The Harley--Screaming Eagle

Story ID:	4074
Written by:	JANET KESSLER POLUDNIAK
Organization:	JUST ME
Story type:	Story
Writers Conference:	My Favorite Holiday Story
Location:	Cayuga NY USA
Year:	2008
Person:	For the more daring among us -- bikers and would be.

My cell phone woke me early Sunday morning. It was the 4th of July weekend and so far it had been a bust-without transportation. I watched the fireworks in Washington, DC on the neighbor's TV. I hadn't slept well and had a case of "poor me" and "cabin fever." I decided not to answer the phone and went back to sleep. About 8:45 AM, I dragged my weary body out of bed, took care of “necessities;” then listened to my voice mail.

The call was not what or who I had expected. It was my good buddy, Steve. His tone sounded ominous—like bad news was on the horizon. “Hi, if you get this message before 9 AM call me.” A few months back, his wife, Linda had been rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery-not her first-so his tone was a concern. I called immediately.

When Linda answered, I felt relief wash over me. She was her usual bubbly self, so I figured Steve's tone earlier was from the hour, not the circumstances. Linda's cheerful question was like a welcome breeze on a hot day. “How would you like it if a handsome, strapping young man came to pick you up on the Harley and whisk you off to our church picnic this afternoon, and then delivered you home safely?”

In my best jesting tone I teased, “Really? Is he single?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Darn. Well, I guess married will have to do. It sounds great! Tell Steve to look for me. I’ll be the old lady wearing short-shorts and flip-flops.” We both laughed. After plans were finalized, we hung up.

I turned on my computer to watch my church's morning service by web cast. Without transportation, that’s one of the concessions I’ve made to stay connected. It’s not the same as being there, but it’s better than going without. In my heart, I was feeling relieved and thankful that later, I would be able to have some fellowship with Steve and Linda and their church family.

When the web cast ended, I showered and dressed-trying to look as much like a “biker” as I could. I put on a fresh pair of “Rider” jeans, a dark red "T" with “AMERICA” and a soaring eagle across the front. Next, since I’m packing to move, I dug through a box of shoes to find something suitable-a pair of brown oxfords. Their color matched the brown in the eagle. From another box, I dug out my denim jacket which I haven't worn in three years. It was miles too big. (I’ve lost sixty pounds since I got it.) I reasoned, "Every biker wears leather or denim," so I chose a long sleeve denim shirt. "There. That will have to do."

When Steve "roared" into the complex on the Harley—right on time—I’m sure every grey-haired neighbor was "discretely" peaking out a window to see what the ruckus was all about. I’m nearly sixty-three and likely the youngest in the complex, but I haven’t ridden a motorcycle since I was sixteen. To be honest, my nerves were a bit on edge, but I trust Steve.

To my delight, he got off, gave me a big hug, followed by his simple instructions, “The most important thing is to stay centered.”

"Thanks for the tip. I've ridden before, but it's been nearly half a century."

One of my neighbors drove in just in time to witness me planting the helmet on my head. She sat in the car and watched as I mounted the bike as "gracefully" as I could behind Steve. “This ought to stir things up around here.” With that, we roared out of the long senior citizen complex drive.

The ride was exhilarating-not at all like I remembered it as a teen. Roads-once familiar-took on a whole new look and feel; there was nothing to obstruct my view. As we rode, the comradery between other bikers on the roadway—the low hand wave—gave a feeling of a special connection. The song from the 70's came to mind, “Born free; as free as the wind blows, as free as the grass grows . . . .” I felt a little twinge; I knew I’d been bitten by the bug. I was in love—with biking and the feeling of freedom.

Steve took the long way over back roads. When we arrived at the picnic, the first and only person I recognized was Linda. She wore a wide smile; she knew what I was feeling. I gave her a big hug and thanked her for letting me borrow her ride, and handsome, strapping young man. The picnic was terrific: the fellowship, warm; the food, delicious; the weather, perfect; and I got to spend an entire afternoon with strangers who quickly became new friends. What sheer delight.

After relishing it all, Steve said, “You ready to put some road under us?”

“You mean I get to ride back, too?”

“Yup. Let’s go.”

It’s a strange feeling putting your life and safety into the hands of another person. I wouldn’t do that with just anyone. But Steve? He’s different. He’s a trusted friend, one who knows how to love deeply. He relishes the roar, the thrill, the wind in his face-amazing things! But safety is paramount; He understands loss. Trusting him was a little like trusting God. I’m glad Steve was driving and in control; I was just along for the ride.

My life with God is like that, too. He's in control; I just enjoy the ride. I think God gives us friends, loved ones, and circumstances to teach us. Throughout life, we get to practice loving, trusting, and caring on those around us so we’ll be ready to hear His still, small voice when He knocks at our heart’s door and asks, “Will you trust Me?”

I was fourteen the first time I heard Him ask that question. My answer was a resounding, “Yes.” Everyday, I reiterate my answer before I climb out of bed and start a new day. Every night, I thank Him for being there: for guiding my steps, for keeping me safe, for listening, for providing comfort in those hard places. We never know what a day may bring forth. For me, it’s good to know that He’s there.