Go east young man. The words came to mind as I pulled the May issue of the Christian Motorcyclists Association newsletter from the mailbox. Inside was an article about a ride CMA was hosting, Ride to the Gap, part of the Promise Keepers Stand in the Gap to be held on October 4th on the National Mall in Washington D.C. The purpose was for men to assemble together and pray for our country, families and selves.
The CMA ride began in Needles, California and headed east on Interstate 40. I laid out a route to D.C. via Arkansas, where my parents lived. My desire was to pay them a visit, particularly my dad who had suffered a recent heart attack. Then, I would join the ride in Little Rock. A workable plan, that is until my wife suffered a stroke. My knee-jerk reaction was to cancel the trip altogether. But then my wife weighed in, saying she didn’t know why, but felt I needed to go on this ride. I’d like to report that all was well in my spirit, but that was not the case. But she was adamant. In the end I formulated a new plan. I would ride straight through to Virginia and arrive just in time for the event.
At the time, I was riding a Harley FX Softail, not the ideal long distance mount, but the only one I had. As I loaded the bike, my thirteen-year old daughter handed me a lunch. I assured her the Indiana Toll Road, Ohio and Pennsylvania Turnpikes had no shortage of eating establishments. But she was persistent, so mainly to humor her I stuffed the peanut butter sandwich and carrots in the saddlebag.
One of the first things that struck me on that bright October morning was the unusually heavy traffic on the Toll Road. This only intensified as I crossed into Ohio. My first real indication of the tremendous response to the PK event’s call, was at a rest stop. It was overrun by busses, vans, and cars, many full of men bound for the same destination. There were even a few bikes. And while I was able to gas up without much trouble, buying food was another matter. The line stretched out the front door. Just as I was thinking I might starve, the little lunch my wise daughter provided came to mind.
Back on the bike, as I approached Pennsylvania I was greeted by long line at the toll booth. This was going to be a massive event indeed! Pushing onward, I achieved my goal for the night, the Prince William County Fairgrounds in Manassas, Virginia where I paid for two nights of camping.
The next morning we assembled at the local Wal-Mart for the ride into D.C. The parking lot was an ocean of bikes of all types and sizes, and an equally varied group of riders. Somehow this mass of metal, rubber, and humanity, was corralled and herded towards our goal on the other side of the Potomac. As we headed out with a full police escort, I was struck by number of machines. I later heard the count was around three-thousand. Whatever the tally, it was obvious that a great gathering of like-minded souls would soon roar into our nation’s capitol.
After a bit of a routing snafu- a missed off ramp that resulted in one of the worlds biggest motorcycle u-turns, we made our way to Robert F. Kennedy Stadium where parking was reserved for us. The atmosphere in the city was electric. As I hiked the couple of miles to the Mall which was the center of the events, I was overwhelmed by the vast river of people flowing in the same direction. In those pre-cell phone days, my first order of business was to find a pay phone. A call home allayed concerns as to my wife’s condition- she was fine. But bad news was still in the offing, as my dad’s situation had deteriorated. There was little I could do, and a creeping sense of helplessness attacked. But then I realized that while I was over a thousand miles away, the huge number of believers present would surely have the ear of God. I prayed. After all the scripture says where two or three are gathered together He is in their midst.
Before I could make my way to the services which were already underway, a more temporal issue had to be dealt with. I needed a bathroom. Another pressing need was finding my brother who also was at the event but hadn’t heard the news about our dad. Soon I spied what had to be the longest line of port-a-potties ever assembled. Miraculously, my brother exited the first one I approached.
I do not wish to minimize the actual Stand in the Gap event in any way, it was as powerful a gathering of Christian men that could be imagined. But, for me the real spiritual strength gained from the day was put to use after I left D.C.
My personality is such that I have a need to be in control of circumstances. Given this, it was a real blow when I became hopelessly lost in the city. As I rode aimlessly all I could think of was that my plan of leaving D.C. and hightailing it home was being blown out of the water. Tired, frustrated and lost, I finally asked a passerby to point me in the right direction to Manassas.
Since I’d paid for two nights, I figured I’d head to the fairgrounds, get some rest and head out early the next morning. What happened soon after I’d fallen asleep is something I still wrestle with. I don’t know whether it was a literal voice, or merely an impression on my mind and it doesn’t matter. But one thing is for sure, orders were issued.
The words were simple, and they were clear: get up, let’s roll. In the pre-9/11 time-frame this soon to be famous utterance didn’t seem too out of the ordinary to me. . . I would routinely use that same directive when the kids were unresponsive to the clock. And like the kids, I had the same reaction. I went back to sleep.
The next command was a repeat of the first, but a bit firmer. This time I obeyed, broke camp and headed out marveling that everybody else tarried so long at what I assumed to be 6 AM. When one of the few that were up told me it was 1AM, I didn’t believe it. It would mean I’d been asleep for only a couple of hours, yet I felt totally refreshed. No matter, in short order I was roaring up I-81 towards home. Or so I thought.
My exit at I-70 was easy to spot as a town in Maryland at the exit was also named Frederick. All that was required was to head west. Instead I blew by the sign as though it weren’t there and continued north on I-81. It was as if I was not the pilot of my machine, but merely a passenger.
After about an hour, I began to see tell-tale evidence of a wrong turn; signs alerting that Harrisburg, Pennsylvania was less than twenty miles away. This was a major screw up as it meant I was far northeast of my turnoff point. Under normal circumstances I would have wheeled the bike around and sped to the “correct” destination. But that’s not what happened. Just ahead I saw an off-ramp. At the base was a gas station. As I geared the FX down with pipes backfiring, breaking the early morning silence, I figured I may as well gas up and find out where I really was. The attendant confirmed that yes, I was minutes away from the state capitol and consequently, far from where I thought I should be.
As I mulled this over, I noticed a young man looking at the Softail. He was in his late twenties, slim and clean cut. Unfortunately, he’d also had a bit too much to drink earlier in the evening. Friendly enough, he commented on my out-of-state plate, asking where I’d come from and where I was heading. My mention of Promise Keepers seemed to set off a torrent of emotion in him. He confessed that his drinking wasn’t pleasing to God- many times he’d tried to “get it together” but the temptation was too great. He said he’d been asking for a sign that he should yield his life to Christ.
My reply was direct and to the point. “I should be half way to Ohio, but God obviously has other plans. Today is the day of salvation. Can I pray with you?” He readily agreed and there in a place I didn’t think I should be a life was transformed. Not by my power, strength, or even plan. No, it was the God of heaven who cared enough about a life to set up a series of events that came together in a gas station parking lot in the middle of the night.
I’d done a lot of riding over the previous few days and was pretty rung out. It wasn’t particularly cold for early October, but I began to shiver none the less. My new brother-in-Christ saw this and invited me to his home for some food and rest. I could have used both, but declined his gracious offer. I wish I would have accepted, as it would have been nice to keep in touch and follow the progress in his new life. I pray he is doing well. And it turns out my wife was right; I did need to go on that ride.
