I could never do or become because of what I had gone through. I felt like I was marked.
It's not true. It's a lie. It's a lie we are told by an idea in society that feelings make us lesser, make us weak, and that voicing our painful experiences is shameful.
It is a lie.
It's take a lot of pain, and it takes a lot of effort, but you don't have to live in a cage, a confined space where you feel what the group says is OK and keep everything else to yourself. Everyone may not understand and in fact most people won't. Don't hold it against them. This was not their journey. You can only ask them to accept you, and if they can't they are not a long term part of your purpose. Don't be angry--sometimes it's painful for them to know about your experiences. But own your own pain, and feel it, and be vulnerable enough to share it with those that you love even if they can't deal. If they are going to be a part of your life, they have to accept all of you, even the hard parts. No matter what's happened beyond your control, it's a part of you. You get to feel those feelings. You need to allow yourself to feel those feelings. And most importantly--you don't ever need to apologize. You will spend a lifetime apologizing to the wrong people, but only a short while helping the right people understand what you need. You don't need to be fixed; you just need to be accepted.
Don't be afraid to do anything, no matter how wild/scary it may seem. Be smart about it, but let yourself take some risks and see how far you can fly. We've all been through stuff. But we can't let the world hold us down because of it. Don't live safe, don't get comfortable. Getting by isn't living.
You don't have to leave; you just can't say here. Think about it.
“And so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God. We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn't it?
It might be time for you to go. It might be time to change, to shine out.
I want to repeat one word for you:
Leave.
Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is a beautiful word, isn't it? So strong and forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don't worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed.”
― Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts: Light, God, and Beauty on the Open Road
It's day 66 into my journey, day 1 at home following the journey, and I'm 26 years into my journey on this earth. I want to talk to you about going stale. Getting comfortable. Drowning in apathy.
When we stay in one place, when we allow ourselves to be comfortable, we stunt our growth. I'm not talking about living in the same apartment, the same town, the same city we grew up in. I'm talking about staying where you are for fear you might have to leave the safety and the comfort of it all. When we stay, we hold ourselves back. We stop challenging ourselves, our thoughts, our abilities. I've said it before throughout my trip, but I want to drive the point home: Take the step. No matter what has happened to you in life, what traumas, what joys, what losses, or what triumphs you have experienced, you have the same opportunities available to you as anyone else. You are never broken, you are never too old, it's never too late. Get out there, be reckless, be spontaneous, take risks. Grow.
I used to think that the horrible experiences I lived through in my childhood with regard to the domestic violence in our home had ruined me. I used to apologize when I experienced symptoms of PTSD, wasn't comfortable in certain situations, or had panic attacks. I repeatedly told others I was sorry for my feelings, and made excuses for why I shouldn't be allowed to feel that way. I felt there were parts of me broken forever, parts of me that would never heal. I thought there were things I could never do or become because of what I had gone through. I felt like I was marked. It's not true. It's a lie. It's a lie we are told by an idea in society that feelings make us lesser, make us weak, and that voicing our painful experiences is shameful.
It is a lie.
It's take a lot of pain, and it takes a lot of effort, but you don't have to live in a cage, a confined space where you feel what the group says is OK and keep everything else to yourself. Everyone may not understand and in fact most people won't. Don't hold it against them. This was not their journey. You can only ask them to accept you, and if they can't they are not a long term part of your purpose. Don't be angry--sometimes it's painful for them to know about your experiences. But own your own pain, and feel it, and be vulnerable enough to share it with those that you love even if they can't deal. If they are going to be a part of your life, they have to accept all of you, even the hard parts. No matter what's happened beyond your control, it's a part of you. You get to feel those feelings. You need to allow yourself to feel those feelings. And most importantly--you don't ever need to apologize. You will spend a lifetime apologizing to the wrong people, but only a short while helping the right people understand what you need. You don't need to be fixed; you just need to be accepted. Don't be afraid to do anything, no matter how wild/scary it may seem. Be smart about it, but let yourself take some risks and see how far you can fly. We've all been through stuff. But we can't let the world hold us down because of it. Don't live safe, don't get comfortable. Getting by isn't living.
You don't have to leave; you just can't say here. Think about it.
“And so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God. We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn't it?
It might be time for you to go. It might be time to change, to shine out.
I want to repeat one word for you:
Leave.
Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is a beautiful word, isn't it? So strong and forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don't worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed.”
― Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts: Light, God, and Beauty on the Open Road
5/30/2013. - Day 65 - Take Me Home, Country Roads...
5/30/2013. - Day 65 - Take Me Home, Country Roads, To The Place, Where I Belong...
I'm comin' home, I'm comin' home, tell the world I'm comin' home,
Let the rain, wash away,
All the pain of yesterday...
“It wasn't necessary to win for the story to be great,
it was only necessary to sacrifice everything.”
― Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years
I am both excited and slightly saddened by today. This will
be my last day of spending unstructured time with friends and enjoying the open
road. I’m going out with a bang and have a full day planned from morning til
dusk and I don’t anticipate pulling into my garage at home until nightfall or later.
The morning begins with breakfast and some brief writing
time with Lancelot, Jaci's parrot, who eyes me suspiciously as always. Jaci is already at work, so I settle into a corner near his cage and get some typing in
while he stares at me and puffs up his body to show me who’s boss. Brynn, Jaci's sister, appears from downstairs ready for the day, and with that we are off to see Jaci and Hope at Lot 2029.
It is only 11AM but Lot 2029 is busy already with shoppers eagerly
seeking out trinkets and treasures. We browse the selections and then assist
Jaci in the back with some of her media duties. We participate in a quick fun photo shoot for some new products, and then prepare to depart. Goodbyes are said, and peering out the display window at the front of the store we can see a treacherous downpour in process outside. Given that we spent a fair amount of time on our
hair this morning, we sprint for the car as though we are being chased by
killer bees. We drive several blocks blindly as both of us frantically try to
figure out how to turn the wipers on in the unfamiliar vehicle we have
“borrowed” from the Stofferahn brother, Seth. Luckily we make it back to their
residence safely and part ways from there.
My first stop from here is the Floor the Ceiling store to
deliver a bag of saltwater taffy to my aunt Karen. My aunt Donna, upon giving me the taffy in Texas, instructed
that the two bags be split between Karen’s household and my other aunt, Linda’s
household. I arrive with the package and explain the instructions to Karen. I
cannot be responsible if she does not follow through with the sharing.
I spend a couple hours hunting down last minute items and
such as Fargo is a shopping oasis the likes I which I may not see for awhile,
and then hit I-94 and head West for Jamestown. I have several parties to see here, including
a dinner date. As I drive I reflect on
how strange it is to be coming home after all this time, driving familiar roads
and seeing signs and trees I have seen before. I think more about the return
home and realize that the house will be empty as my roommate Tammany is almost all moved
out, and neither of us has spent much time there in the last couple months. The apartment will be barren. Thinking along these lines I conclude that a pit stop will
be squeezed in before I make my last visits as I want to arrive home with both
food and toilet paper, in case there is none when I get there. I take fifteen
minutes to stop and load up necessity items, and then point the truck towards
the Rohr residence.
Eva and David Rohr, dear friends of mine who are both retired, are both outside polishing a tractor to display
for the upcoming Rib Fest event. We sip cool beverages outside on the patio and talk about life.
Eva tries to see if David will make me a short term loan due to my impending
poverty and homelessness, and offers my motorcycle up as collateral. David
bites and asks if he and Eva will be able to use the motorcycle until the loan
was paid in full. Eva then retracts her statement. There is some conversation
about how they met which follows. David describes a situation of how they met, claiming Eva was lying
in a ditch and he found her there. A bicycle enters the story and then the story becomes unclear. Several options appear, including that Eva
fell off the bicycle into the ditch, David was riding the bicycle and collected
Eva and she rode home on the handlebars, or David found her in the ditch and promptly ran
her over with said bicycle; the exact tale is not specified but it is becoming
clear that they may all be a farce. Needless to say no more two wheeled vehicles are coming into their relationships.
I comment on how romantic their love story is and David mutters and says something about how Eva think’s his “tractor is sexy” as he walks away. I love Eva and David and I want to be just like them when I grow up.
I comment on how romantic their love story is and David mutters and says something about how Eva think’s his “tractor is sexy” as he walks away. I love Eva and David and I want to be just like them when I grow up.
Now it’s on to Nicole’s house where I am excited to meet her
family and enjoy my last home cooked meal. Dennis also joins us with his
mini-me’s, Addison and Macy, in tow. Nicole and Travis’ son, Aiden also joins
us but Abbie is not home so I will have to meet her another day. The family dog
is also present. I previously worked with Nicole and Dennis through my social work role. They work for juvenile court, which seems to be where all of the fun people are employed...
Before dinner we get a grand tour of Nicole and Travis's new house and get to
see all the hard work they have been doing. I love seeing the different ideas and unique
traits of all the homes I’ve visited.
It’s a lovely night out so we dine in the gazebo outside. We share some
amazing food, including grilled to order steaks courtesy of Travis. Before we know it, we’ve talked and laughed
our way to 9:00PM and it’s time to hit the road. How can our visit have flown by so quickly?
As I drive the last hour and a half home to my apartment, the whole thing seems like a dream. It feels bittersweet, returning to the familiar, almost as if the trip never happened and I simply drove down for a quick dinner with friends.
Was I lost? Did I "find myself?" Did I find happiness and purpose? Did this trip mean anything--did it even happen?
What is this happiness we are all searching for? Can we buy it if we have the right amount of money? And even then how do we find it or reveal where and what exactly it is. What brings true meaning to our lives, takes our breath away, and lights up our faces with this much sought after happiness? I feel like two months was not enough time to figure everything out that needs to be. To fill in the blanks and to fill in the holes that I couldn’t dig myself out of. What have I been doing all this time while I was a tiny speck moving at a snail’s pace across an infinite stretch of highway on a map that you fold up and put back in your pocket at the end of the day. All the driving in the world won’t take you where you need to go if you don’t know where that is, or how to get there.
But if you don’t have anywhere to be, no set destination, does it matter? Will you never find what you are looking for because you don't have a set mark? Or will it come to you in the most unexpected ways, unplanned and astonishing: That spark, that twinkle. The feeling you get driving hilly dirt roads that tickles your tummy and makes you laugh. The way it feels to lie in the grass on the first warm day of the year and stare up at the sky that is finally bright after so long. The way the ocean sounds as it breaks against the coast and crashes onto the beach before rushing back out again to gather itself for another strike. I can’t describe what I went out for but maybe I know what I came back with, or at least what I had when I was gone that I will forever be fighting to hold onto.
You get a strange feeling when you leave a place, like you’ll not only miss the people you love, but you miss the person you are at this time and place because you’ll never be this way ever again.
I
am not the same now as I was when I left, though I can’t tell you how. Now
driving on autopilot the last hundred miles I wonder if it was all just a
dream. Did I drive across the country, with my arm hanging out the open window
as I rolled down the coast, with my hair whipping behind me as I descended the
Grand Canyon, with my heart beating wildly as I saw the dolphins start to
approach Kiawah Island. There was joy in that. There was happiness in that. I
couldn’t have bought it because for all the richness of my experiences,
monetarily I was quite poor. Then perhaps it can’t be bought. Or maybe for some
it can. The modern conveniences of life may suffice to fulfill the shallow
wells of need in the lives of few and for that perhaps they are fortunate. Not
needing more, not needing the depth or the understanding or the answers to the
why’s and how’s. Accepting more easily, and finding a more simplified peace.
But for those few who are brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to look behind the curtain into the
unknown it is not so easy. We ask why,
we ask how, we ask for more and expect more because we are willing to give that
much. We step forward when it’s hard and reach when it’s far and speak in the
silence when no one else will--and all the while choosing not to be satisfied with the modern and
material comforts of this Earth alone. Our well is deep and cannot be filled with money and things, but only with true feelings and rich adventures. It’s the harder way. Sometimes it leads
to unpleasant experiences, to pain and betrayal, and torture of the heart and
at times it makes us want to recede inward and turn back to the place where the
path forked and we chose the less traveled route. But we reach farther and
farther, staring up into a bright dream, a glowing sun that seems impossible and unreal. We feel it and
see it, but our minds are too inferior to conceptualize our need for it wholly. We feel it’s
warmth and by it we see everything in our world; and by our faith we wrap a
blanket of comfort around us, and it illuminates the path we are to take mapped
out for us in the same manner that the stars were planted in the sky. Not
haphazardly or sporadically, but exactly as they should be, as we should be,
where we are now, and where we will be. We can't know beforehand where we are going, or see the entire plan, but we can feel we are taking steps in the right direction by the way it sets our hearts on fire when we aim our vessels into the wind.
“Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons.”
― Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts: Light, God, and Beauty on the Open Road
My happiness comes from being free from constraints that tell me who I am or put me in a glass box. My faith keeps me grounded in the person I know I truly am, yet allows me to stretch high and tease the wind as I sway and turn with the seasons, the storms and the curve balls and the sunny days. Staying faithful, and trusting Him to lead me, I cannot stray from the path. The hardest part will be to remain honest, to not let everything else that the world says is important cloud my vision of what I know to be the truth. It doesn't matter where I am, California or North Dakota; what matters is where my heart is.
If I have the courage to stay true to myself, to find joy in the sand between my toes and the shells in my pockets, to enjoy the open road now and then and be blown along wherever the winds takes me. To not only go along but enjoy it and accept it and not worry about planning it out—then I need not want for anything more ever again.
Was I lost? Did I "find myself?" Did I find happiness and purpose? Did this trip mean anything--did it even happen?
What is this happiness we are all searching for? Can we buy it if we have the right amount of money? And even then how do we find it or reveal where and what exactly it is. What brings true meaning to our lives, takes our breath away, and lights up our faces with this much sought after happiness? I feel like two months was not enough time to figure everything out that needs to be. To fill in the blanks and to fill in the holes that I couldn’t dig myself out of. What have I been doing all this time while I was a tiny speck moving at a snail’s pace across an infinite stretch of highway on a map that you fold up and put back in your pocket at the end of the day. All the driving in the world won’t take you where you need to go if you don’t know where that is, or how to get there.
But if you don’t have anywhere to be, no set destination, does it matter? Will you never find what you are looking for because you don't have a set mark? Or will it come to you in the most unexpected ways, unplanned and astonishing: That spark, that twinkle. The feeling you get driving hilly dirt roads that tickles your tummy and makes you laugh. The way it feels to lie in the grass on the first warm day of the year and stare up at the sky that is finally bright after so long. The way the ocean sounds as it breaks against the coast and crashes onto the beach before rushing back out again to gather itself for another strike. I can’t describe what I went out for but maybe I know what I came back with, or at least what I had when I was gone that I will forever be fighting to hold onto.
You get a strange feeling when you leave a place, like you’ll not only miss the people you love, but you miss the person you are at this time and place because you’ll never be this way ever again.
I
am not the same now as I was when I left, though I can’t tell you how. Now
driving on autopilot the last hundred miles I wonder if it was all just a
dream. Did I drive across the country, with my arm hanging out the open window
as I rolled down the coast, with my hair whipping behind me as I descended the
Grand Canyon, with my heart beating wildly as I saw the dolphins start to
approach Kiawah Island. There was joy in that. There was happiness in that. I
couldn’t have bought it because for all the richness of my experiences,
monetarily I was quite poor. Then perhaps it can’t be bought. Or maybe for some
it can. The modern conveniences of life may suffice to fulfill the shallow
wells of need in the lives of few and for that perhaps they are fortunate. Not
needing more, not needing the depth or the understanding or the answers to the
why’s and how’s. Accepting more easily, and finding a more simplified peace.
But for those few who are brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to look behind the curtain into the
unknown it is not so easy. We ask why,
we ask how, we ask for more and expect more because we are willing to give that
much. We step forward when it’s hard and reach when it’s far and speak in the
silence when no one else will--and all the while choosing not to be satisfied with the modern and
material comforts of this Earth alone. Our well is deep and cannot be filled with money and things, but only with true feelings and rich adventures. It’s the harder way. Sometimes it leads
to unpleasant experiences, to pain and betrayal, and torture of the heart and
at times it makes us want to recede inward and turn back to the place where the
path forked and we chose the less traveled route. But we reach farther and
farther, staring up into a bright dream, a glowing sun that seems impossible and unreal. We feel it and
see it, but our minds are too inferior to conceptualize our need for it wholly. We feel it’s
warmth and by it we see everything in our world; and by our faith we wrap a
blanket of comfort around us, and it illuminates the path we are to take mapped
out for us in the same manner that the stars were planted in the sky. Not
haphazardly or sporadically, but exactly as they should be, as we should be,
where we are now, and where we will be. We can't know beforehand where we are going, or see the entire plan, but we can feel we are taking steps in the right direction by the way it sets our hearts on fire when we aim our vessels into the wind.“Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons.”
― Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts: Light, God, and Beauty on the Open Road
My happiness comes from being free from constraints that tell me who I am or put me in a glass box. My faith keeps me grounded in the person I know I truly am, yet allows me to stretch high and tease the wind as I sway and turn with the seasons, the storms and the curve balls and the sunny days. Staying faithful, and trusting Him to lead me, I cannot stray from the path. The hardest part will be to remain honest, to not let everything else that the world says is important cloud my vision of what I know to be the truth. It doesn't matter where I am, California or North Dakota; what matters is where my heart is.
If I have the courage to stay true to myself, to find joy in the sand between my toes and the shells in my pockets, to enjoy the open road now and then and be blown along wherever the winds takes me. To not only go along but enjoy it and accept it and not worry about planning it out—then I need not want for anything more ever again.
 |
| 9,287 miles. There and Back Again. |
4/3/2013 Revisited: There and Back again: A Hobbit's-- wait no, An Idiot's Tale....
4/3/2013 Revisited: There and Back again: A Hobbit's An Idiot's Tale.
Today is the day I have been waiting for - an epically planned motorcycle trip up to Bellingham, through the tulip fields and the scenic Chuckanut Drive. I awake to sunshine, and finalize the route on Google maps. I start out in a dozen lanes of traffic, exhilarated and ready for all the excitement. Very soon, however, things begin to take turns that weren't on the route...
Not 20 miles into my drive, I begin to get chilly. Very chilly. The 70° weather in Bothel has faded into 60s and then low 50s as I head North. I realize quickly I'm a total amateur and should obviously have packed a TON of gear for all weather conditions. I know better than this. Thankfully, a quick stop at a shopping center yields a bulky sweater and a pair of Isotoners for my hands. Back in business.
I continue to tick the miles away but am not seeing the delightful colors of the tulips promised by Kristen. I continue to search road signs and fields but no flowers appear. Perhaps it is too early. Perhaps I am not on the right road...
A bit further down Chuckanut the scenery is gorgeous. The road winds along a steep edge that drops off down to the water. Taking the sharp turns and leaning into the rock face, I scrape a peg on the asphalt and remember to take note of the terrain in addition to the breathtaking views.
The road begins to veer away from the water, and starts to begin down a dull sparsely inhabited area. The highway signs indicate nothing to tell me where I am, but I'm also getting chilled to the point that I might not be as vigilant as a more warmer me might be.
Soon groves of pine trees appear, and the air grows markedly colder. I hesitate and slow, but am not sure turning around is the answer. I have been on this course for some time, and wonder if I haven't somehow hit a mountain pass and will come out on the other side soon. Turning around would just take me back through the cold part of the pass I have potentially already driven through, so I press on.
The cold begins to really nip at my fingertips, my face, and my legs. The road twists and turns and suddenly I realize that snow has appeared. Has the snow always been in the ditches, along the road? At first, I noticed only the snow in small amounts, under fallen trees and in the places more hidden by the sun. Now the snow appears in greater amounts, and soon in feet.
I have to be through this pass soon, I think to myself. I can't remember being colder, or more confused about what to do. Suddenly the road turns to switchbacks, with pieces of the road cleared between 7 foot walls of snow. If this is a mountain pass, I am deep in the middle of it. As I continue on, the sides of the road cut away at times, revealing views that confirm I am most definitely on a mountain. I've slowed to around 20-30 MPH to navigate the snow and ice covered ground. I am past a state of panic. Whimpers escape my frozen lips as I pray for some sort of end to the pass.
Finally buildings come into view that signify I am at least arriving at something. I don't know what, but at least there is a change in the scenery. I get closer and it appears I am entering some sort of industrial campus. There is no one in sight. I park nearby a building that has a slight hum to it, indicating it might at least have electricity. Far across the parking lot, two specks appear on the horizon. As they walk closer, they become two humans, carrying snowboards. The two humans near the building and I call out to explain I'm lost on my motorcycle and freezing, and likely need a two truck. Said humans barely acknowledge the danger I am in, and mention that I can warm up inside. They then disappear.
Once inside the building I pull out my cell phone to try to call Kristen, and a tow truck. Signs in the buiding indicate I am on Mt. Baker. I'm nearly in tears. I reach Kristen and explain the situation. Kristen asks no questions, sensing the fragility in my voice. She has to be at the airport shortly, but Scott will make the 1 hour plus drive up towards Bellingham, the closest town. The two truck driver is also quite careful in handling my call. It will take them over an hour to get up the hill. I wait.
A small problem exists: getting the bike home. I'm too cold and exhausted to ride over an hour back to the Seattle area. But my truck is locked inside of the Ford dealership lot because I left it there this morning for maintenance. I try in vain to reach them to see if Scott can somehow get it out and drive it to me. I'm skeptical that he will be able to reach them. I leave messages with the dealership, and call Scott. I tell him the keycode to get inside the vehicle, give him the location of my spare set of keys in the cab, and wish him good luck in breaking it out of the lot. I pray somehow Scott can get the truck out so that I can load the bike into it once I get off this damn mountain. I can't imagine getting back on it for a second right now.
I take stock of the building. I am inside a sort of commons area. It appears this is a dorm of some type, and occasionally a man will walk through the area. None of them seem to find it odd that a female clad in leather clutching a motorcycle helmet is occupying the common area. Some of them don't seem to notice. These odd mountain men are unnerving. I continue to wait.
Finally, past dark, lights appear in the parking lot. The tow truck has arrived. I'm saved. Two men come out of the two truck and emphatically get details from me. We laugh about how this scenario resembles a horror move: lone girl lost in the mountains at night. Strange tow truck drivers come to her aid. Etc., etc. The men comment that they are glad I called them as they definitely are some shady companies in this area. I laugh nervously.
Finally the bike is loaded and I climb into the cab. I quickly realize I am completely safe and that the driver and his companion are nothing but genuine, if not slightly concerned for me. They have brought me several bottles of juice, saying they were not sure what I preferred. Now that I'm returning to normal body temperature and my panic level is down significantly, I begin to joke with them. We have a long ride down and make the most of it with light conversation.
A short ways down the switch backs, I glance back at the bike in the rearview mirror. Is it sliding? I can't tell but it appears to have moved... It's definitely falling off of the truck. I hastily mention my observation to the men and the truck is stopped. They walk back to secure the bike more tightly. I exhale slowly wondering what else could possibly go wrong now that my bike has nearly fallen off the two truck and tumbled down a mountainside.
Towards the bottom of Mt. Baker, the truck driver points out a road sign that tells us this is a mountain, and there is no through road. I roll my eyes at him. A few miles later he points out another identical sign. I missed them both. They laugh and I laugh with them. My humor is returning the closer we get to civilization.
We finally pull into Bellingham, where Scott has somehow miraculously waiting with my truck. God is good. I don't know how it happened, but God is good. Scott has friends in Bellingham, and after thanking the two truck drivers immensely, we load the bike and make our way to his friends' home. They have homemade breakfast for dinner waiting, complete with eggs from their own chickens. It's warm and amazing. I can't socialize skillfully, because I'm so exhausted that my brain isn't working correctly; but I'm so thankful to be off of that mountain.
After a meal and some understanding words from everyone that I am not a complete idiot, Scott and I depart for Bothel. Scott falls asleep instantly and I point us home. I'm mortified and ashamed for getting lost, and I feel terrible for inconveniencing Scott and Kristen and their friends. I am consumed with my embarrassment as we drive home in silence.
I call Kristen in the morning, and she surprises me with a revelation - a complete twist on the way I was feeling about what happened. Kristen says that she and Scott were more than happy to help out, that everyone makes mistakes, and on top of that, it gave them a way to be there for me. Often I am there to help out my friends and come to their aid, but I never realized I didn't give people many opportunities to be there for me. Kristen said that she was thankful for the opportunity to help. I was stunned.
This humbling situation reminded me that man was not meant to live by himself, he was meant to live in fellowship, surrounded by others. We are meant to help and support each other. It's no show of strength to always try to do it alone. We all need help. We all need each other. And even when we think reaching out makes us weak, puts a strain on our friends, asks too much--we can be surprised to find out that they see a completely different picture. They see a chance to help us, to be involved in our lives and offer support. They see an opportunity where we previously might not have asked them to get involved.
I think we spend a lot of time trying to climb as high as we can, stretching to reach the top of that mountain, and thinking we have to do it alone so we don't both anyone else while they try to take their own path up. The truth is, we can all get to the top if we help each other along, and accept help when we need it. Sometimes we have to do parts of it alone. Sometimes we may feel we are struggling and lost as we muddle through the path on the bottom and try to get to the top, especially during the times where we climb alone. But I find we can be just as lost, if not more once we get to the top. If we are aiming for the wrong peak, or trying to get through life with blinders on, alone and unable to see other viewpoints, we may end up more lost even when we reach the summit.
I found myself on the top of Mt. Baker. It was the top, but it was not where I wanted to be. I was too stubborn to turn around or think I could possibly be lost. Maybe I was also a bit numb and unable to think clearly. But I missed the signs that I was going the wrong way. We miss those when we get our blinders on. We work a job we are unahppy at, live somewhere convenient. We avoid seeing the signs that we are on the wrong path because we either can't see them or don't want to. We believe the path we are forcing is right, or is at least safe and comfortable. And we don't want to have to ask for help.
I learned such an incredible lesson about life and love while I froze up on Mt. Baker. I was too embarrassed to share it initially. I didn't want to look foolish, or let on that I had needed and accepted help. After speaking with Kristen, she helped me see that when you really need help and you ask for it, you're not becoming a burden, You're offering an opportunity for someone to be part of a blessing. Your blessing.
Today is the day I have been waiting for - an epically planned motorcycle trip up to Bellingham, through the tulip fields and the scenic Chuckanut Drive. I awake to sunshine, and finalize the route on Google maps. I start out in a dozen lanes of traffic, exhilarated and ready for all the excitement. Very soon, however, things begin to take turns that weren't on the route...
Not 20 miles into my drive, I begin to get chilly. Very chilly. The 70° weather in Bothel has faded into 60s and then low 50s as I head North. I realize quickly I'm a total amateur and should obviously have packed a TON of gear for all weather conditions. I know better than this. Thankfully, a quick stop at a shopping center yields a bulky sweater and a pair of Isotoners for my hands. Back in business.
I continue to tick the miles away but am not seeing the delightful colors of the tulips promised by Kristen. I continue to search road signs and fields but no flowers appear. Perhaps it is too early. Perhaps I am not on the right road...A bit further down Chuckanut the scenery is gorgeous. The road winds along a steep edge that drops off down to the water. Taking the sharp turns and leaning into the rock face, I scrape a peg on the asphalt and remember to take note of the terrain in addition to the breathtaking views.
The road begins to veer away from the water, and starts to begin down a dull sparsely inhabited area. The highway signs indicate nothing to tell me where I am, but I'm also getting chilled to the point that I might not be as vigilant as a more warmer me might be.
Soon groves of pine trees appear, and the air grows markedly colder. I hesitate and slow, but am not sure turning around is the answer. I have been on this course for some time, and wonder if I haven't somehow hit a mountain pass and will come out on the other side soon. Turning around would just take me back through the cold part of the pass I have potentially already driven through, so I press on.
The cold begins to really nip at my fingertips, my face, and my legs. The road twists and turns and suddenly I realize that snow has appeared. Has the snow always been in the ditches, along the road? At first, I noticed only the snow in small amounts, under fallen trees and in the places more hidden by the sun. Now the snow appears in greater amounts, and soon in feet.I have to be through this pass soon, I think to myself. I can't remember being colder, or more confused about what to do. Suddenly the road turns to switchbacks, with pieces of the road cleared between 7 foot walls of snow. If this is a mountain pass, I am deep in the middle of it. As I continue on, the sides of the road cut away at times, revealing views that confirm I am most definitely on a mountain. I've slowed to around 20-30 MPH to navigate the snow and ice covered ground. I am past a state of panic. Whimpers escape my frozen lips as I pray for some sort of end to the pass.
Finally buildings come into view that signify I am at least arriving at something. I don't know what, but at least there is a change in the scenery. I get closer and it appears I am entering some sort of industrial campus. There is no one in sight. I park nearby a building that has a slight hum to it, indicating it might at least have electricity. Far across the parking lot, two specks appear on the horizon. As they walk closer, they become two humans, carrying snowboards. The two humans near the building and I call out to explain I'm lost on my motorcycle and freezing, and likely need a two truck. Said humans barely acknowledge the danger I am in, and mention that I can warm up inside. They then disappear.
Once inside the building I pull out my cell phone to try to call Kristen, and a tow truck. Signs in the buiding indicate I am on Mt. Baker. I'm nearly in tears. I reach Kristen and explain the situation. Kristen asks no questions, sensing the fragility in my voice. She has to be at the airport shortly, but Scott will make the 1 hour plus drive up towards Bellingham, the closest town. The two truck driver is also quite careful in handling my call. It will take them over an hour to get up the hill. I wait.A small problem exists: getting the bike home. I'm too cold and exhausted to ride over an hour back to the Seattle area. But my truck is locked inside of the Ford dealership lot because I left it there this morning for maintenance. I try in vain to reach them to see if Scott can somehow get it out and drive it to me. I'm skeptical that he will be able to reach them. I leave messages with the dealership, and call Scott. I tell him the keycode to get inside the vehicle, give him the location of my spare set of keys in the cab, and wish him good luck in breaking it out of the lot. I pray somehow Scott can get the truck out so that I can load the bike into it once I get off this damn mountain. I can't imagine getting back on it for a second right now.
I take stock of the building. I am inside a sort of commons area. It appears this is a dorm of some type, and occasionally a man will walk through the area. None of them seem to find it odd that a female clad in leather clutching a motorcycle helmet is occupying the common area. Some of them don't seem to notice. These odd mountain men are unnerving. I continue to wait.
Finally, past dark, lights appear in the parking lot. The tow truck has arrived. I'm saved. Two men come out of the two truck and emphatically get details from me. We laugh about how this scenario resembles a horror move: lone girl lost in the mountains at night. Strange tow truck drivers come to her aid. Etc., etc. The men comment that they are glad I called them as they definitely are some shady companies in this area. I laugh nervously.
Finally the bike is loaded and I climb into the cab. I quickly realize I am completely safe and that the driver and his companion are nothing but genuine, if not slightly concerned for me. They have brought me several bottles of juice, saying they were not sure what I preferred. Now that I'm returning to normal body temperature and my panic level is down significantly, I begin to joke with them. We have a long ride down and make the most of it with light conversation.
A short ways down the switch backs, I glance back at the bike in the rearview mirror. Is it sliding? I can't tell but it appears to have moved... It's definitely falling off of the truck. I hastily mention my observation to the men and the truck is stopped. They walk back to secure the bike more tightly. I exhale slowly wondering what else could possibly go wrong now that my bike has nearly fallen off the two truck and tumbled down a mountainside.
Towards the bottom of Mt. Baker, the truck driver points out a road sign that tells us this is a mountain, and there is no through road. I roll my eyes at him. A few miles later he points out another identical sign. I missed them both. They laugh and I laugh with them. My humor is returning the closer we get to civilization.
We finally pull into Bellingham, where Scott has somehow miraculously waiting with my truck. God is good. I don't know how it happened, but God is good. Scott has friends in Bellingham, and after thanking the two truck drivers immensely, we load the bike and make our way to his friends' home. They have homemade breakfast for dinner waiting, complete with eggs from their own chickens. It's warm and amazing. I can't socialize skillfully, because I'm so exhausted that my brain isn't working correctly; but I'm so thankful to be off of that mountain.
After a meal and some understanding words from everyone that I am not a complete idiot, Scott and I depart for Bothel. Scott falls asleep instantly and I point us home. I'm mortified and ashamed for getting lost, and I feel terrible for inconveniencing Scott and Kristen and their friends. I am consumed with my embarrassment as we drive home in silence.
I call Kristen in the morning, and she surprises me with a revelation - a complete twist on the way I was feeling about what happened. Kristen says that she and Scott were more than happy to help out, that everyone makes mistakes, and on top of that, it gave them a way to be there for me. Often I am there to help out my friends and come to their aid, but I never realized I didn't give people many opportunities to be there for me. Kristen said that she was thankful for the opportunity to help. I was stunned.
This humbling situation reminded me that man was not meant to live by himself, he was meant to live in fellowship, surrounded by others. We are meant to help and support each other. It's no show of strength to always try to do it alone. We all need help. We all need each other. And even when we think reaching out makes us weak, puts a strain on our friends, asks too much--we can be surprised to find out that they see a completely different picture. They see a chance to help us, to be involved in our lives and offer support. They see an opportunity where we previously might not have asked them to get involved.
I think we spend a lot of time trying to climb as high as we can, stretching to reach the top of that mountain, and thinking we have to do it alone so we don't both anyone else while they try to take their own path up. The truth is, we can all get to the top if we help each other along, and accept help when we need it. Sometimes we have to do parts of it alone. Sometimes we may feel we are struggling and lost as we muddle through the path on the bottom and try to get to the top, especially during the times where we climb alone. But I find we can be just as lost, if not more once we get to the top. If we are aiming for the wrong peak, or trying to get through life with blinders on, alone and unable to see other viewpoints, we may end up more lost even when we reach the summit.
I found myself on the top of Mt. Baker. It was the top, but it was not where I wanted to be. I was too stubborn to turn around or think I could possibly be lost. Maybe I was also a bit numb and unable to think clearly. But I missed the signs that I was going the wrong way. We miss those when we get our blinders on. We work a job we are unahppy at, live somewhere convenient. We avoid seeing the signs that we are on the wrong path because we either can't see them or don't want to. We believe the path we are forcing is right, or is at least safe and comfortable. And we don't want to have to ask for help.
I learned such an incredible lesson about life and love while I froze up on Mt. Baker. I was too embarrassed to share it initially. I didn't want to look foolish, or let on that I had needed and accepted help. After speaking with Kristen, she helped me see that when you really need help and you ask for it, you're not becoming a burden, You're offering an opportunity for someone to be part of a blessing. Your blessing.
5/29/2013. - Day 64 - I can't be told, ah, ah, it can't be done...
5/29/2013. - Day 64 - I can't be told, ah, ah, it can't be done...
Grand Forks. Back at the old stomping grounds.
Sleep continues to evade me as has been the trend the last few days. I have been awakening to something foreign in the preceding weeks—humidity and hotness. It keeps me from burrowing further into my blankets to squeeze a few last moments of sleep in before the day beckons.
Moose the dog looks sad the way dogs do when they see you
packing up a suitcase and know they are going to be alone. I pat Moose on the
head before leaving Brian and Allison’s house. I again haul my belongings and
stash them in the backseat and it feels like the hundredth time I’ve trudged up
and down the walkway to someone’s house, or to and from a hotel or hostel door. Each day
on the road finds that space more and more disheveled no matter how many times
I stop to take everything out and organize it. This lasts a maximum of 4 hours
and then chaos returns as soon as I need to reach something that is inevitably
at the bottom. This level of constant disorganization has done wonders for my borderline OCD.
I navigate to my friend Amy’s apartment and put a call in to her daughter Mathea to
come and let me in. I'm spending the day with Amy's daughters, Danae and Mathea. The apartment is dark upon entry and since it’s 10:30 in
the morning I suggest that maybe we let a little light into the cave and open
the curtains. Mathea presents me with “a list” for our day together, and we
review it and begin to make a game plan. Amy has lunch at 11:30 so we decide on
a picnic and subs at the park.
Amy strolls across the lawn to join us and after the girls
have finished eating and abandoned us for the playground equipment, we chat and
catch up. Amy is working on her Master’s degree in social work at UND which is really
exciting. I can’t visit Grand Forks without wanting to relive some of my
college days so I’m excited for her to get to experience UND life. 
Too soon she has to return to the working world and after
snapping a few shots of us swinging from the playground structures, she is gone. The
girls and I return to the apartment to finalize our plans for the day. We have
decided on a trip to the Girl Scout Store, time at the splash park, a water
balloon fight, and dessert at Cherry Berry. I also squeeze in some time at a
thrift shop near the Girl Scout Store to scout a few items that have been on my
list. |
| Nope. |
 |
| University Park: Too Crowded for Aquatic Warfare... |
We make a quick stop at the dollar store to get a couple
packs of balloons and then head for University Park. After scouting a little, this seems to be an acceptable
setting, so we gather our supplies. We set up camp on a bench at the perimeter
of the splash park, and begin loading ammunition. We lay out our weapons and
establish guidelines. The rectangle of concrete is the battle zone. You may
return for more balloons at your own risk, and you must pick up all pieces of
broken balloons following the battle. Also, an essential rule is not to hit any
innocent bystanders, and to be especially conscious of all the small children;
all the while sprinting through the splash park around and through all the
water features during aquatic warfare.
The fight begins and soon a dozen other children have joined
in. I am now running from Danae and Mathea, who are bigger and more accurate,
and a small posse of elementary school and preschool children who are hard to
identify as players until they unexpectedly pelt you with a water balloon mid stride. I can only
imagine what a great role model I look like right now, as the ringleader amidst
a small army of children all armed and chaotically surging through the splash
park. I envision terrified mothers snatching up their toddlers and taking cover
while the war rages on around them.
 |
| Cherry Berry Cheers! |
 |
| Danae, Mathea, and me, a Somewhat Responsible Adult |
We roll towels across the pickup and make for Cherry Berry.
The girls seem to be set on filling their bowls as full as possible without
losing precious toppings off the side. The sun comes out to dry us as we enjoy
our midday snack at a table outside. All too soon the day is coming to an end and we are
back at the apartment saying goodbyes. I ensure the children are safe inside
the locked apartment before leaving for Fargo. I make a call in to Amy to electronically pass the children off, as she will be home soon from work.
I'm back on the road for a familiar 75 miles south on I-29. Jaci, Hope, and I have a dinner date at Mezzaluna to catch
up on life and share some laughs. Hope has a developing chain of boutiques, Lot 2029, the newest in Fargo. The store is doing great which is wonderful, but certainly not surprising. Hope is a beautiful and fun girl who embodies fashion and a knack for forming quick relationships with her customers with her sparkling eyes and bubbly personality. She and Jaci have formed a newfound
alliance out of mutual love of fashion and general awesome personalities. Hope had needed someone to help in the store and Jaci had needed a job so I hooked them up. Jaci is crazy/sexy/cool with a touch of awkward that matches me. We met in the pageant world and our mutual weirdness keeps us close. Tonight we enjoy a fun dinner and plan to meet up at the store in the
morning. I am excited to see store 002 of Lot 2029.
Outside continues to be rainy and dreary so Jaci and I
retire to the couch at her parents house for the remainder of the evening and do nothing spectacular
besides change into sweats and watch numerous episodes of modern family. This happens to be one of my favorite things to do after long drives and great meals. Relax with good friends on comfortable couches.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
5/28/2013. - Day 63 - Maybe, tomorrow, I'll find my way home...
5/28/2013. - Day 63 - Maybe, tomorrow, I'll find my way home...
Sleep eludes me again tonight. My coffee date for the
morning was cancelled due to my friend Julia being ill, but even the extra hour
brings no rest. Grandpa and I load the bike early that afternoon and I begin
the familiar drive. It’s not as hard this time, as I feel I will be able to
return soon, but it’s still more time on the road than I’d like. Driving away
is never easy. Driving away from my grandparents is the worst.
I reach Grand Forks in time for dinner with my friends, Brian and
Allison. I get to see their new home and all the fun they have had updating and
decorating it. I’m not sure they would concede it was “fun” but I think it looks
exciting. I comment on how spacious the home is and Brian answers he has purchased it to grow with him for the future, "you know, in case things...come along." Allison and I exchange glances and Allison asks if Moose is having puppies? The subject is dropped. **Spoiler Alert: ALLISON AND BRIAN GET MARRIED.
 |
| Moose: Not a girl. Not having puppies. |
We enjoy a fantastic steak dinner compliments of our BBQ chef Brian
and spend the remainder of the evening visiting. I’m constantly reminded of how
wonderful it’s been to see so many friends on this trip, even though my time
always seems so short. I so cherish the conversations, and appreciate the generosity of so many of the people in my life letting me into their homes, and into their hearts.
5/27/2013. - Day 62 - Well it’s all over now and it sure is Monday.
5/27/2013. - Day 62 - Well it’s all over now and it sure is Monday.
The rest of the world is on holiday today, but since we are
all retired here, it’s just like any day. And any day, as my grandpa says, is like a
Saturday when you are retired. Lana and I have very specific plans for this day
though, plans that involve shopping and holiday sales and all matter of pretty
things. We also pick out some special items for me to take home for the girls.
Eden will be 3 Saturday, June 1st, the only date of importance for
basically this entire trip as this is the date I must be home by. Eden may not
remember turning three, but I will remember if I miss it.
We choose some dresses for the girls and a few books and add those to the pile of spoils we will bring home.
We choose some dresses for the girls and a few books and add those to the pile of spoils we will bring home.
I am furiously trying to write as much as possible while not
missing a bit of the action and adventure that is mine for the taking on this
trip. I am constantly writing in my head, and then subsequently scribbling onto
scraps of paper or the covers of magazines so that I don’t forget my ideas.
Sometimes I’m even smart enough to type them into the notes section on my
iPhone so that I can at least have a hope of discovering them and incorporating
them into this long story I’ve been spinning for two months.
Dinner is ready so I wrap up a paragraph and feel a tinge of
despair at all the writing I long to get out onto these pages. I’m so far
behind. I reason that I am glad to have had the adventures I did and figure I
have forever and a day to write it all down. That’s if I can remember half of
it!
I enjoy a final supper of sorts with my grandparents
tonight. Tomorrow I will have to actually pack my stuff, which I haven’t really
started, load the bike, and get out of dodge.
5/26/2013. - Day 61 - God Love Her... *The Blessing of the Bikes*
5/26/2013. - Day 61 - God Love Her...
*The Blessing of the Bikes*
Last night I was nearly too excited to sleep as I eagerly and sort of anxiously awaited the Blessing of the Bikes at The Vineyard Church. I awoke and sprang out of bed ready to hit the road. It was pretty frigid outside, and colder as I neared the lake. The morning meeting place, Perkins in West Duluth, was only about 12 miles from my grandparents’ house, but on a cold morning even 12 miles is a long way. And it's about a 10° difference in temperature.
I arrived at Perkins and see only about a dozen bikes there
this early. It’s only 8:00AM though and I’m surprised I even got up at this
hour. Who knows what I’ll do next?
Breakfast is warm and tasty, and I chat with some of the
riders before we begin our journey to the church. As we ride along in the crisp
morning air, I notice there are riders joining us all along the way. They come
from the ends of driveways, intersections, parking lots beside the roadway, and
from the other side of stop signs and the approaches of back roads. They file
in behind us in a black parade of leather and chrome. I feel self conscious right now
because I am wearing a white leather jacket, either like Elvis, or the white wizard
from the Lord of the Rings or something.
I feel terribly uncomfortable for awhile with my bright white leather sticking out amidst the black leather-clad riders around me. To the outside
world I think I must look like the virgin sacrifice in the middle of some
unruly biker gang. Awk-ward.
Soon I have to concentrate on the challenge of navigating MN
roads on a motorcycle. This is a feat in itself that resembles a round of
Minesweeper in that you must dodge potholes while trying to guess where the
next one or patch of them might be. If someone else spots one, they will
generally signal it, but this cannot be relied on. MN infrastructure leaves a
great deal to be desired. That’s an entire separate book.
I learn a considerable amount about group riding in the
short trek. Hand signals, formation, procedures, etc. are
reinforced within this convoy. As we make our way to the church, pipes rattling
the asphalt, it’s almost as if we’ve been delivered to a great festival. There
are tents and tables set up, an area where a rider is performing tricks on a stunt
bike, and parking attendants ready to make sure we squeeze as much room as
possible out of the sanctuary lot. Other congregation members must park a few
blocks away and be bussed over for the service today as the main parking lot is
reserved for two wheels only. We angle and squeeze our bikes into the spaces
designated by the parking attendants, shed some gear, and make our way inside for the service.
After the service, everyone heads outside to enjoy the sunny
weather and check out the rows of bikes glimmering in the sun. Leslie and I
walk up and down the rows, admiring the unique accessories and paint styles. A
live band plays music and everyone enjoys a BBQ. The prayer teams then begin to make their way
out into the parking lot to begin the process of blessing each bike. Riders
stand together with their arms around each other, praying for a safe riding
season. I’m incredibly moved by these tough looking groups congregating around
the bikes, heads bowed. God is so amazing in the ways he brings us together and
finds ways to remind us of the power of prayer.
The afternoon ride commences once everyone has been fed and
blessed. We ride north to the Iron Range. There are fewer potholes to dodge on
this route but I am still cautious. We stop for food and ice cream at a little
shop called K&B. I visit with the pastor and his family during this stop
and they tell me that there were over 450 motorcycles counted at the church
today. Groups of riders that wouldn’t normally even stand on the same block
were present and worshipping together in peace. I’m not surprised by this information.
I am excited for the ways Christ is working in all of these people.
I am excited for the ways Christ is working in all of these people.
We gather in a circle for a final prayer, arms around each
other’s shoulders or hands clasped together. Afterwards, the gang rallies and
we are off once again, headed back to Duluth. My turn is one of the first on
the way home, and I receive waves and salutes and well wishes from the others
as they pass. What an incredible day to be a motorcycle rider, and a Christian!
5/25/2013. - Day 60 - I Spend My Money on the Regular Miracles...
5/25/2013. - Day 60 - I Spend My Money on the Regular Miracles...
Today was largely uneventful. There are a handful of these days on my trip. To me, they aren't boring, but rather nice pauses, like commas in the middle of a long sentence. Days that I get to slow down for a moment in the midst of an incredible adventure.
We dabbled in some yard work activities in the morning. Later this afternoon, Lana and I attended the weekly jazz session at the local strip club, the Saratoga. On Saturday’s, the club turns into a swanky jazz scene which we love attending together. We arrived home just in time to enjoy supper, courtesy of John Grinden. The night was topped off with a family movie and a good night’s sleep for all. It's so good to be with family
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