SNIB

It was a matter of time I guess, the love affair has hit a bump in the road.  Many bumps actually, especially through Michigan.  I have just come back from over 2500 km of riding over four days and I have learned why people spend over $700 on a seat for a motorbike.  I rode my 2006 Honda Shadow Aero 750, while all but one other bike was aver 1300.  This was putting me, and the bike, to the test.  Physical endurance is needed on a ride.  I was shocked to learn just how physically draining a ride like that can be!   I can finally appreciate the apparent idiocy of the expense as sheer necessity and, in time, I too will join the ranks of the Corbin, Mustang or custom seat aficionados.   I love my bike, but the stock seat, while comfy for the first couple hundred kilometers, just didn’t cut it for the long ride.  A bad case of SNIB (sore numb itchy bum) has made me a believer.

There were about 27 of us from the Canadian chapters of the Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry that took the long road down to Murphy, North Carolina for the annual Friends and Family Rally at the Peace Valley Campground.  Of the 27, about 10 or so were children!  Once Dennielle and Nancy have regained some semblance of sanity, ask them how the trip in the over-stuffed van was.  Go on, I dare you!

As is par for any road trip, we ended up in a few traffic jams on the way there.  While we were stuck in traffic as trucks worked to remove and overturned transport from the highway, fellow Heaven’s Saints were able to witness to others stuck in traffic, hand out some tracks and have pictures taken with other travelers.  Grow where you are planted right?

The rally was a great experience, especially for those of us who have never been there before.  It is contrast from the traditional - a group of Christian men and women, with the children, gathered together for a time of fellowship and refreshing.  Most of these men and women donned leather vests, tattoos and rode motorcycles.  Men, generally, have either long hair or no hair and usually some sort of facial hair.  Those who would look very out of place on a Sunday morning in a traditional rural church came together and shared in songs of worship with the Bone Prophet band, prayer, intercession and baptism.  There were hands raised in worship, hands laid on in prayers and prayers shared with others.  It was truly wonderful to be a part of a group of people with different backgrounds, religions and lifestyles and looks coming under the banner of worshipping the one true God and treating everyone like family.  It’s a brotherhood that must be experienced to be understood.

We spent our nights around the campfire.  We all know each other, but we really didn’t know each other.  This was my most cherished time on the trip, one whose time was simply too short.

Being from Canada was a bit of a novelty, and one that we fully enjoyed as we pulled together to win the Tug of War championship over such strong teams as Georgia and Florida.  Next year will will have to return to defend our championship, and I already hear vows to take the status back south of the border.

Far too soon, we had to turn back north.  The return trip was not made with all of us though.  Two couples went further south to spend the remainder of the week in Florida, one couple went to Georgia for a few days.

The rest of us took a tour along the skyway in North Carolina on the way home.  While the views and scenery were spectacular, we lost some serious time.  The highway that we didn’t take was called the Dragon’s Tail and has 318 curves in only 11 miles!  There’s even a spot on the road where the parts of other bikes are hung up as if to be trophies from bikers past.  Maybe next time.

We made it to Dog Patch in London, Kentucky in time to buy some toys for our bikes and spent the night in Georgetown.  

Traveling with children is not something one can do well on a schedule.  Time must be taken to allow for pee stops, diaper changes and the occasional vomiting episode.  So on our last day of travel, Ben and Nancy, Dennielle and I with our five children took our time heading home while the others we were with headed home.  We shopped at Walmart for rain gear - this was done to prevent rain rather than prepare for it.  It’s funny, in the south it seems that everyone loves to see a Christian biker and will come and talk as though we have been friends for some time.  That doesn’t happen at home here.  Too bad really.

We made one major stop in Ohio when the water pump went in the van, but God allowed the opportunity for Ben to share God’s message with the owner of the shop and gift him with a testimonial DVD.  Again, grow where you are planted.

We made it home eventually and all is well.  We are now rested and ready for the road again.  Although, I am not doing that ride again without a new seat.  While I’m at it, maybe I’ll pick up a new bike to go with the new seat!  I think I hear a Road King calling my name, but get this...my wife wants me to get an Electra Glide, and really, who I to argue with my wife!

Everyone has a story and I am looking forward to telling you about my next bike.  Whenever that happens.

Life's a Drag!

I spent Sunday at nitro Harley drag races.  It wasn’t just a few Harley’s on the track like there would be in other small town drag strips.  This was a huge event!  Thousands of bikes of all kinds in the parking lot; Harley and Honda standing side by side in the solidarity of a shared sport.

The race teams aren’t your traditional family operation.  Oh no, these are pit crew cared for and dyno tested, merchandise promoted high tech bikes from everywhere.  The track on Ontario’s west coast, Grand Bend Motorplex, brought in race teams from British Columbia and Northwest Territories.  The rigs these team travel with are, in some cases, unlike anything I have ever seen; multi-level trailers pulled by coach-looking transports.  There’s is some major money invested in this adrenaline rushing past-time.  Big time sponsorships are here too.

On the surface, it’s another family event.  Food vendors, brands being promoted, sparkling chrome and roaring engines.  Great weekend to be outdoors.  There was more happening though.  

It’s the Ontario Hells Angels MC mandatory ride so they were there en masse.  Although there weren’t all in their colours, they were there and their racing team was fueled to run.  There was at least one member of the Outlaws MC, his colours tattooed on his back but usually covered by his pit crew shirt.  The Red Devils MC from both Chatham and Hamilton were in attendance.  The Queensmen, The Horsemen, The Road Dogs and VAC MC were all there.  The occasional ABATE member was even seen around.  

In the midst of it all, as if they were responding to God’s word to “go into all the world and make disciples of men”, you would find the National Treasurer/Chapter President and a Chapter Vice President of the Heaven’s Saints MM, one Chariots of Light ministry member and three Christian Motorcycle Association members as well.  It’s a mission field I have never even considered to be a mission field.

Consider the stir it would create if a Christian Motorcycle Ministry emblazoned rig pulled into the pits, working side by side with the clubs and the families in a shared interest and activity.  What a mission field.  An urban mission field.  Such a story that would tell!

Mean Moms

I didn't write this, but I enjoyed it and wanted to share it.  Hope you have a mean mom.


Someday when my children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates a parent,


I will tell them, as my Mean Mom told me:


I loved you enough to ask where you were going, with whom, and what time you would be home.

I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover that your new best friend was a creep.
I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.

I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, and tears in my eyes. Children must learn that their parents aren't perfect.
I loved you enough to let you assume the responsibility for your actions even when the penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.
But most of all, I loved you enough to say NO when I knew you would hate me for it.

Those were the most difficult battles of all...

I'm glad I won them, because in the end you won, too..

And someday when your children are old enough to

understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them.



Was your Mom mean?

I know mine was.

We had the meanest mother in the whole world!

While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast.

When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches.

And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different from what other kids had, too.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were convicts in a prison.

She had to know who our friends were and what we were doing with them.

She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.

We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work.

We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash and all sorts of cruel jobs.

I think she would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.

She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

By the time we were teenagers, she could read our minds and had eyes in the back of her head.

Then, life was really tough!

Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up.

They had to come up to the door so she could meet them.

While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16.

Because of our mother we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced.

None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's property or ever arrested for any crime.

It was all her fault.

Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was.

I think that is what's wrong with the world today. It just doesn't have enough mean moms!

I received a phone call from my friend Wynie a couple of weeks ago.  We’ve been talking a great deal about bullies and the school response to the problem.  This time though, it was her daughter who was suspended.  Suspended for smacking another student.  A boy nonetheless. 

Understand that Emily is a cool kid.  Wynie explained that even though she can push the limits, she’s still a good kid.  Here’s what happened:

At school, Emily hugged her friend, Lindsey*, who is a black girl.  Luke* came by and told Emily, “Don’t hug her.  You don’t want to touch her dirty skin.”  So, Emily smacked him.  Back in class, Lindsey was still upset by Luke’s comment so Emily suggested that they head down to the Principal’s office.  Knowing what she did was wrong, she knew that something still had to be done.

The principal heard the story and asked Emily what she had done.  With unwavering confidence, Emily responded with the truth, “I smacked him in the head.”  The principal, somewhat shocked by her candor responded by explaining that she was also in the wrong and he was obligated to address the issue, as well as the derogatory slur made by the boy.  Emily understood that he needed to react and accepted her one day suspension.  

Luke was suspended for 3 days.

Here we are somewhat faced with a moral dilemma.  Can one wrong be justified when dealing with another wrong?  Should Emily be suspended for taking a stand against the completely unacceptable comments that were degrading to Emily’s friend?  In pains me, but I agree with the principal’s decision.  I would like to see Emily get off without a consequence, but she was in the wrong.

Emily has since written a letter to Lindsey, the class and the school taking a stand against bullies and racism.  She explained that she will not tolerate such hatred and disgust to happen in her school.

Everyone has a story.  Emily is going to have a great one to tell!

*Names changed.

It's Always Something

It’s always something in my family.

Growing up we seemed to take in animals.  I don’t mean dogs and cats.  I mean wildlife.  We raised an abandoned skunk, Tinker, for many years.  We had a raccoon named Mandy for her entire lifetime.  I cared for a chimney swallow when I was in grade four.  My friend Russell (who also had a raccoon) and I would collect salamanders and turtles from the swamp.  We were adventurers for sure!

As the years went on, my parents were trained raccoon rehab-ers and nursed many back to health.  While others were vocal opponents to their compassion, they are steadfast caregivers.

While out and about today, I was returning to my car after covering a news story for the paper when I heard a strange, almost haunting cry.  This was no baby.  I was walking past the local bar when I heard mention of a young fawn being located.  On the patio of the bar was a very committed man giving his all to protecting this young deer from further harm (it had cut it’s head bouncing off a fence).  No one seemed to know what to do so a call was made to the Aylmer Police.  “What do you want us to do about it?” was their community minded response.  The Ministry of Natural Resources calls continually went to voice mail.  Two calls were made to a vets offices before two citizens were able to secure the fawn’s flailing legs and transport him to the animal hospital.

I was talking to my mom later in the evening who wanted to hear more about the deer incident since I called her in the midst of it all to get the phone number for a wildlife vet.  She explained that she had come across an apparent injured chipmunk earlier in the day.  Through the usual committed care of this little chippy, it reportedly came around and was released again.  Mom says to me, “It’s always been something.  Chipmunks, birds, raccoons.  Something.”

Within a half hour of the end of our call, my daughter Brianna and her friend Grace came running back from a short walk saying “We need a container!  We found a bird with a broken wing!”  We enlisted my son’s help.  Jordan went to get his old bird cage.  Dennielle, my wife, went with the girls and off they went to conduct another wildlife rescue.

When they came back, Dennielle, my wife, said that Mrs. Robin was in distress watching her baby seemingly injured.  Baby robin was on it’s back and unable to get back on it’s feet.  I don’t know if it’s wing was broken, but off it hopped into someone’s yard and Mrs. Robin fly into provide it’s motherly support.

I guess my mom was right!  Even into the third generation, it’s always something.

Everyone has a story.  Hopefully the deer, the robin and the chipmunk will live to tell theirs. 

Could it be? My first build?

I’m embarking on a new project.  At least, I think I am.  It started off with a plan to look at an old bike that could be modified into a trike for a friend of mine in a wheelchair who wants to ride.  Turns out, it’s too small and the front end too short, but then the wheels in my head got to turning.  Maybe I should buy the bike.  Maybe I could have some creative fun with it.  Maybe I could build a custom bike.  Maybe.  Just maybe.

It’s an old 1981 Honda 400.  Nothing special, although some would say, “Oh it’s special Todd.”  Carbs are missing, tank is off, sides are off, seat has been chewed, fuel lines need replacing, brake and clutch lines need replacing, front seals are leaking.  In some ways this 30 year old neglected bike resembles my near 37 year old neglected body.  Maybe the idea of rebuilding this bike is my way of living vicariously.

I needed some inspiration and headed to Google to image search custom built Hondas.  I didn’t expect to find much, but to my surprise, there are many creative people out there besides the Harley entrenched customizers.

Last year I bought a 1985 Pontiac Bonneville with the intention of a restoration project.  Turns out, I don’t know anything, or enough people that I can bounce ideas off of, so I sold it.  I know far more bikers who have spent years monkeying around with bikes who can share their wisdom, and, ultimately, mock my Honda.

The first hurdle is tracking down the actual owner of the bike and get him to sign off the ownership.  It turns out that the owner gave it to the person I know after not having any money to pay for a job that was done for him.  In turn, the bike was a sort of collateral, the principle of the matter.  It’s been sitting in a corn crib for many years and I need to contact the owner.  When I shared with my 10 year old daughter that I was lokking to buy another bike, she asked if she could have it when she turns 16.  Great.  I’m raising a biker chick!  I should have known it though, her favorite animal is a pig.  She’ll end up with a hog someday.

Everyone has a story.  Looking forward to telling this one, trials and tribulations of a first build!