When I bought my motorcycle 22 months ago, I didn’t plan much on riding alone. I bought it to hang out with
Dave Kountz and
Curtis Brown. But I soon learned
Ruth Ludwig Lind was right: the more miles I rode, the safer riding would become. Over the past year, I’ve found solo riding to be one of the best ways to force myself into sabbath mode. Today, with my wife 8 time zones away, I pushed aside my to-do list and chased a paradoxical concoction of adventure and rest.
My dashboard thermometer showed my ride to church dropped as low as 38º, but I was instantly warmed by a gorgeous sunrise, an outdoor speaker blasting introspective music, rousing conversations with friends, and the squeeziest hugs from princesses named Willow, Nora, and Mabel. I left our campus brimming with eternal love dispensed from big speakers and tiny voices.
After the service, two princesses gave me their take-home stickers from Blue Ridge Community Church. I know how much stickers mean to little girls. So, I wore these de facto medals with pride—including on my 19 miles of trail riding. And you know what? Jesus WAS with me there (as I expected he would be).
I’ve co-led two different ministries with my friend, Daniel, for almost a decade. He shoots only straight with me. In the past, he’s told me that he was concerned with my riding skills and how big my first bike is. But a week ago, he said I should try my hand at a new level of riding: the South Pedlar ATV trail system. This morning at Blue Ridge Community Church, he gave me intel on this mountain course meant for ATVs and motocross bikes—not 500lb enduros. His vote of confidence gave me the courage to tackle what for me was rigorous, challenging terrain. Alone.
My heart rate spiked often on steep slopes, tall berms, slippery mud, rock gardens, and tight turns. I crossed dozens of lines on the topography map as I crossed a test of skills off my to-do list. But it wasn’t all adrenaline. I stopped in smooth sections of the path to look over beautiful vistas like this one. I’ve lived here 20 years, and this bike keeps introducing me to new angles to look at the place where my heart has found home.
Part of me wishes all of the trails were this flat and smooth. But most of me knows I wouldn’t have come home with anywhere near the sense of accomplishment if it were. If tests are where we prove what we know, today’s trail riding test confirmed that I’m not done learning, growing, and stretching in my journey to the man I want to become.
When the sun set on my sabbath, I watched from a paved parking lot on a very different mountain with a different set of trails. Candlers Mountain is where I hike before work and on full moon nights. The stranger parked next to me rolled down his windows and blasted worship music. Every song matched the view. As temperatures dropped with the sun, I drank hot cocoa and texted thank-you notes and updates to friends. This workhorse carried me 125 miles up and down and in between mountains today. I feel those miles in my back and hips and shoulders. But I also feel them in my heart, and it is well with my soul. Something tells me that’s how Sundays should end.
