Murphy’s Law says, “Any that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Those are words to live and ride by. Murphy is known to be a more frequent visitor among riding groups with a wider variety of experience. Like a cocktail party where no one knows each other’s drinking limits, riders can disappear under the table. One minute they’re there, and the next minute, gone. The two wheeled family is accepting though; all are welcomed, but all should be on guard. Doug was a guy with a robust build, quick wit and a Suzuki VStrom 650 dual sport. This is a sit up tall, look around type bike built for street and mild off road riding. It’s built pretty tough and so was Doug.
The riders on this Arkansas trip already had a chest full of war medals from blinding fog, a hail storm drag race and a missed curve crash into soft dirt friendly to the body. Mind you, this soft dirt was the only place on a long wooded, twisty stretch of road where this could happen without severe injury or death. Murphy had been writing checks that God cashed, every time. We were gingerly riding the rest of the trip in an eerily stunned blessing mode. What did Murphy have up his sleeve next? We didn’t want to know.
It's customary for group riders to keep up with the rider behind. If you don’t see them coming around the corner after you’ve gone through, sound the alarm and pull over. No rider left behind. That’s the rule. Further up the road from the soft dirt landing and thinking that we’d had our last glitch for the day, Doug was taking up the rear on his slower Suzuki so the fast guys on bigger bikes could have their fun up front. After a cautiously spirited run we realized that Doug had slipped under the table and was nowhere to be found. Pull over. Wait. No Doug.
Doubling back a few miles we come upon Doug’s bike on the wrong side of the road, in the ditch, pointed in the wrong direction. Parking on the edge of the road, we see Doug with his helmet off searching around in the nearby woods. Did he lose his keys? It was as if an alien spaceship had picked up his bike and dropped it where it nor Doug was supposed to be. Had this spaceship been following us the whole trip? You could have convinced me at that point.
Even though the physics still don’t make sense, Doug muttered out that his bike came around a right hand bend, did a spin mid corner and slammed sideways against a high dirt bank on the other side of the ditch. Dirt saves the day again. The luggage on the back of the bike flew off into the woods and Doug never could explain how he ended up walking around in the aftermath. Another check cashed. How much is in this Murphy account anyway? The good news was that he and the bike looked amazingly OK.
Back under way in the original direction, all was good until we realized Doug was missing again. This time after pulling over, Doug motored alongside and shouted, “I can’t get it out of first gear!” Quickly doing mental math, that meant a 30 mph top speed to cover the 500 miles back home with us in tow. Nope. That won’t work. Not having a clue what I was doing, I signaled for the group to turn around. There were no gas stations or much of anything else for miles. The sun was high the early afternoon and it was getting warm. Now leading the group (how did that happen?) I did the only thing I knew to do. Pray to the God Who had been cashing Murphy’s checks. “Lord, we need another miracle.” “This is a narrow road so we need a place to work on Doug’s bike.” “It would be nice if we can fix it, first gear is kinda slow.” “And if it’s not too much trouble to ask, could we find a place with shade and a flat surface?” It’s hard to work on stuff beside a narrow road at an angle. You’re just not sure when the next truck carrying a load of pulpwood drifting across the center line will take you out. With those prospects wafting through my mind as the closing thought of my earnest prayer, I glance to my left into a clearing.
To my left was a long, low red brick building with a hip roof and a steeple. On the entrance end of the building was an arched awning covering a porch. Making a command decision as if I knew to expect this all along, we all turn into a long driveway and ride down to a ground level portico covered with Astroturf. No bare hard concrete entrance for these Arkansas church going folks. Astroturf meant first class for their feet and my butt as Doug was waved underneath to shade from a glaring sun. As Al Michaels would famously yell after the impossible 1980 U.S. hockey team win over the Russians, “Do you believe in miracles? Yes!”
For a minute I sat staring at Doug’s bent gear shift lever, the faces gathered around and the roof of the church portico thinking, “Really God, you’ve got to be kidding. I don’t remember seeing this church the first time by, and Astroturf? Really? Thank you!” I half expected a waiter with a bow tie to come out of the front door with glasses of sweet iced tea on a tray. Our big problems were over.
Doug’s shift lever had been jammed underneath the engine case so he couldn’t pull it up. For a someone who had disassembled and repaired a Honda 450 transmission in a utility room as a 12 year old, this was thankfully a simple problem. I could see the solution in 3D immediately. Pull the pinch bolt, move the lever one notch lower on the shaft spline and voila. Don’t try bending it. If it breaks, Doug isn’t going anywhere without a truck. Another crisis averted. Sprinkle with holy water and we’re done.
It's funny how we see things, when and why. We didn’t see Doug and turned around. Doug was spared injury and had a running bike left to ride. I can’t see how. I don’t know why I turned around. With only first gear, what was ahead didn’t matter. We had to believe in miracles. Murphy’s check casher had been leading and protecting us the whole time. We just couldn’t see the guiding force. Maybe Murphy’s check casher was with that 12 year old in a hot, poorly lit utility room in the South in 1972. Maybe that was who helped the boy see for the first time that a bent shifter fork was why the Honda 450 was popping out of second gear. Maybe we’re shown things we don’t understand at the time so we can see anew to help others in need down the line. I’m grateful for this guidance working through others who see what I can’t.
When stuck in first gear (or any gear), pray for the covered porch and for those who can see. That’s a holy repair.