The strong wind blew crazy heat out of our Skatepark grill Wednesday night to the point where I could barely roll the hotdogs without scorching my hands even with the long faithful BBQ tongs I use.
“Try standing on the other side of the grill,” our pleasant skatepark sister recommended so I would be upwind of the raging inferno.
“Good idea,” I confessed getting a small reprieve from the intense hardwood heat Mother Nature was instigating with her gusting west wind bellows.
Everyone was out riding on the park as it was a gorgeous night and this young lady sat alone in my old fraying folding chair, her knees tucked up under her chin, and she had a quizzical look come over her face as she inquired, “Tell me… How is it over the last two or three years you have been able to keep coming down here and doing this every Wednesday night?”
“Actually,” I laughed, “we have been doing this for 18 years (which would put her at “toddler” when we started and it is a good question). Honestly it isn’t me. We get support from all over. People will tell me, ‘I wish someone did that when I was a kid!’ and slip me a $20 and other GENEROUS people will donate – sometimes more than that. AND folks donate food and drink. PLUS we try to be very accountable with what they trust us with. We can do an average Wednesday night for less than $15 – and we are glad to do it.”
She took it all in…
“So,” I concluded, “it’s really a MUCH bigger community thing…including my church.”
I try to keep my answers shorter these days as you tend to get two sentences in before people wander off but she processed it all – if even a little wide-eyed for my lengthy telling of the tale.
She’s cool and I am glad she asked because this isn’t a “Randall thing” – it is an “OUR thing” if you are reading this – and I wanted her to know how many people care and uphold them as our Skatepark Family.
THANK YOU ALL!
It was a FINE night and we now have a young lady who comes to the Skatepark with her DUCK! Yup it follows her faithfully whenever she gives it license to do so. I was inviting our young people to the grill and got my first close up look at her fine feathered friend… “Wow,” I announced honestly, “that is really something! Last summer I was at South Haven minding my own business on the beach and this wild duck came out of nowhere, wattled over, and tried to take food I was eating right out of my hand!”
“Oh yes,” she admitted smiling broadly, “they can be really social.”
They say ducks will imprint on whatever they see first upon hatching.
Thank you ALL for helping us give a glimpse of honest friendship, care, concern and compassion authored by the One who loved us enough to GIVE HIS LIFE FOR US. If it is the first glimpse they get of Him…maybe a few will imprint…
All eyes turned toward a young lady walking brazenly across the windswept industrial parking lot toward our Skatepark.
She was attitude personified! Cocoa brown complexion, stylish windbreaker unzipped enough to reveal a fashionable cropped sports top. Her tight curly hair pulled up in a “I dare you to try this” pair of vertical ponytails supported by broad colorful ribbons.
She strode business-like and purposefully towards the outer edge of our gathering choosing a safe tangent but one which was also close enough to indicate she would not be intimidated by ANYONE.
In other words – aside from her warm rich skin tone on this brisk evening – she was just like all our other family members of the Hastings Skatepark.
So…why not?
“We have one last bratwurst here on the grill if you’d like it,” I offered easily, having eaten three of them myself.
She stopped dead in her tracks, jaw dropped open and for a millisecond I worried about her boldly displayed attitude until even faster than that – the setting sun was eclipsed by the biggest brightest smile I have seen in a very long time.
“SERIOUSLY?” she exhaled, caught her breath, and continued, “For real?”
“ABSOLUTELY!” I laughed and got up from my faithful folding chair near the warm swirling smoke fire and directed her to the table with the dwindling fixin’s on it. “Here, have a slice of bread,” I offered and she happily reached in to procure two of the last three slices, “just put whatever you want on it and I’ll hook you up with the brat.”
“THANK YOU,” she uttered quietly and earnestly in a tone still revealing her disbelief.
“You are certainly welcome,” I responded with a genuine grin, “we do this every Wednesday it isn’t raining or snowing.” I led her over to the grill, snagged up the last sizzling brat and apologized, “She’s a little crispy.”
“OH!” she exclaimed making a brat sandwich with the two slices of bread, “that’s how they are BEST!”
Yup! Now she’s FAMILY to me! And I laughed at our spontaneous adoption!
Then she disappeared.
I turned, walked two steps to my chair, sat down, and before we could do introductions around our small circle – she was gone.
I suppose I could ask those present Wednesday night where she went – what direction she took – to make sure we had not just entertained an angel unaware?
Maybe it wasn’t as profound as that…as possible as it is.
Maybe God was simply teaching us; people who try to convince us – I DARE YOU – are only trying to challenge us to take the first step in “I DARE YOU TO BE KIND TO ME”
And if we take that chance – we add a bold, brazen, shining smile sister to our family!
“Randall!” my young Skatepark sister greeted me. I glanced up in near disbelief as she was 4 inches taller than she was at our last autumn grilling!
Imagine my relief when her winter “growth spurt” was in fact caused by the roller blades she was wearing.
But here my relief ended.
We grilled up some hotdogs, chatted with a new rider or two, and a young man who has been a polite respectful member of our Skatepark Family initiated the topic of finding a job. Then he mentioned it was time for him to start working – BECAUSE HE WAS GRADUATING IN MAY!
IMPOSSIBLE! He is FAR TOO YOUNG! NOTE: We need to put “NICK” on our DOD Graduation Cake this year.
Kevin sat next to me and said, “I was on the cake last year.”
“Was it last year?” I pondered aloud and I think we decided it was in fact 3 years ago…
How much time has passed…?
“Have you seen my sister Randall?” my rollerblading waif asked, “She has gotten married.”
CAN’T BE!!
I gazed up in the tree next to me because it was only a year or two ago her sister shouted down to me from high up in those limbs, “I won’t be here next week. We will be at a Wedding Rehearsal with a dinner my Nana will cook.” I assured her that would be much better than my burned hotdogs to which she bellowed down frankly, “Not really. Nana’s cooking sucks!” Later that summer, this senior sister brimming with pride and responsibility, carried her tiny newborn sibling to meet me.
Suddenly Wednesday night the same tiny baby was informing me the minuscule food critic who carried her to the Skatepark as an infant was now happily betrothed?
All this on the heals of my goddaughter visiting from Germany via California where she is working. She was a cute child only a blink ago and is now a beautiful, independent, well-read, well-traveled, educated young lady unleashing a rebel yell (with a Germanic twist) after throwing 4th gear in my brother’s High Output 5.0 liter Lincoln Continental…
Where have I been – while all this time has been passing?
There is a formula I use in my cycling: RATE x TIME = DISTANCE
Applied it looks like this: 20mph x 3 minutes = 1 mile.
It is a CONSTANT formula which can’t be changed as those three elements all relate to each other with an unbreakable, unshakable bond.
But what happens if time goes rogue – doesn’t play fair – and starts to accelerate at a meteoric rate? What if a new day dawns and a rambunctious tree climbing girl is now married, a youngster graduates, starts working, my goddaughter scampers all over the globe speaking three languages as a young woman???
What happens when time goes rogue and we can’t reign it in?
ENJOY THE RIDE!!
Because for all the challenges racing time presents us with – if we increase the rate at which we engage people kindly, generously, mercifully, gracefully and lovingly – we will have covered a GREAT distance at the end of this race!
The rear wheel having assumed the shape of a taco prohibited the riding of the red ten speed squirreled unceremoniously away into the damp back corner of our Upstate New York basement. “Breaking Away” had just concluded on TV and I COMPLETELY understood the plight of the slight blond Dave Stoller as I was doing well in school, was not sure about college, and cycling was my outlet where I cast out the demons of doubt about the future and found my identity. Unfortunately the similarities ended there as I owned a Fuji Sport Ten NOT a Masi Gran Criterium…
But there was that abandoned basement bicycle painted all over with “Team Raleigh” and that had to mean something – right? Before the credits had finished rolling across the screen from that paradigm of life and cycling I was holding the completely stripped frame in my greasy hands marveling at how little it weighed!
I had never held any other naked frame.
My father hadn’t either and was also impressed.
Our old “Team” Raleigh down to the basics…
The previous summer of 1982 we had done a self-contained tour of Michigan while vacationing there riding 600 miles on a 6 day jaunt. My father labored on his 1969 Schwinn Varsity loaded to well over 40lbs total weight but we knocked out almost 150 miles on the last day to ensure good food and soft beds back at Grandma’s house.
EPSON MFP image
That epic last stage lit a fire in us to go farther and faster – unburdened from a tour load. Was this now-stripped bicycle my older brother had traded a go-kart frame for, the conveyance to accomplish our goals? The price was right so far – so late that same winter we closed out my $38 savings account and went component shopping!
SunTour Blue Line (BL) rear derailleur, Sugino Maxi crankset, corresponding bottom bracket to replace the original cotter pin version, SunTour clamp-on downtube shifters to ditch those ugly plastic ones on the handlebar stem… Oh wait I had run out of money somewhere between the rear derailleur and the crankset… Dad chipped in as he was bit by the bug as bad I was!
Then came the wheels…
“Some guy was renting from us and left these rims hanging in our garage,” my friend Jay stated handing me these incredibly lightweight rims…
Hm? Never heard of “MAVIC”, but figured that other little sticker which read “Championnat du Monde” was a positive but how would these odd shaped rims accept a tire bead?
WE KNEW NOTHING about racing bicycles – in case you had not surmised that yet…
“I did some (pre internet) research,” my father declared with a gleam in his eye, “these ARE racing rims! We have to GLUE special tires on them!”
But first we had to build them into WHEELS…
We bought Miche hubs got help with spoke lengths from the one pro level shop in Syracuse and began to build wheels WRONGLY!
The front was okay but why wouldn’t the rear wheel fit in the frame?
DISH? You mean the rear wheel is NOT symmetrical???
Did I mention we knew NOTHING?
At least we used DT spokes.
And eventually figured out wheel building after buying the ultimate text on the subject and becoming ardent students of the little white book untitled “The Bicycle Wheel”.
Eventually, we were ready for the bike assembly – but had no legitimate repair stand – so dad filed half circles out of two mangy 2 x 4 scraps, nailed them to a longer, mangier length of 2 x 4 and with a carpet on the basement floor we could flip the bike over and assemble it… So I learned about bottom bracket threading upside down and backwards right from the start! (Years of overhaul therapy eventually set me right…)
Found our original “work stand” in dad’s barn years ago. I guess he was a sentimentalist too.
After some initial trial and error parts installation we flipped her over and I don’t remember if there were flashes of lightning and electricity arcing around our setting of creation but… IT WAS ALIVE!!
Finishing touches included dissembling the brake levers to yank those “safety levers” and threading on some affordably stylish pedals decked out with Christophe toe clips and red leather straps. Fresh vinyl red bar tape completed the machine along with a French BIM leather saddle.
You do things when your budget isn’t Pro Tour level… lol
She was a little gangly looking – but so was I at a disproportionately long-legged 5’11” and 135lbs. The old style center pull brakes JUST reached the “new” 700C wheels and the lightweight hoops clad in 20c Vittoria Mondial tubulars left big gaps at the seat and down tubes but she weighed in at 23lbs for a 61cm frame C-C and it was the fruit of our trial and error learning labors.
No one had anything like it in our little town – just like Johnny Cash’s Cadillac! And there was this blond American on the cover of WINNING who just won the World Championship Road Race. The sky was the limit and this curious cycling concoction had me envisioning flights to be made! And I did LOVE RIDING THAT BICYCLE so I bought black material and mom made me a pair of “cycling shorts”. “I have JUST enough material to make you two pairs but the other one will be snug…”
My mom made me TWO pairs of cycling shorts!
I bummed a pair of my bicycle-bartering-brother’s worn out weight lifting gloves off him and a trip to the Salvation Army rewarded me with a snug fitting stretchy polyester t-shirt which looked like a cycling jersey – if you squinted – a lot.
Every ride on that glorious bicycle was a race and clad in my cheap wire rim sunglasses and SunTour cycling cap, I was always on a lone breakaway vying for the win…
Eventually, dad and I couldn’t share the bike any longer as we began logging lots of miles – so when an ad was hung in our favorite shop for a 531 tubed used Raleigh Record for sale on University Hill – we went to take a look, bought it, and now it was to be a two man breakaway from the powerful Raleigh Team!
My 531 Record restored 3 years ago after being hit in a Tri in April of ’86
Our first non touring Century fell.
Our first Double Century fell.
Dad bought the wool Raleigh Team jersey and I was sure, more than once, a helicopter was tracking our progress ahead of the suffering peloton we left wallowing in our wake!
A place of honor in my shop rafters
The years passed and we got faster than those bikes. Dad built a Vitus 979. He chose the frame because he could bring the Campagnolo C-Record seat post over from our homemade Raleigh, and I ended up throwing a leg over a Tommasini.
And the next 35 years saw our big faithful “Team” Raleigh steed repurposed to dad’s commuter and slowly over time it was stripped of even the mediocre components we had scraped up for her… I had begun to manage a stable of high end machines ending in “i’s” and equipped solely with components ending in “olo” and like some fabled-in-song dragon our tall red bike which took us on grand adventures faded into rare hazy memories of, “Can you believe ALL those mistakes we made and yet we loved THAT bike!”
A sad neglected state of mechanical and aesthetic affairs…
3 years ago dad passed away. And, as if to mourn his passing, our original Raleigh threw on a thick mourning shroud of dust and dirt, crust and rust. I would occasionally see it hanging in the garage at my parent’s house, remember fondly those FIRST rides on the FIRST bike we had built and it stirred my heart.
I needed to correct this…
I don’t know if I feared a “Rosebud” moment on my deathbed or a citizen Kane mutiny of bikes, for the neglect of the ONE which started it all, but this Christmas Season I decided it was time to do right by the bike which launched a thousand rides over tens of thousands of miles and even a few small race wins and an ultra distance age group podium for me…
So this is the result of 13 hour days at the stand remembering that long past winter and spring in the basement with dad, as the Police “Every Breath You Take” seemed to be played every other song on the radio, and the simple joy and LOVE of riding was tangible. We also assembled the tools and the knowledge which would equip us to be self sufficient into the future for building (properly) whatever bikes our budgets allowed.
Getting cleaned up polished
And when our budgets stopped being so tight? Well, I just rode this “restored” version of our FIRST bike (which required me to scrounge a “new” front hub and build it back up again as dad’s commuting sealed Specialized front hub had a broken flange) AND it rides wonderfully.
That had to HURT!
I have been reminded of this advice during my “repair/restoration” of this oddly constructed bike: Please – enjoy every pedal stroke – on whatever you ride and with whoever you ride with and thank you for “riding along” on this memory with me. I am a reasonably astute mechanic now – but it started in 1983 with THIS bike by learning everything the hard way and I grin and laugh for it.
Loose ball headset bearings! Fortunately the old grease was like bee’s wax and I didn’t lose too many.
These Specialized Touring 27 x 1-1/8 tires are almost dust and the brake pads are stone hard because these parts are almost as old as this original build – in fact the brake shoes are! Easy enough to address; maybe I will even flip her upside down on our ancient wooden stand just for old time sake. The old throw rug might be back in dad’s barn too…
Yup – I ran aero levers.
Yes – some memories from the distant past are sweet friends as this bike still feels like it did – stable and comfortable. My first ride this Christmas Morning left me laughing and blinking away joyful tears as those recollections flooded back; so always remember your roots, even humble ones, and try not to lose that original wide-eyed wonder of the ride!
SunTour New Winner 6 13-21 – two prong
And I will keep waving at EVERY cyclist I see because despite the fact they might be riding an odd, gangly looking machine which appears it may have been assembled upside down in a basement. They might just be LOVING the ride like I used to and with some encouragement, go on to much greater things than I will ever accomplish.
Obviously it isn’t 753 or 531 but it started dad and I on a journey and I had to put her back on her feet.
So BIG THANKS to my Dad for sharing the vision, building this crazy bike with me, working like a mad man to eventually help upgrade us but still teaching me to simply love the ride – especially when we were bleeding out our eyes! I know you are in a much better place and this account of our old restored War Horse won’t be a blip on your heavenly radar…
New tires and brake pads and she’ll be back in the ride rotation – for easy nostalgic days
But I am happy I have done it – because eventually – you would have gotten around to it too.
Two dozen beautiful, sizzling golden brown bratwursts nestled on the hot crowded grill without a fraction of an inch to spare. The swirling wind would occasionally gust up and turn the perfect bed of hot glowing wood coals into a raging inferno which threatened to blacken my up-until-those-moments perfect brats; so I had to hustle at times.
I was just about to pronounce them done when my BBQly-gifted cousin Brian and his wonderful wife Angel rolled in from their restaurant (they are starting up) with a large stainless steel tub of the best BBQ pork belly you will ever taste! “They are like M&Ms,” Justin pronounced munching down another cut square of the succulent gift, “they melt in your mouth, not in your hand!”
We would never know because those squares of seasoned and sauced pork didn’t stay in our hand for even a fraction of a second as we consumed them avidly!
So Brian & Angel’s gift was the BBQ icing on the cake of an INCREDIBLY generous offering from a friend and coworker at BCN who shared the fruit of her fitness labor (Erika won our corporate walking challenge) in the form of a gift card which totaled more than FIVE TIMES what it takes to enjoy dietary communion with our Skatepark Family each week! I was wonderfully stunned when I saw the amount and she grinned and encouraged us to have fun… WHAT A BLESSING – hence the brats and other special treats we enjoyed last night. Her generosity was so bountiful I had to bring out two stuffed coolers AND we will be able to repeat this next year with the remaining balance!
“I am sorry I am late,” my tiny Skatepark Sister declared parking her bike to doctor up a big juicy brat. With a twinkle in her eye, a wink, and a nod she announced, “I have been doing school work, have to get my grades up you know.”
In the time it took me to congratulate her determined self discipline her brat was half eaten and I announced, “And there is some BBQ here in this stainless… …”
Suddenly, brat cradled in one hand, she had managed to elevate with the other from the BBQ bath of sauce and seasoning a string of about 3-4 pieces of thinly joined pork belly squares and before I could help, she simply tilted her little head back and like a hungry anaconda dropped the BBQ straight down her throat…
Almost.
I was laughing so hard I nearly doubled over, but did not, for fear of missing a single moment of this hilarity! “Do you need me to hold your brat?” I gasped breathlessly. She nodded her head still chewing on the delicious strand of pork and extended the ketchup-soaked, roll-enveloped sausage to me. At that point she fumbled what was left of the BBQ and it hit the ground, “10 second rule!” I laughed but it took less than a second for her to dust it off and swallow it down!
“I was in a bit of distress there!” she confessed wide-eyed, wiping BBQ sauce from her cheeks and giggling. All I could do was stare in wonder and laugh with her! And hand her back the half eaten brat – which she dispatched forthwith – and announced from a distance immediately after I left her, “AND THE BBQ PORK IS GREAT IN A BRAT ROLL!”
I love her like she was my own! Heaven knows, she eats like she could be family!
In the midst of this happily addressed “distress” my friend from the woods behind my house rolled in on his grandfather’s English Racer 3spd bicycle…
Months ago when he first joined us, we happened to have ice cream sandwiches to offer with the hotdogs and every week since he has asked politely if by any chance we had brought any more ice cream. Well Erika’s generosity made that possible last night and just as he opened his mouth I pointed toward the second cooler… HIS EYES GOT WIDE – BUT NOT AS WIDE AS HIS SMILE – and I got the jump on him, “Blue cooler my friend! Help yourself!”
He was overjoyed!
So we all sat around and talked and laughed and ate too much and then my little Skatepark Sister rolled over on her small pink and purple beach cruiser and lamented some of the older girls were teasing her and keeping her from riding by impeding her way – alas she was distressed again… “HEY!” Jeff who is the KOP (King of the Park) an earned title for his other-worldly gift to defy gravity on his bicycle commanded, “COME WITH ME!” And in a blink he was on his bike and leading our minuscule sister around the Skate equipment like she was another gifted rider! It was a beautiful bicycle parade to witness and she was indeed a “gifted rider” because she got gifted with a new BIG BROTHER right on the spot!
How cool is that!!??? It was a beautiful fun night made possible by generosity from giving hearts in wonderful ways.
Christ said – If you cling to your life, you will lose it, and if you let your life go, you will save it.(Luke 17:33) That’s not the easiest teaching to digest but…
Erika didn’t think twice about giving her generous gift – but I have not stopped thinking about her unhindered blessing to us in our Skatepark Family!
Brian and Angel have been scrambling to do a thousand things to open their restaurant but sharing their BBQ gift was as natural as their faith – and I have never seen so many fingers being licked in our Skatepark in 17 YEARS!!
Jeff could have told our little sister to be tough – Jeff is very tough – but he gave of his tender heart life to make a little girl beam with healthy confidence rolling around the park!
I sat quietly in the dark this morning drinking my coffee and thinking of last night’s benediction on 2023 grilling in our Hastings Skatepark. I look back and see Ethan with his boys secured in their twin side-by-side stroller and hear his 2 year old say, “Good-bye Randall!” waving with his tiny outstretched arm and GIANT smile… Mercy wasn’t Ethan 14 years old JUST LAST YEAR?? Now he is a sought after tech in his craft providing for his family and loving life!
I remember our little Skatepark Sister when her older sisters brought her over to the grill – less than a week old (she didn’t have a long string of BBQ that night!) and now even she is in 5th grade!
What has time done to our Skatepark Family?
I think it has done more than grow us up – or in my case – grow us older… I think for those who still have the chance to commune with us Wednesday night it has grown us closer in the heart and soul. I feel we (who are there for healthy reasons) are distilling into what can be best about family.
I love you crazy wild seeking and finding souls down there in our Skatepark!
And BIG THANKS to ALL for your GENEROSITY in support of our Skatepark and most importantly the lives who gather there! THANK YOU ALL for the various and myriad ways you share your lives – giving thoughts, prayers and gifts to keep this rolling in the right direction!
Whether you know it or not – what you give makes YOUR life richer in our hearts – THANK YOU AGAIN!
“Whose chair is this?” my lanky friend from the woods behind my house asked, his grandfather’s classic English Racer bicycle he is maintaining well was parked nearby.
“Yours,” I invited and he sat down quietly after his soul seemed to sigh.
I brought extra chairs to our Skatepark last night and between us sat his high octane energetic friend who I discovered can only be anchored – briefly – if you fill his outstretched cupped hands with chips. It is like you have placed Jupiter in his lap but upon consumption he easily casts aside the giant globe and is back in hyperspace to procure his fourth hotdog at the speed of light. “Wednesdays!” he proclaims quivering all over, “and hotdogs! Love it! Don’t know what I’d do if we didn’t have’em! Can I drink the rest of the Sunny D from the bottle?”
“Not yet,” I declared shaking my head in humorous, genuine, amazement. He’s a character and I am just starting to catch up with him after four months. He’s an alright kid – he just needs a place to sit.
And over the course of the next two and a half hours the extra chairs were filled by various friends who bless me…
Mirth needs a theater, anguish needs an audience, and in still communion together we might all get a chance to hear the harmony of God.
Do you have any extra chairs?
t/sdcard/DCIM/100GOPRO/GOPR0528
“Chair!” Ethan’s toddler declared extending his tiny arm and pointing at the now vacated chair beside me. The little guy was snugged into his comfortable tandem stroller next to his even smaller brother and secured by a quality five point racing harness seat belt.
He had the better perch.
I got up to tend the glowing embers in the grill as the night was drawing to a close and sat back down… I looked over and there sat that little boy with his tiny arms propped on the armrests of the old folding chair I have been dragging to the Skatepark for almost 20 years! He is so small his legs don’t even clear the edge of the seat but there he sat grinning this huge grin at me and LOVING LIFE like this seat was exactly where he needed to be at that very moment.
I had to agree because it was – joyous!
I had spent my day sitting and breaking bread with Phil – who is 86 years old – and visiting with Tom and Sue – 92 and 91 respectively and those moments were joyous for their shared wisdom, insights and experiences. I was blessed joyously to be seated with them too. Ethan’s son – in his youthful unfettered imagination-driven mind – might see me like that. I would be honored if he did and it made my day full-circle-complete to have him smiling there as the evening drew to a close.
Do you have any extra chairs?
Unfold them, put them out, and if anyone asks whose chair it is – tell them it is theirs.
The curious figure of a young man slipped by the end of our driveway incognito under the deployed hood of his large baggy sweatshirt.
He seemed to be on a mission.
I was pedaling on my bicycle trainer in the garage as I tapered for my 300 mile Father’s Day 24 Hour Ride and in my head heard a small but distinct voice tell me to keep my effort short and ride with my garage door up – both of those elements are rare – but allowed me to witness our youthful interloper head into the woods which boarders our property.
Having found a pair of razor tipped arrows borrowed into the grass of our yard from deer hunters trying to harvest my wife’s “herd” and having had one of our cats shot over the years – makes us hypersensitive to unrecognized visitors. I had 13 minutes left in my ride when this stealthy figure strode by and I strained unsuccessfully to see through my two small windows in the east wall of my garage/shop tracking his uncharted journey into the woods.
I couldn’t finish fast enough with the intention of finding and confronting this unknown and unwelcome figure. The sweat of my brow from my training ride watered well the seed of a grumpy old guy who was just waiting for some errant youth to yell at, “GET OFF MY LAWN!” I don’t think I’m old nor grumpy but such was my state of mind…
“Put on your muddy shoes and go out back and find him,” I heard from the same voice which dictated my ride and its open door setting. I argued to no avail that the teen had passed by the FRONT of the house and after about ten minutes of scrambling through the thick prickly underbrush out back I was startled by some rustling in a heavy thicket about 20 feet in front of me. Certain I had rousted a doe and her young spotted fawn from cover I was shocked to see the mud-stained form of the boy materialize right there as if conjured by some ancient incantation. The shock made my defensive default much easier to fall into and just before I could aggressively confront him…the still small voice commanded gently, “Be kind.”
I took a long, slow inhalation, and asked calmly, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” was his startled reply but quickly on its heels came, “Honestly?” and before I could affirm my desire for that treasured commodity he said sorrowfully…
“Honestly, I came back here to kill myself.”
“Well…” was all I could produce with my sighed exhalation, “we can’t let that happen… because it would make me very sad.” I retrieved a long deep breath and invited, “Let’s go back up to my patio and talk.”
A perfect storm of calamity in this youth’s life unfolded for about an hour as I listened to his plight including losing his lifelong pet that very day – which is a very real grief. “Do you have any pets?” he inquired and I affirmed the harboring of three cats. “Could I pet one?” he asked sadly and I said I would be happy to let him but confessed they are extremely skittish and near impossible for a stranger to approach.
“Well,” he revealed assuredly, “I am a bit of a cat whisperer.”
And thank God our little blue gray cat – Smoke – allowed him to open the sliding door from the patio and gently pet her! Amazing what mending work God can do with his creatures when our hearts are breaking.
So began the healing of this young man!
Eventually I connected with his family via a phone call or two and they came and retrieved him appreciatively. I also told the teen, “Every Wednesday night it isn’t raining or snowing, we grill hotdogs down at the Skatepark.”
He only nodded…
Several weeks later… …
“Is this the night people serve up free hotdogs?” the lanky, clean, well-attired young man asked me last Wednesday in the Skatepark.
“It is indeed!” I declared.
But…there was something familiar about him despite the absence of mud… Then we both started laughing and as I pointed the BBQ tongs at him in my outstretched arm he had the epiphany,“HEY!” “YOU ARE THAT GUY!”
“IT IS SO GOOD TO SEE YOU MY FRIEND!” I announced joyfully.
But it was all downhill from there.
Back in the day, our High School Principal sheltered orphaned animals in the courtyard of the school and it rapidly grew to be quite a menagerie. One thing I will never forget from it was a group of fancy golden Chinese pheasants and how they sensed one of their flock was not right and they tormented it to death – despite everyone’s best efforts to deter that gruesome execution.
Now – I am not saying my friend from the woods is a saint but despite my numerous efforts to discourage other youth from tormenting him in really cruel vulgar ways – it continued. Until I exploded for only the second time in 17 years… “I HAVE HAD A REALLY LONG DAY AND THIS DRAMA ENDS NOW! I AM SICK OF IT! UNDERSTAND?”
I was shocked at how many wide eyes and gaping jaws there were but… I call us a Skatepark Family because traditionally our youth there would give each other the shirt off their backs, shelter (literally) each other, support, nurture, and encourage each other as a caring crew of brothers and sisters. Again – we didn’t ALWAYS get that exactly right with more than a few spontaneous scuffles and brawls – but at the end of the day we weren’t cruel and didn’t circle the injured when blood was smelled in the water. That’s how it felt to me last Wednesday and it upset me – so I pulled the young man aside and said, “Come hang out with us. You need to surround yourself with people who will make you stronger.” So he did – and I got to introduce him to my mom who was overjoyed to hear he had 11 cats which helped her (at only 4) not to feel so crazy cat-ladyish. And they hit it off.
Which salvaged the night.
But I was still pretty wound up from the week before when I rolled into our Skatepark this Wednesday and if I even got a whiff of last week’s scent I would pull the plug on the spot – at least for the balance of this year and maybe for good – such was my level of disappointment.
I was seeking direction from that still small voice when I young man peered cautiously over the door sill of my rusty Jeep. “You having a better day?” he inquired smiling tentatively.
“We’ll see,” I sighed and set about grilling…
“Randall,” my back woods friend welcomed me, “everything is alright! We’ve worked things out!” he motioned over his shoulder at our Skatepark which was bustling with activity like it did in years past and the mood was energetic and festive. “I’ve talked to the guys and they say things will be good but I have to ask my friend to keep from painting on the ramps and stuff.”
“Good!” I said as a student of the arts, “I’ve seen his work down by the trestle – HE NEEDS TO STOP! It’s not very impressive.” We were in agreement and the balance of the evening passed with us ALL – in agreement – and it was a beautiful night!
32 hotdogs were grilled and consumed with communion enjoyed between friends and family – on every level. My formerly hooded friend sat beside me on my cooler as I emptied my firewood bucket and perched on it. His sister and her friend joined in the circle too and there wasn’t a phone in sight except for the one or two exchanges back home, “Mom, we are right here eating in the Skatepark… Okay…Love you too.” Kevin who was wrapping up his summer job the next day – and has a contagious laugh which is worth more than gold – sat next to me on the lawn.
We were out of food but not laughter or fellowship and my friend Doug slipped me a donation despite my assurance we were in good shape for the year. He insisted, so I gratefully accepted his blessing and slipped it into my pocket without any on-the-spot accounting.
“Hey Randall,” the skateboarding young man shouted as he approached us down the road, “You are beautiful!” and he rolled over with an attractive female rider beside him. “So you ARE still doing this!” he observed as a member of our past generation of skaters…
“MY FRIEND!” I laughed, “GOOD TO SEE YOU! But we are out of food!”
“WHAT DO YOU WANT TO EAT?” He interrupted my smiling sister-in-law who was getting up to run to the store for more hotdogs… Somehow “BRATS” was thrown out and in minutes he was cruising back across the park with two bulging sacks of brats and buns as I began to nurse the fire back to life for an unexpected ROUND TWO!
The circle enlarged, laughter continued, the bond of family grew deeper roots and those brats were some of Tom’s Market best offerings from this generous wild riding young man who turns out to be a friend of my “Cat Whisperer”!
It was a night of legendary proportion!
“I have one brat left and we can’t leave it or leave with it,” I announced fervently.
FINALLY, a slender young lady simply and shyly raised her hand. I was extraordinarily pleased as she had politely declined every offer of food all evening. I walked over with the bag of remaining buns and as she reached in to select hers she said in her own still small voice, “Thank you.”
It was a fine benediction from a patient girl who would not eat until she was SURE everyone else had their fill. And she was the slightest one of us there.
“Hey,” I directed to my generous brat supplier in my third attempt to compensate him before we all parted ways, “THOSE were some fine brats my friend! LET US HELP YOU OUT!”
“Well…” he still hesitated humbly and finally admitted, “it was $30…”
“Hey,” I reached in my pocket remembering Doug’s gift, “take this!” And as I slipped it to him…there in my hand was…a $10 bill…and a $20 bill.
The still small voice prompted a gift which rewarded another prompted gift closing out a FINE NIGHT of reconciliation, healing, and becoming family again!
I am grateful for the Still Small Voice still speaking to us and hearts open to hear it!
What internal combustion drives me to revolve smooth, carbon crank arms across distances which may to some be considered over zealous? I think it is the freedom of flight I first felt up on two wheels under my own power and any vehicle I can’t pick up with one hand is a nest I fear may one day become too comfortable to leave.
It started with my ’69 Raleigh Chopper and now I fly bicycles over ultra distances.
The real quest began in 1981 with a pilgrimage based on simple math and set here in Michigan on vacation. Dad had decided in the absence of any mountains that we, including my friend Kevin, could strap our lightweight mountain hiking gear on our ten speeds and travel the 300 miles north to the Mackinaw Bridge making a 600 mile round trip – fully loaded for State Park tent camping – in 6 days.
This is where the simple math comes in; 10 hours a day at 10 mph average speed over 6 days = 600 miles.
We did it – in cut off shorts, vinyl numbered football jerseys, wire rim sunglasses, knee-high tube socks and sneakers!
We ate twice our allotted food budget… And every day we got stronger!
So in the words of the great Greg LeMond – “It never gets easier, you just get faster.” – Dad and I built racing machines and tackled Centuries and Double Centuries when few others were. What we learned we often gleaned the hard way – but those are usually the most enduring lessons. I raced with little success but always left with a healthy list of, “I could have done THAT better…” until I decided to hang my hat on the ultra distance peg.
Our first non-touring day Century was in 1983 – I considered it the pinnacle of human endurance until…
“What do you want for your 44th Birthday dad?” – Suddenly the Double Century was doable together in 12:30:00 – open road, unsupported – 4 years running consecutive from 1986-1989 on dad’s birthday until…
1992 when I rode 300 miles in 24 hours – IMPOSSIBLE to go further until… they legalized aerobars.
385 miles stands as my PR riding my father’s 1986 Campagnolo Super Record components on a replacement Vitus 979 frameset in a draft friendly event in 2014.
RIP Pop – she rode just fine and put me on an age group podium.
Now I want 400 – solo – miles in 24 hours but the race against time ominously includes candles on a yearly cake. There is an optimal sweet spot where the graphed line of youthful power intersects the trajectory of maturing mental toughness. Being old enough to have the resources to procure/build/create super efficient bicycles/gear is another axis on that graph. However you chart my data it presents me with an ever-narrowing window to calculate those variables converging to my greatest advantage at 56 years old.
So last weekend I tried something different after easily riding with friends over 300 miles in 24 hours on Father’s Day Weekend. I tried 400 miles solo over a 10 mile loop affording me good road surfaces (rare in Michigan) and crew access every 35 minutes at the start/finish line of my church.
I completed the first 100 miles in 5:54 hrs and was back on the bike at 6:07 following my 12:00AM (midnight) start.
I knew at that point – Stick a fork in me – I was DONE.
Here is why:
1. A PERFECT weather forecast had me on cloud nine until at 9:30pm, while I was prepping for my midnight departure, a brief INTENSE MICRO DELUGE hit my church! No kidding! I called me wife and had her check the radar. She said, “The WHOLE OF MICHIGAN IS CLEAR…Oh wait…except for one TINY red dot storm…” YUP! We got hosed and at the last minute I had to change over my designated night bike by stripping headlights and taillights and swapping them over to another bike I intended to use during the day. Eventually “Plan A” in ultra distance cycling goes out the window – you just don’t plan on it being 2 hours before the starting gun goes off.
2. I wasn’t strong enough that weekend. 6 hour Centuries are easy – that 5:54 one wasn’t despite a fairly flat/rolling course and I knew I didn’t have 3 more in me.
3. I had a kidney removed when I was 10 years old and every so often (2-3 times a year) my body just flushes fluid (like a race horse – if you know what I mean) and that is REALLY inconvenient when your schedule only includes 1 hour of stopping over 24 hours of riding. I was having to stop every 40 minutes – if even for just a minute or two and THAT crushed my times.
4. Having the best crew in the business being there for you 24 hours – grilling food and supporting you is AMAZING! It is also an AMAZING temptation – which I joyously succumbed to – too often in comfortable fellowship which was so much more enticing than slogging away at a goal I couldn’t make that weekend.
5. I have ridden a similar loop at night in my other “local” 24 Hour events but this one was a few miles to the east and… I had NO IDEA I had purchased a ticket to a NOCTURNAL GAME FARM TOUR! It was WILD! Critters of all shapes and sizes crossing the beam of my headlight! Glowing eyes peering from the tall roadside grass eventually had me shouting, “HEY NOW! YOU JUST STAY PUT!” after a deer decided to run 50 meters alongside me! That and a coyote playing chicken with me was the highlight of my first night stint. Dawn was a welcome sight as those crazy beasts kept me from finding that “hypnotic zone” that is so welcome on longer rides.
6. The afternoon before my departure turned out to be our BCN Company Picnic (I am bi-vocational) and when I should have had my feet up I had my fork up – enjoying good food and good fellowship. I wouldn’t change my choice…just sayin’.
7. VERY surprised by ride’s end – around 8:45pm – that none of my three bikes felt comfortable. I have these machines so dialed in I can sleep on them but they each felt like a unique medieval torture device when I called it quits – very odd.
These aren’t excuses – just factors.
What went well?
Over the total 270 miles I NEVER felt a SINGLE MUSCLE CRAMP! I was not over hydrated and flushed out more liquid than I was taking in (by a long shot) so this baffles me. At some point in an ultra distance event – sooner or later – you cramp a bit (or a BIG bit). NOT THIS TIME! Temps were low 80’s with high humidity and riding at night as the steam rose off the payment I felt like I was on the set of Sherlock Holmes stalking the hound of the Baskervilles… Maybe the humidity helped? The roads were wet in places into the next evening still. Whatever the reason – I did not cramp! Praise God!
I never got hungry and had good choices hitting “solids” at the 6 hour mark and balancing those with a liquid diet of Gatorade and Chocolate Milk. I ended up eating corn chips by the fistful – which is common for me. I made hard salami and mozzarella tortilla wraps and ate a few of those including a grilled BBQ chicken sandwich with cheese on a Hawaiian bun. Downed a few cups of coffee too along with a delivered homemade cherry pie (still have a piece left come to think of it).
So… What can I do better? LONGER loops before conceding to the shorter 10 mile loop. This decreases my “stop option” and breaks up the monotony. Hillier sections also bring you out of your aero position occasionally and may keep my bikes “more comfortable” over the long haul.
We’ll find out in my next flight of freedom!
BTW- I do all my own mechanic work and enjoy restoring old bicycles as much as I do riding. Pictures include some of my restoration work on bikes and components.
“Hey,” the older youth riding our Skatepark mocked, “your bag has a hole in it.”
I looked up, paint roller in hand Tuesday afternoon, as the small boy on his bicycle ignored them while his garbage bag full of pop cans swayed from his department store BMX bike handlebar. “There’s a Coke bottle over here,” I motioned not far from me and he retrieved it gladly. Then he made his way over to the big garbage can and I could see out of the corner of my eye him pondering the heavy cover over it.
The garbage can is taller than he is, in fact, the child was so small and so pale blond as to be almost transparent!
“Hey!” I interceded, “I’ve got my big gloves on, let me do that for you.”
He looked skeptical… until I removed the heavy hood over the can and fished out four returnables from the hot stanky murky damp depths.
He gazed up at me and said quietly, “Thank you.”
Wednesday night he rolled in again and as he and I enjoyed some icy “Sunny D” together I asked, “How much money did you make on your recycling?”
“Forty dollars,” he announced between thirsty gulps.
“40 BUCKS! You are the man!” I laughed joyously and introduced him to the gathered supporters – who applauded sincerely.
My little transparent friend seemed to grow a bit!
“So,” another young man queried me as I set out our supplies, “there’s gonna be free food tonight?”
“Yes indeed,” I was pleased to respond.
He ate two hotdogs and was under the pavilion sitting on our picnic table when I finally got around to partaking in my first dog, “Hey,” he demanded, “I want a hamburger!”
“Well,” I sighed wearily, “there are any number of places in town RIGHT NOW where you can go get a fine burger.”
And I walked away.
I have been processing these two young men and their attitudes and wonder how God sees me?
Am I humbly seeking the myriad simple blessings he has for me? Do I travel quietly about accumulating treasures that will one day be redeemed – in eternity – but viewed of little value here on earth while others scoff at a distance doing what satisfies them? Am I willing to gratefully accept help by those who might be a little stronger and better equipped to lend me a hand? And if I have reached the transparency of Galatians 2:20…do people truly see Christ through me? My old self has been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
Or…
Do I simply dine on what is offered with little thanks only to demand more? “Oh, for some meat!” they exclaimed. “We remember the fish we used to eat for free in Egypt. And we had all the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions, and garlic we wanted. But now our appetites are gone. All we ever see is this manna!” Numbers 11:4b-6 Curious how we can call ANY food “free” when we are slaves but… I guess it depends on our appetites as we ignore God’s provision.
I am no prophet but if I had to guess where these two young men will be in the future – I would bet my last kidney on my young Skatepark scouring “dumpster diver” being WEALTHY!
I want to have the same approach as my minuscule blond rider picking up everything God puts in my path: trials, blessings, resources (including experienced friends). I want to leave what is behind me better for my passing and knowing it all adds up in my thanksgiving to a reward I will redeem in ETERNITY!
Hey God!
THANK YOU!! For your patience AND provision of the Bread of Life and Living Water – they are more than enough!
“Who did this?” I asked rhetorically a few weeks ago when I discovered the picnic tables under our Skatepark Pavilion covered with a thick layer of sand transported from the volleyball court about 40 yards away. I was trying to set up our food and drink for the youth on our Wednesday night but found myself having to improvise some scraper to shove the lion’s share of the coarse sand off one table – the other table was too heavily covered to address.
“Well…” my little Skatepark Sister hesitated not wanting to rat anyone out, “there is a new group of kids…”
I sighed heavily and on those rare occasions anymore when I have time to pass the park and look in on things I have seen a rogue band of youngins roving there. In fact that very night they slowly crept close to our grill but when I turned to welcome them, they retreated just in time for me to see one of them whap a peer in the back with a short length of 2 x4…
“HEY!” I chastised spontaneously and in shock, “don’t be smacking each other with that 2 x 4!!” They stared at me wide-eyed for a fraction of a second and then disappeared at a greater distance and I didn’t see them again… for a time.
This was troubling to me – but it isn’t our first “Skatepark Rodeo” or the toughest bull we’ve had to ride – by a long shot – but nevertheless – I was disturbed by these events.
So I prayed, “Lord you can turn this around – I can’t.”
And not seeing the wild children anywhere near us again, I forgot about the whole circumstance and I must confess – even my prayer.
Until last night…
“RANDALL!” they yelled surrounding my father’s old Corvette in the company of my GLOWING little Skatepark Sister – who is no rat!
I climbed out of the car in COMPLETE disbelief as they buzzed around me…
“So! You come here and sell hot dogs?” the youngest of the two little brothers asked me matter-of-factly.
“NO!” I laughed regathering my senses just in time for the tribunal’s onslaught of questions, “everything we share is free for everyone here!”
“Can I pick up the cooler?” his older brother asked. (Hold on just a second)
“What makes your car so SMOOTH?” the younger one interjected carefully caressing the back of the car. (It’s fiberglass and I waxed it)
“What’s under here?” (The gas cap) “WOW!” the two brothers agreed in harmony.
“What are these go-fast things called?” (Tailpipes don’t touch’em they’re HOT!)
“I want to light the first match!” the younger sister insisted (We’ll see)
“I’ll put the hotdogs on the grill!” the older brother volunteered (You can certainly help!)
Compress these exchanges – and much more – into 2.8 seconds and you might get the idea. Lol
All the while my little missionary Skatepark Sister shined like the sun! Obviously she had “briefed” these energetic grade schoolers about Wednesday night etiquette and they NAILED IT!!
How BEAUTIFUL she was being used of God to answer my prayer – without even knowing it!
And now I have 2 new Skatepark brothers and 2 new Skatepark sisters!
AND they were HUNGRY.
We get a collection of weekly supporters – especially since the Skatepark has seen very few athletes this Spring – but when there are hungry youth we just stand back and make sure the young people eat first… MERCY these new youngsters wore a path to the grill and we LOVED IT!!
“Young lady,” I asked as the littlest new sister presented her first slice of bread, “crispy or less crispy? How do you like your dogs?”
She looked at me suspiciously and announced haltingly and humbly, “crispy.”
My brother Rob nearby grinned at me and we both burst out laughing, “Young lady! You ARE family! We like’em crispy too!” and with that revelation I fist pumped with her and she grinned right back at us – and returned for two more hotdogs!
“You aren’t getting too full,” I asked sincerely as the youngest brother ate his fourth hotdog.
“No,” he didn’t flinch, “I eat hotdogs every day.”
Did I mention they were HUNGRY?
“Randall,” my evangelizing Skatepark Sister confessed sadly, “we dropped two slices of bread on the ground.”
“Hm?” I pondered aloud, “one loaf does 3 packs of dogs with two hot dogs left. I guess two more people will have to go ‘low-carb’ tonight.”
Once they learned the “system” my tongs didn’t rest until there were only two hotdogs left and everybody at the grill brought bread…? My radiant sister noticed my mathematical confusion, shrugged her little shoulders and said, “They ate the bread off the ground too!”
Did I mention they were HUNGRY?
My prayer echoes in my mind today, “Lord you can turn this around – I can’t.”
“I can’t?” HMM???
But God CAN!!
I bow – joyously HUMBLED – marveling at what God DID last night with the caring heart of a little girl used willingly to turn things around.
Grill the Pastor 