Shocked in Walmart

I had to run out to Walmart to buy some tissue for my daughter who has come down sick over the holidays.

On Christmas Day, our children open their stockings before my wife and I roll out of bed from our Christmas slumber.  The first words uttered by both were “Thanks for our spin brushes!”  Imagine excitement and appreciation over a toothbrush.  

We are blessed with thankful and giving children.  While shopping before Christmas, my daughter asked for her $10 allowance in fives.  My wife gave her two fives and she promptly walked to the Salvation Army kettles and gave away half of her money.

As we opened gifts, we received appreciation for every gift.  Seriously, every gift was appreciated, from socks and underwear, to shirts, to a DSI and a camera.  It didn’t matter if it was what they wanted, they were thankful to receive.  Sometimes we take for granted that our children are truly good kids who are respectful and kind.

I was reminded tonight while in Walmart that not everyone is as thankful.  Cashier asks me, “How was your Christmas?”  I reply that it was good, but that it passed so quickly.  I asked how hers was to which she replied, “It wasn’t that good.”  Empathetically I said, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

At this point I expected to hear a comment about an illness or sad event within the family.  Instead, I was almost shocked to hear this:

“It’s wasn’t anything really bad, I just didn’t like what I got.”  

This young lady, probably 19 years old, maybe early 20’s explained that she was given “stuff to live on my own.  I guess I got the hint.”

Gee, wonder why!  I don’t think I want an ungrateful princess living under my roof either.  

Thankfully, I don’t.

It’s good to be reminded of our own blessings, but it’s a shame that others live with misfortune, or selfishness.  These things become choices.  She could look at her gifts in such was that she is now more prepared for independence as she embarks on a new phase of her life, but instead she looks with greed and selfishness.  Such a way to wreck a perfectly good Christmas.

Everyone has a story.   What’s yours?  Are you thankful for your blessings?

Dear Tepperman's

Dear Tepperman’s,

My family was out and about on Boxing Day when we heard your advertisement “Pay nothing, no money down, no payments, no interest for 18 months on approved credit!”  

We had been looking at getting a new TV since our 52” rear projection LCD was in need of a $400 bulb.  We drove to the store on Wharncliffe Road in London, passed through the doors that proudly announce “Family to family, that’s the difference.”  How nice!  

We looked around that vast home furnishings and made our way to the TV and electronics section.  We ideally wanted another LCD, but the 60” plasma was very inviting.  We decided that since we were already approved for $10,000 we would go ahead and take the $1500 television - for $0 down, no payments and no interest.

Well, that was until our sales rep advised that he required a 15% deposit on the TV.  Um, no, I don’t think so.  We shared with him the ad on the radio.  He looked at the ad in the paper which supported our position.  We weren’t planning to pay anything.  Mr. Sales Rep asked another rep who said, there was no money down except for 15%, a sort of “goodwill gesture” that we would fulfill our end of the contract.

Anyone see the irony in his statement?

So we asked again, are you going to give us the TV with nothing down, no payments, no interest?  No.

Well, we spent cash this Christmas, without taking any debt on.  We didn’t need a TV right now, but 18 months without payments and we could have paid it off anyway.  Instead, we walked away without a new TV.  More importantly, Tepperman’s lost a sale that day.

“Family to family, that’s the difference.”  One thing you forgot Tepperman’s...my family doesn’t lie to me.

Regards,

Todd Rowley

Most people know her as Barbie, one of the tattoo artists at Hardcore Tattoos and Piercings, located at 397 Talbot Street in St. Thomas. By the end of November, she hoped to be known in the Guinness Book of World Records as the artist who has given the most tattoos in a 24 hour period. The number you ask? At least 802, but Barbie has higher aspirations.

Mandy gets some work done by Barbie

A longtime St. Thomas resident, having attended both Arthur Voaden Secondary School and Central Elgin Collegiate , Barbie began at Hardcore Tattoos and Piercing six years ago as an apprentice. Having completed her high school co-op placement there, it was Barbie’s “love of art” that drew her to the unique field of choice. Much has changed in six years; she has completed her apprenticeship and has been tattooing full time for the past three years. Barbie has even taken first place in the “Biker Theme” category during the tattoo competition at the Canadian Biker Build Off held annually in Wellend, Ontario.

Kat Von D from LA Ink fame set the original record at 417, which has been shattered a number of times since and the record now sits at 801. Barbie is confident that she will set a new record, hoping to surpass 850, possibly closing in on the 1000 mark.  Barbie planned to tattoo an outlined 3” by 3” cancer ribbon, with shading in a choice of colours to reflect the cancer being recognized.  With each tattoo, a $20 donation was required with all money raised going to support the Canadian Cancer Society.

With a number of supply donations from community businesses, Barbie has been well stocked with the needed gloves, masks, cleaners and razors. Stencils were prepared and everyone was in place.  

I was there at noon on November 27 when Barbie began the task.  Francie Bisson was number one, getting her first tattoo ever, inked forever on her leg.  Francie lost a sister and an aunt to cancer.   One down.  801 to go.

By 5:00 p.m., a friend of mine had his done, and he was number 80.  Seems like things aren't moving fast enough by my calculations to pull this off, but I know Barbie was excited about his and the team at Hardcore wanted her to succeed.

I went back at 8:30 p.m. to follow up.  It wasn't looking good.  Barbie was in pain.  Her back was sore, but much worse, her hand was stiff, sore and swelling.  She iced it, she wrapped and kept at it.  Until 10:30 p.m. when she called it quits.  Over 200 tattoos were done, but far from the record.

Barbie decided to take a week off to heal from the ordeal.  She was in pain, but more so was disappointed.  It's okay though.  Remember the $20 donation that was required?  In just ten and a half hours, Barbie was able to donate over $6000 to the Canadian Cancer Society.  That's something to be proud of.

Everyone has a story.  Francie is wearing hers for everyone to see.

X'n Biker - Canada's Christian Biker Magazine

Earlier in the year I was conversing with my mom about my job.  I explained that I had been in the same field for roughly sixteen years and that I had just about enough of it.  In a field with high turnover and quick burnout, I am long past my expiration date if the statistics are to be believed.

So what is it that I would rather do?  Well, I just wasn’t sure.  

I love being out on my motorcycle, attending different bike events and charity rides.  I enjoy the friendship that happens just because of a shared interest.  

I enjoy writing.  Not just any writing though, writing that can share someone else’s stories and experiences.  Writing that is personal and relatable.  Writing that gives some entertainment, but also has a point - usually.  

I appreciate travel.  When my son, Jordan, and I went to Cuba on a missions trip, I explained to him and other younger travelers that they will get out of an experience what they put into it.  I believe that.  When you are given the opportunity to embrace a new culture, a new experience or a life story of a person, you are being given a gift to make the most of.

Wouldn’t it be great to be a writer for a motorcycle magazine?  

I spent considerable time combing the magazine racks at various stores in the area.  I went online to check out biker magazines to see what was happening.  There are so many magazines out there competing for advertisers, rack space and web traffic!  Bagger mags, custom mags, H-D mags, sport mags, off road mags, test ride and new product mags.  Some are very well put together, others, well, there are others that are no more than a poorly produced newsletter online.

Then it struck me.  Something was missing.  There are no Canadian Christian biker mags on the market.  There was one running out of California that was a well put together publication, but it seems to have ceased production.  There are a couple of other Christian “magazines” that run online but seem to stem from an existing religious organizations that promote their ideology rather than the Christian biker culture and the works of God in the world.

There it is, the idea that is slowly moving through the gears, revving up to the launch of X’n Biker - Canada’s Christian Biker Magazine, coming in 2011!

X’n Biker will provide well written articles of interest, news and encouragement.  I am hoping for a Chaplain's corner with submissions from various Ministry Chaplains, a note from the editor/publisher, clean humour, a ride list, a Question and Answer section serving as a forum for bikers to pose questions and offer answers, a “First Ride” page, and a “Current Ride” page profiling various bikers' rides.  I would like to include a ministry profile story at each issue.  We are all in this together, sharing God’s Word to the world we are in and need to be supportive of each other in this mission.  Most importantly, X'n Biker will also feature testimonies and reports from the front line of our unique mission field.

Everyone has a story.  Every Christian has a past and every sinner has a future.  

If this is an endeavour that you are interested in pursuing on a voluntary basis, send me a sample of your writing or photography for consideration.  All submitted materials will, of course, be subject to editing and space consideration, but the integrity of the submissions will be maintained.

Morgan and Skip

It’s been too long since I had the chance to sit and write.  Today, I am making the time amidst the chaos of home renos.  My lost time started with our van needing repairs, followed by a bathroom that needed a new floor, which leads to far more work than anticipated, followed by a repainting of our living room which was the wrong colour so that is now being used in the kitchen that my wife is painting while I stop to write.  The kids are back in school, youth groups begin, my son started cadets this year and is already on a weekend camp venture.

The past month has been somewhat of a blur really.  At the same time, two distinct introductions stand clear in my mind.  Morgan and Skip.

While I was up north, when I wrote the post about howling coyotes, I had the chance to meet Morgan.  He is a friend of my mother-in-law’s.  I have long heard of this somewhat reclusive man and wanted to meet him in his home.  I briefly met him a number of years ago, but little more than in introduction.

We made plans to visit him and when we arrived he greeted us at the door welcoming us in.  Morgan lives in a round 45 foot cabin, all one room and very cozy.  He explained to me that he has a different view of the industrialized world which is why he has chosen to live in his cabin.  Morgan’s water supply comes from his catch basins connected to his downspouts leading from his metal roof.  He has only a small generator to power his radio in the cabin, and a series of propane powered lamps that line the inside of his home.  He prepares all of his meals on one of two wood stoves, the other solely for heat.

Morgan’s home is decorated with memories from his past with items such as linens he purchased in other countries, photos from past projects and pottery that he made by hand.  Morgan has traveled the globe.  His last travel was by tall ship that he help sew the sails for.  He has photos that were taken of a home in Peru that he helped rebuild.  The home was a collapsed ruin from the 1500’s.  The archeologist in him was interested in the ruins themselves, but the engineer in him was more interested in recreating the past, and it won over his other feelings.

Morgan was honored that I would want to take pictures of his home and when I brought out my Canon EOS 30D he was immediately interested.  He once was an avid photographer but when the digital age dawned he turned the page on the chapter of his life.  Morgan brought out his old camera that was like new.  I hadn’t held anything like it in my hands before.  It was about half the size of my camera, but at least as heavy.  Looking at his photos from years past, he was quite to photographer for his time.

Did I mention that Morgan was bare chested and wearing skirt?  We talked over dinner about cross dressing and his belief that women began cross dressing during the war when they began work in the factories as men went off to battle.  The women workers had to trade in their dresses for pants and a new age took shape.  Morgan, although he won’t wear his skirt in town, since some people couldn’t handle it in the small northern town, wears it at home as it is comfortable and freeing.  I don’t think my kids could handle it if I wore a skirt.  Imagine if I showed up at a bike event in a skirt!  Good for you Morgan.  As odd as it struck me, I respect his stand for what he believes.

I will keep in touch with Morgan.  I will write him soon, since he doesn’t have email.

Two weeks after meeting Morgan, I met Skip.  I received a call from our chapter president, Terry, saying that Skip called him and was interested in working with the Tillsonburg Chapter of Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry.  Cool.  Who’s Skip?  Apparently he had seen us flying the flag on the way to Friday the 13th in Port Dover and became interested.  A few weeks later he read an article that I had written about a fund raising ride we were doing for Fresh Start that ran in a local paper.  He went online, read about the ministry and called us.

On the day of the ride, Skip came out to meet us at the church where we began our ride.  Nice man.  He’s in a band called Mercy Train.  He has a long history in the music industry, playing with people like Janis Joplin and Steve Miller.  I know those names, sounds interesting.  As it turns out, Skip is the Skip Prokop from Lighthouse.  Now I was able to begin putting this all together.  While our Chaplain, Dave, and I were talking with Skip, he explained that while he was on our website, he was encouraged and moved that we took a stand for our beliefs, spoke the word and didn’t hide behind our colours.  Skip felt lead to work alongside our chapter should the circumstance arise that we needed a band for any events.  Before we parted way, Skip gave us his email address, a few CD’s and a bio that he had printed off.

As the week went on, I learned more about Skip, listening to the Mercy Train CD, reading online about the man and the bands like Lighthouse and The Paupers, and hearing from someone that since Skip had contacted us, we shouldn’t “let him go” as he was the best and most sought after drummer in the music industry of his time.

When I got around to emailing Skip, he called me and left a message to call him at home.  As soon as I did, we made arrangements to get together for lunch at his place.  Interesting.  Skip is a four time Juno award winner, has gold and platinum albums as well as numerous other awards from his time with Lighthouse, which by the way, continues to perform today.  

When I arrived to meet Skip at his home, it was the usual getting to know a person sort of thing.  His home had just been completely renovated and we swapped stories as I had just had to tear apart my bathroom, and would be working through the rest of the house over time.

As we sat at the dining table and drank coffee, I listened as Skip opened up about his life, his success, he challenges, his good times and the bad.  He is a living example that no matter how big a person gets, he can still be humble, humbled, and real.  

Of no real difference to anyone reading this, I had homemade chicken soup that his wife made, and my first ever toasted salmon sandwich.  It was good and I realized I have been missing out on this tasty slice of life.  Mmmm.  I wonder if she caters?

Mercy Train is currently in studio right now working on the new album coming out in 2011.  We listened to the tracks that they have down so far and I must say, it is going to be a great album and I would encourage anyone to get their hands on a copy.  These guys have a solid full sound that spans worship and rock, with a consistent message throughout about God, his love, grace and of course, his Mercy.

I will be heading with Skip to the studio next week to meet the rest of the band and spend some time with them while they record.

To add to an already unique experience, Skip let me hold one of his Juno awards, and like Morgan’s camera, I had never held anything like in my hands before.  Skip’s wife wanted his awards to be on the shelf in the living room, although he doesn’t hold on to the past with anything other than his memories.  He is indeed humble.  Talented and gifted, but humble and gracious.

I am so blessed to meet people on my own way through life that, if it weren’t for God’s hand, I just wouldn’t meet.  I am constantly reminded that whether it’s you or me, Morgan or Skip, everyone has a story.  

Howl in the Night

There are some sounds that stir up very basic and raw emotions.  Some man-made while others rise from nature.  The rumble of a motorcycle.  The roar of engines at the drag strip.  The sudden crack of thunder in a summer storm.  The cry of a newborn baby.

As the sun was set, the dark ink-blue sky settled into the tree line and the blue turned black.  Night time settled on rural landscape in northern Ontario.  I was multi-tasking, as I often do.  We had just returned from North Bay, from shopping for back to school clothes and sharing a brief reunion with a girl who once attended our youth program.  I stood outside barbecuing burgers and reading chapter two of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger as the porch light gave the only functional glow.  One of the sounds that stirs a soul rose from beyond the darkened tree line.  The howling of coyotes filled the distant air.

Haunting.

A raw, basic connection was made when the sounds of the wild and heart of man met at a precise moment.  Leaving the urban landscape to spend a weekend in the north reminds me that there is much more to life than the daily grind of work, the traffic, the constant night glow of streetlights and cityscapes.  There is a very basic co-existence with nature.

I felt as though I was thrust back in time to a point where I shared the space with the wild.  In the city, it’s easy.  People rule and nature must adapt to the ‘advances’ of mankind.  Here though, I think I am on their turf, subject to their rules.  With every howl, I was reminded that I was not alone in the darkness.  I am no longer the predator, in fact, I could be prey.

I was awakened at 3:00 a.m.  I was in the house.  I was sleeping, until the dog in the living room barked.  The howling of coyotes was now so loud, it was heard from inside.  I learned in the morning that they were in the yard around the house.  Now, I understand that we were safe and sound in the house, but with only a patio door made of glass separating us, we were like animals in a zoo.  I was on the inside, being kept from the animals.  Maybe they were at the windows and doors looking in on us like circus side shows and their howling were laughs as they shared stories and jokes of other people they had seen in days passed.  Maybe they tried to feed us and get us to wake up and do tricks for their pleasure and entertainment.

Probably not.  But everyone has a story.  Maybe, just maybe, even the coyotes.

It's okay to be a man hater, apparently.

The man haters club.  I know women in this group, and I am told often of their membership affiliation.  “I’m the President of the man haters club.”  Do I need to know that?  Being a man, I wonder why this is acceptable.

I don’t recall the last time it was acceptable to say to a black person, “I am the President of the black haters club” or to a a woman, “No offense, but I hate all women.”  I dare you to try and get away saying, “I hate gays.”  These things don’t happen without recourse.  These statements are seen as racist, sexist or just plain hate-speech.

Help me to understand this, then.  Why is it acceptable to make comments about hating men?  “All men are pigs.”  “All men are cheaters and liars.”  “I will never trust a man.”  “I am the president of the man haters club.”

Do you know what happens if a man stands up for himself?  Is he applauded for his ability to rise up in the face of adversity and the onslaught of criticism?  Is he praised for using his voice to represent men everywhere?  No.  He is told that he is proving an ingrained belief pattern of male supremacy, or that he is proving that he his male privilege.  Really?

I was told earlier this year that by an openly gay man that employers should get to the place where they are able to explain to potential candidates that their beliefs don’t fit the mold and they should look elsewhere.  What beliefs?  Christian beliefs.  Biblically founded beliefs.  He wanted to be heard, respected and listened to.  Me, I couldn’t speak openly because I was being intolerant.  He has his beliefs, I have my beliefs.  His are right, mine are wrong.  Interesting.  I would like to say mine are right and his are wrong, but, once again, I would be considered intolerant and subject to further criticism.

I said to this man, whether anyone is black or white, straight or gay, Muslim or Christian, I really don’t care because we are all people.  I asked what the problem was with this approach.  He told me that I wasn’t appreciative of the plight of the gay culture.  Seriously?

So I called a gay colleague, who is well aware of my beliefs and values, and I of his.  We have talked many times, shared many laughs and talked about our respective families.  I explained my thoughts of this past conversation and he assured me that despite our differences of which there are many, mutual respect rises above the differences.

Everyone has a story.  I wish we could all be open and respectful of our differences.

Church in a bar? Cool!

I found myself at Boomer’s Roadhouse in Waterford, Michigan on Sunday.  I don’t tend to frequent bars, but sometimes a motorbike event takes me to one.  This was different though.  The owner of Boomers opens up his bar one Sunday a month for the Michigan Chapter of the Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry to hold church.  Church in a bar?  Absolutely!  

When Jesus gave the command to go into the world and preach the gospel, He wasn’t talking about building a church building and hope they show up.  It’s not a reality anymore that the church building is the refuge place for those in pain and seeking comfort.  Christians need to get into the world and meet people where they are at.  These Heaven’s Saints are taking the commission and going into the world.

The wait staff are also there voluntarily.  This is one day that they are not paid to work, but they serve us with joy and exemplary service.  The general feeling amongst the bikers is to bless the staff there, with courtesy and great tips.  

At this service, Michigan Chapter Road Captain Roger Crawford shared his story in an interview style setting with Michigan Chapter Chaplain Victor Torres.

Roger is a Vietnam Veteran.  “I was a peaceful man, but Vietnam turned me violent” he said with tears already choking his words.  His first week at war he witnessed 70 men dead in an attack.  Picking up body parts was a part of initiation into Vietnam.

Roger wanted to be a mechanic, instead he was made into a medic.  “I saved some lives, I guess.”  The pain is clear as Roger spoke of his trauma.  Vietnam hurt this man, this brother.  When anyone was killed or seriously wounded in a battle, the front line men were moved to the back for a 3-day break.  Problem is, at the back, there’s ample access to heroin, pot and alcohol.  Roger had his share.  He explained that the troops would get stoned, high and drunk for three days.  “It’s how we handled death.”

This created the foundation for the next 30 years of Roger’s life.  When he returned from battle, he was a violent man.  He knew the drug trade and turned to it as a means of making much needed money.  He became a dealer.  “That’s what I learned in Nam.”

Roger was also abusive.  His voice shook as he opened himself to judgement as he spoke of the abuse he put his wife through, “She should have left a long time ago, but she stayed.”  In 1991, Roger made a “deal with the DA” and had his wife charged, so he could stay a free man.  This was indeed a low point for Roger.

In time, Roger hung himself in an attempt to end the painful life that was all too familiar.  His attempt was unsuccessful and he woke up 8 days later in the hospital.  His first words, “Did I wreck my bike?”

Three years ago, Roger ended up at Boomer’s Roadhouse, much like this Sunday.  Victoria Torres, Victor’s daughter, sang Amazing Grace - which I believe is one of the greatest songs ever written.  Roger shared that his father’s favorite song was Amazing Grace, and he had just passed away.  Hearing Victoria sing the words to the song was “like my dad was standing behind me, talking to me.”  Roger explained at that moment, God’s hand started to work through his life.  In the parking lot at Boomer’s, amongst the chrome and shine of polished bikes, Roger asked for God’s forgiveness.  His life began to change, he hasn’t smoked pot since that day.  Roger says, “You have to want to change.”  Despite all that he has been through, it was three years ago that Roger heard God’s call on his heart, and he wanted the change.  

John 10:7-10a says, Jesus therefore said unto them again, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep.  All that came before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not hear them.  I am the door, by me, if any man shall enter in he shall be saved.

Roger has a story.  A story with a blessed lesson.  No matter what, no matter the mistakes, the pain, the drugs, the alcohol, the violence, God is calling in your life.  You have to want to accept, you have to want to change.

Everyone has a story.

A Day of Firsts

It was indeed a day of firsts.

Last year when we traveled to Cuba on a missions trip, I shared with the younger team members that they would get out of the trip just what they put into it, and encouraged them to embrace the opportunities that lay ahead.  It’s a philosophy that could really be carried out in daily life.

This morning we attended the fair where my HSMM brother, Super Dave, was sharing the message.  I had not heard him speak before in a public setting and was pleased with his God-given confidence.  Hearing Super Dave share a message - a first.  Afterwards, some of the other HSMM brothers and sisters were talking about our experiences in the past and how blessed we are to be in fellowship with one another.

As my family and I walked through the fair we came across a fry truck selling poutine, and we wanted some.  Let me tell you, many places claim to have poutine, but these guys knew what they were doing.  Real hand cut home fries, hot gravy - not lumpy or with the skin floating on it - shredded white cheese on a plate well worth the $5.  If you ever run across Mustards Last Stand, stop in try the poutine.

The usual petting zoo was at the fair; the one with the goats, the pigs, the llama, the alpaca, the porcupine, the....wait a minute.  Those two porcupines were there only to look at.  They really are quite adorable creatures.  Also there was a two week old lion cub.  We each took the time to pet this little guy.  If you have ever pet a young sheep, it feels much the same.  Tight fur that feels fresh and new.  He had playful eyes and sharp claws.  The pads on his feet were like soft leather, much like those on my childhood pet raccoon, Mandy.  Another first for the day.

There was an elephant at the fair this time as well.  Such amazing creatures.  Giants, but gentle at the same time.  I know guys like this.

The afternoon and evening were spent with friends.  Sue and John are a great couple.  They are real, down to earth, honest friends.  We laughed, we shared stories of our work in ministry, our kids played together, played cards and ate good food.  Sue and John are Mennonite, not horse and buggy mennonite, but Mexican Mennonite.  I tried these cheese stuffed peppers that were deep fried in dough.  Thems is some good eatin’, and another first for the day.

John recently bought a .22 caliber shotgun.  I have never shot a gun, aside from a pellet or BB gun, so we took the time to get armed and do some shootin’.  There it was, another first for the day and I gotta say, I quite enjoyed it.  Makes one feel like a man!

As we headed out for home around 9:00 p.m., I took a road that is mainly inhabited by horse and buggy mennonites.  It would seem the Amish were all heading home from church at this hour, I had not seen this many buggies before on one road.  Horse and buggies on the road at night is different than in the daytime.  I was on my motorbike and didn’t want to scare the horses, who are pretty comfortable on the roads anyway, so I took it slow.  I was distracted at one point with a seemingly random light shining in amongst the trees.  As I rode closer, I saw that it was an Amish lady, dressed in black, using a flashlight to lead another Amish Mennonite in a wheelchair.  That’s not a sight you often see.

All in all, after the 15 or more buggies, we made it closer to home, only to hit rain, but we arrived safe and sound.

The evening ended with word that my HSMM brother, Campy, had lost his 93 year old mom this afternoon.  He was able to be with her, holding her hand as she died.  God bless you and bring you peace Campy.

No matter our age or the life we have left in us, we just never know the day or time when it will come to a close.  Embrace each day you have.  Take the ‘firsts’ in you life and make memories.  You get out of life what you put into it.

Everyone has a story.  Make yours.

Friday the 13th

It’s a strange phenomenon, this biker brotherhood.  Friday the 13th in Port Dover was a spectacle to be experienced.  There really isn’t anything to do there aside from the repeated walk through the village admiring bikes of all kinds, all sizes and makes, stock to tricked out customs that only the rare gifted mind can create.

In Dover, we are all bikers, or at least, bike enthusiasts.  Colours or not, affiliations or not, Harleys or Hondas we all get along for this special day reserved for the small port side town of 4000.  The town swells to well over 100,000 people with some estimates upwards of 250,000 people with over 15,000 bikes.  All for one day, then we go home.

While we were immersed in the sea of people, handing out free water and Barry Mayson DVD’s (former Hells Angels President turned Christian and founder of Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry), we shared laughs and stories with our own ministry brothers from Windsor, Tilbury, Harrow and Michigan.  We packed it in around 4:30 p.m. when the crowds grew smaller but the parties pick up and the shirts come off.  This definitely isn’t a family event after a certain hour.

We continued the next day in Tillsonburg with The Day After, held at the Upper Deck Youth Centre.  It was a day of socializing and relaxing.  We see each other at rides and the occasional barbecue, but often we miss the chance to get to know each other by embracing the down time.  That’s what this day was for.  And it was a good day.

We learned later that it was tragic for others.  

International Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry President Curtis Jamieson and his wife Patty were in a car accident that totaled their truck.  Other than Curtis’ pulled back, the couple is fine.  Brothers TT and Lamar were riding in Alabama on Friday when a car pulled out in front of them.  Lamar clipped the car and was injured, but is generally alright.  Tommy “TT” struck the car straight on the side and later died on Saturday of his injuries.

I know Curtis, Patty and TT.  They are brothers and sisters in the ministry and they all have a heart for God.  Curtis and Patty are two of the most enthusiastic people I have ever met.  Their love of God is contagious! 

TT was always smiling, moving around and may have needed a bit of Ritalin, but he was a joy to be with and his sense of excitement spread wherever he was.  His passing brings a loss to the Saints, especially the Phenix City, Alabama chapter, from which he was the President.  TT joins fellow Saint and founder Barry Mayson in Heaven.  We can be sure the two of them are drinking in the pure joy of the heavenly brotherhood.

Everyone has a story.  How will you be remembered?

Shattered Solitude

I was sitting on what was to be a quiet lunch break when I found my solitude interrupted by people seeking the intrigue of the location. I had parked my motorcycle at the edge of a 300 foot cliff overlooking the north shore of Lake Erie, hoping to sit back, enjoy my home packed lunch and do some reflection and writing. This was short lived dream.

An older couple was touring the countryside in the old convertible when they noticed the worn sign directing them to the cliff. The couple lives in the lake side village of Port Dover, a couple hours east of here. Port Dover is a lovely little village with the character of a post card photo that makes you long for days gone by. But whenever a Friday the 13th rolls around on a calendar, Dover transforms into Canada’s own one day Sturgis event. This year’s event, which falls in August, expects to see over 15,000 bikes and over 200,000 people take over the village of 4000 residents. My family will be among the hoards of motorcycle enthusiasts, riders and hardcore bikers.

The couple who stopped by the cliff location where I sought some peace had never before been to the cliff. It is such a unique location at the end of a dirt road that is not commercialized in any way. Other the barrier in the small parking area, the cliff and the effects of gravity are accessible to anyone feeling inclined to view the rapid decline.


As they were leaving, a young guy showed up. We had a bit of small talk – it’s difficult to ignore a guy sitting on a motorcycle at the cliff’s edge I suppose. When he walked back my way after a short trek along the edge, I had my notebook out to do some writing. Marcio, as it turned out was his name, asked if I was writing in my journal. I explained that I was an aspiring writer and he told me his journal was in the truck he had parked in the lot just of the hill. Curious, I asked why he had a journal, since there are few males who would admit to such a past time.

Marcio was visiting family in the area for the first time since the earthquake in Haiti. He lives in West Virginia but had travelled to Haiti on his first missions trip; he is just 21. The trip was not to help with restoration, but rather his team had arrived prior to the quake and was just seven miles from the epicenter when it struck the island nation. Marcio and his team were relatively safe, with only minor injuries, but the home of the family next to them fell and killed many of the more than 20 people living there.


The team was heli-vac’d out of Haiti to the safety of a country not in ruins. Instead of coming home, Marcio returned to Haiti to help with the rescue and rebuild for the next four and a half months. In one single day he witnessed the mass grave filled with 150,000 bodies. We can’t imagine. We don’t want to.

My quiet and peaceful lunch was shattered by people, but I am reminded of the blessings I have. That I can take time to ride out to the cliff’s edge to meet people and share stories of travel and life’s adventures. I am reminded at opportune times that everyone has a story. It may not be the time that you want to hear if, but if you stop and listen just maybe you will be filled with passion and inspiration to pursue your own dreams and desires.

Tractor Parade

We watched the news last night and a story caught my eye.  Finally, something different!  This wasn’t a walk or a run for charity, this wasn’t a motorcycle ride (although there is nothing wrong with these and I enjoy everyone I am on), no, this was something new.  

Taking place in Dresden was “The Greatest Tractor Parade: Farmers Driving Out Cancer!”  Their website states “The purpose of the parade is to raise money for the Canadian Cancer Society. Meanwhile we’ll be having fun trying to break the Guinness World Record for the “largest parade of farm tractors”.   As of this morning, the record was 601 tractors, at an event in Sterling, Ontario.  This was going to be different.  On the news, reports were a tally of over 700 tractors.

We decided to hit the road and enjoy a novelty that was pledged to be a one time event.   We soon found the back country road where the parade was to begin.  The time came and the rumbles began as tractors of all makes and models, all sizes huge and small started their engines.  Okay, this isn’t quite what happened.  Many did start, but far more stayed idle for some time as the line up of tractors was so enormous.  It would be some time before they were ready to leave the staging grounds for some time.  

For three hours, we watched John Deere, CASE, International, White, New Holland, Moline, Kubota, Massey-Harris, Massey-Ferguson, Ford, Cockshutt, Leyland, Farmall, Allis-Chalmers and Duetz.  The came in small hobby farm-sized tractors with front-end loaders to move around “natural fertilizer”, medium sized ones that seemed to dominate the parade, and some ridiculously large ones that I just struggle to fathom the need for.  But then again, my choice mode of transportation has just two wheels.  A tractor has four right?  Except for the one with only three, a fair number with six, a few with eight and even one with ten tires!  Who needs that?

The parade started at roughly 12:45pm.  We left at 3:45pm, not long after tractor number 602 left the staging grounds.  I like tractors.  One day I would like to have one, although I don’t really know why.  Maybe it’s a guy thing.  But after three hours, come one.  I had the chance to speak with one lady who seemed to be in the know and she explained that the count was upwards of 1200 tractors and the organizers were overwhelmed with pride.  That’s right, 1200 tractors.  Just three hours into the parade and we were just past half way.  For us, that was a wrap.  We started up the car and headed the opposite direction of the parade.  You know how annoying and challenging it can be to get around one tractor while your trying to get to your destination?  Imagine passing 600!

Everyone has a story.  What a story these farmers will have as they share their experiences in the world’s largest parade of tractors who raised over $70,000 for their cause.

Check out the video link here.

My Indian Brother

After work on Tuesday, a few of us gathered at Legends Tavern for 35 cent wings.  We shared some great laughs as we often do, but for me, this evening was a bit different.  

Riding with a motorcycle ministry, it is easy to wear my colours outside of my own city.  At home though, there is the likelihood that I will encounter people I know, and the awkwardness can creep in.  I need to stand completely unashamed of my faith, (which, by the way, is easier to do when it’s not emblazoned across your back), so this time, I rode my bike and wore my colours to the bar.  I was not ashamed, even though there were people there who I knew, and a few that felt the need to stare, confused why a Christian flag, and a "Jesus Is Lord" rocker would be at the bar.  I’ve been in the bars before with my colours, but typically at the end of an organized ride or fund raiser.  Not this time.  And it was different.  

After wings, Dennielle and I rode down to the beach.  We stopped at Mackies in Port Stanley.  I have been to Mackies more times than I care to count and consumed more calories that I can count, but there was something different this time.  

Mackies is a great place with Orange-ade - the stuff legends are made of - and the best dipping sauce.  I have no idea what it is, but it’s fantastic on fries and this sauce kicks Swiss Chalet’s butt.  The other great aspect of Mackies is their recognition of motorcycles and local sports celebrities.  Joe Thornton’s jerseys from his various teams and leagues are signed and plastered up throughout the place, and outside there is a designated parking section for motorcycles only.  There’s something almost magical about bikes and the beach.

When I was walking through the restaurant, I noticed a man with biker colours on, but I didn’t recognize them.  They looked Native and that was new to me.  

Dennielle and I sat outside for a while just taking in the sights and sounds of the beach.  Two people, presumably a couple, were casually scouring the beach with metal detectors in hopes of finding enough for retirement.  I read that Dave Booth of Scotland who had only had a metal detector for five days made a discovery that rocked his world and changed his life. He discovered an “incredibly rare cache of five gold treasure pieces that were grouped tightly together - three intact necklace and two fragments of another.”  Reportedly, the discovery soon had international interest.  According to Kelly Code Detectors, “these four golden neck pieces, referred to as ‘torcs,’ are estimated to date 300 an 100 BC. Early speculation has been that his "Stirlingshire Hoard" could fetch more than $1.5 million!”  I think it is safe to assume this isn’t happening in Port Stanley, but if it did, this couples lives would be forever changed.

Aside from treasure hunters, the beach had many families enjoying their evening out, splashing in the water, giggles and childhood yells could be heard.  Seagulls had all come home from the Wal-Mart parking lot for the night and were occasionally stirred up as children ran through the flock.

After some time, the biker and two women came outside.  They were taking some pictures and I offered to take a couple of the three of them, Lake Erie in the background.   As guys in colours do, we got to talking and it turned out that Bill was there with his wife, Sha, and her cousin.  Bill and Sha ride with Lenape Nation M.C. out of New York state and were in the area to visit her family.

Most members of Lenape Nation M.C. are part of Six Nations in New York who have come together to share their love and enjoyment of riding.  Bill and Sha rode up to Ontario on their 2008 Harley Davidson Street Glide.  I admit a shred of envy.  It really doesn’t matter what you ride though, as long as you ride.

We talked together for quiet some time about our lives and our groups.  We shared some laughs of course; Bill has a patch on his colours that reads “Think you can trust the government, ask an Indian.”  Bill has been riding longer than I have but it didn’t matter.  This stranger, now biker friend, and I connected well as we swapped stories of rides and rallies.  The huge biker world that is often referred to as family has an uncanny ability to break down barriers of all kinds - race, colour and creed.  Bill and I know that each are welcome if we find ourselves in the other’s home town.  Pictures were taken with our colours together and emails were exchanged before we parted ways to meet again on the road somewhere down the line.

Interesting how on the same day, in one place, colours can separate you from people, yet in another they can draw you together as a commonality.

Everyone has a story from the road.  What a great evening.

The Big (3D) Picture

I have heard it said that for everything there is a season.  Sounds good, right?  It gives a sense of hope, that “this too shall pass.”  I suppose that’s what some folks hang on to.  Remember though, with every seasonal change, it leads back to that same place, just one year later. Maybe this year of seasonal changes now carries with additional burdens, failures and struggles.  

I don’t like the picture it paints.  

Maybe, just maybe, the picture is determined from the manner in which we look at it.  Remember the 3D pictures of the mid-90s that half of us saw, many said they saw it, while a few felt alone, like freaks in circus of a different time?  Life could be much the same as staring into one of those pictures.

There is a group of people that just can’t grasp that there is more than meets the eye.  They live in a life of solitude and isolation from success.  They don’t take more than a passing glance at the picture.  Sure they see others living a life, or trying to fit into life, but they remain uninterested, even lack ambition to consider why they would want to be a part of it.  They don’t even make an attempt to see the picture.  They spend their days waiting for “their” cheques, smoking cigarettes and drinking Tim Horton’s coffee like it’s on sale.  They hang out in small parks just passing the day away.  Content with mediocrity (at best).

The second group sees the “successful” people and they want to be like them.  They mimic their behaviours in hopes that something will pop out.  They tilt their head, squint their eyes and play the part.  They haven’t figured out how to get there, but they are a determined bunch.  Given enough time and encouragement, they just might get it!

The remaining group, possibly the group in the minority, know there is something in that picture to be seen and appreciated.  There is something to be grasped.  Their determination pays off.  They have listened to those who have gone before them to learn what is needed.  Their determination ensures that they look at their circumstances from a variety of angles before coming to an appreciation of the facts.

So there is hope! Like the seasons, we will take a time for rest and renewal.  We may lie dormant, status quo if you will, to later break through our cocoon of protection to venture into another year will bring with it a time of overcoming, healing and success!  Refuse to carry a life of burdens and struggles!  Be an overcomer.  Be the minority that goes after the big picture.  

Everyone has a story.  Will yours be one that people want to hear?

Imagine the Freedom!

I have just finished up three weeks of vacation time.  During my time, I rode over 3000 km on my motorbike, watched movies with my children, played tennis and badminton, read during some quiet time, connected with great friends, played in the pool with my kids, went on a couple dates with my wife, had some time in prayer and enjoyed some good music.  Life was good.

During this time I appreciated my time with my children.  I was able to enjoy their contagious laughs, their beaming smiles, their peaceful company and their endearing personalities.  I loved the chance to just be a dad.  I was blessed with the time with my wife to take in an anniversary dinner and a movie that was beyond any expectation.  We watched the cliff swallows dive around in search a hearty meal to share with their young.  We sat together around campfires at a motorcycle rally and grew in our friendships with biker brothers and sisters. It was a simple life built around relationships.

Lotto 6/49 has the right slogan for their sales; Imagine the Freedom.  It isn’t about the money as much as it is about the freedom to focus on the joys in life.  The simple ones like watching the birds, the complex ones like realizing your children are getting to the age when you are providing much more guidance and basic parenting, when your role is changing and you either embrace it or dig in and refuse to accept the shift.  It’s the adventures of a 2500 km road trip in 5 days with friends of all appearances and backgrounds.  It’s knowing you have people in your life that you can call at any hour and know they will be there for you.  It’s all about relationship.  Personal relationships, familial and marital, friends and co-workers, spiritual and faith filled in Christ.

Despite not having a burning desire to return to work, I know I am blessed to have a job.  A good one at that.  A job that allows me the finances and flexibility to enjoy life outside of work.  I fully realize that it takes up a vast amount of my time, but it does not make up my identity; I am not my job.  My job serves as a means to enjoy the life that awaits outside of it.

So don’t frown on your circumstances.  They do not dictate who you are, but rather your true nature shows in how you handle your circumstances.

Everyone has a story.  You choose the ending.