As I sit in this season with leg brace, crutches, and a road to recovery that will take many months… there’s a lot to process.
I sit in a crisis…not a major one, but a crisis nonetheless.
Three weeks ago now, I was playing some sand volleyball and went to jump and my quad tendon snapped like an old guitar string. 5 days later I had surgery to reattach said tendon and the snail’s pace recovery that will take several months.
We all know the same electricity that can stop the heart, can also start it. So, like electricity, this event brought the life I thought I was going to live this winter to a hard stop.
-I had planned to play volleyball, the ski pass at Perfect North, do some indoor climbing, and putting together a new adventure bike.
-I had planned the now canceled trip to Vegas to ride in the desert and have a Vegas style New Years Eve
-I could now plan on the next two to three months of rehab and getting my body get back to zero…back to ‘normal’.
This was part of the destruction of this event…the shock that took life from me. If I were to focus on this, I could lean heavily into a victim mentality, leading to depression and all sorts of self destruction.
And then there’s the side of this where I have to use my faith to see.
Normal Vincent Peal, author of ‘The Power of Positive Thinking’ is quoted as saying, “When God wants to send you a gift, he wraps it up in a problem. The bigger the gift He sends you, the bigger the problem.”
I got a gift this year…and it wasn’t what I wanted… kind of a like an ugly Christmas sweater or that mysterious fruit roll… but maybe it’s something that God knows I needed. I could debate with him but what good would that do?
This is a moment where my faith needs to be tempered and I need to walk out this test and see, in faith, that there will be newness and growth on the other side of this… because of this, not in spite of this.
2026 is starting with something new and it’s not what I would have chosen… but there is a choice of walking (hobbling) this out by sight, or by faith.
Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! It is unfolding right before your eyes; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. Isaiah 43.18
I love New Year’s.
It is really one of my favorite holidays believe it or not. It’s in the dead of winter and at the end of celebratory holidays that we love where we spend time with our families. Christmas is decorations, lights, presents, being with friends and loved ones. It’s parties and overindulging and lazy days. It’s also when we celebrate Jesus’ birth.
In contrast, NYE is one last hurrah, as it ushers in winter with its cold and gray skies. After NYE we take the trees down, put the decorations and lights away, and the wonderful random days off come to an end. This is the start of the season most people hibernate and wait for it to end.
But not me. I love New Years because this is literally the holiday that you celebrate the past year for the wonderful and great things that have happened and at the same time, celebrate the new year that opens to us with hopes and dreams of what could come.
New Year’s is also about closing chapters and putting behind the things like endless scrolling, sugar intake, and too much fast food. It can be bad habits and deciding to work out more, eat clean food, and control our tongue. It can also be people and relationships that we need to leave in the past, pruning what’s dead and parasitic off of us so that what’s giving us LIFE can expand.
I don’t know if this is good or bad but I do love MMA combat sports. It’s SEEING the desire and will and training and blood that a man puts into the fight to triumph over the opponent. It’s months of training, coaching, and sacrificing that plays out in the brief minutes of a round where training and conditioning (and sometimes a little dumb luck) determine the outcome.
In hard fights you always see the man in the corner getting a second to evaluate and catch his breath, taking some water and some advice from the coach before the bell rings and he comes back out.
If you watch a determined fighter, you can see that moment, right at the bell where the fighter is about to come off his chair and return to the battle…he will look up and set his eyes on his opponent and you can see this look that a warrior where he tells himself there is no other way, no other option, no holding back to what must happen. You see resolve and determination burning in their soul.
This is New Year’s Eve to me.
New Year’s Eve is like the end of a round in a fight where we get a few seconds to breathe, take in water, and a little coaching. It’s the moment in between what happened and what is now possible going forward.
This same event marks the end of 2024 and the beginning of 2025. The same moment, this same page ends a chapter begins the new one.
Let me say it again, the same page that ends the chapter begins the new one. I believe this is what is meant in Isaiah when God says “I’m doing something new, don’t you not see it? It’s happening right before your eyes.” God knows the past is done and the new has come…stuck in a moment, we need to be reminded, maybe awakened, to the new that is materializing right in front of us that we don’t yet see.
No matter what’s happened this last round, God is in your corner telling you: I’m doing something new… can’t you see it? I have plans to prosper you not to harm you. I will give you a hope and a future. I made plans for you before the world was formed. I know you because I knit you together in your mother’s womb
I’ve had my NYE with family and friends, taking in the moment. I’m ready for the next round to begin…are you?
Look up and see what is possible, what is new that you don’t perceive just yet- the new paths in the wilderness and streams in the desert. Set your mind like steel that there is no other way than through this moment, through this opponent, through this storm to the new version of you that will take you to the next level.
This is a new round with no refs. Let’s see what you got 2025.
Scott, Steve, and I had driven down in Steves brand new Beretta to Florida staying with Scott’s aunt in Melbourne Beach, just south of Daytona. We were in college and enjoying some time off…meeting people (girls), playing on the beach in Daytona by day, and going back to Melbourne when our evening was done to crash.
We happily traded winter wear, class finals, and frost at Ohio State for t-shirts, sunscreen, and day drinking in Florida.
After a week’s worth of shenanigans in Daytona it was time to return to ‘real life’. We spent a last morning watching the waves, packed up what little we brought, and headed home driving the rest of the day and deep into the night.
It was late, well after midnight, Steve was driving, and we started hitting fog.
At first it was just light patches…but as the miles rolled on, patches turned into deep thick sections.
At 3ish in the morning, running on sugar, caffeine, and low sleep, we were all tired and concerned. As visibility decreased; so did our speed until at one point the fog was so dense that we could not see but possibly a car length and a half ahead of us and Steve pulled off the side of the road.
For about the next 30 minutes, on the side of I-75, at 3ish in the morning, Steve and I debated (argued) about continuing. Steve was sure that it wasn’t safe to continue. He had a point, the road was unclear, visibility limited, and we could run into someone or something.
On the other hand, I argued that we were setting dead center of the worst of it and we would be sitting well into the next day until the fog burned off by the morning/afternoon sun. Sitting all night on the side of the road would be arguably more dangerous in my mind.
In going back and forth, a deal was struck between Steve and I.
I would drive and I alone would accept the responsibility of anything that happened.
I agreed figuring if we wrecked, an insurance company is not going to enforce a verbal contract made at 3am by college students coming back from spring break.
I got into the driver’s seat and turned on the flashers and drove, at first on the shoulder, then right lane at low speed. We continued on at about 25 miles an hour for quite a long time until we could see a couple car lengths and then gradually increasing speed until we eventually hit a good speed of around 45 mph. From there we increased or decreased as vision would allow us. We all has a say about the speed…we all focused as we moved along.
As time passed, so did the fog. A while later, the mountains behind us, we were back up to full speed.
I won’t leave you in suspense, we made it home.
In life, I have been learning that sometimes I sit in a fog bank again with those same two voices: One voice says there is too much fog, I cannot see, and I must sit until morning brings clarity and vision. The other voice says that I am sitting dead center of a fog bank that will continue long after the sun comes up and that the only way to get out of it is to move.
That’s the trick in those situations, isn’t it? Am I supposed to sit or move when I don’t know what to do? In the past I’ve been more prone to sit and think…maybe too much…but as time goes on, I realize there is less and less sand in the glass, a finite amount of time.
Against my nature, I want to try learn to err on moving more than waiting…I want to make sure fear is not the voice that overrides opportunity and growth.
Steve and I talk on a rare occasion. Our ‘stories’ continue and we’ve both made a life…we had more time. Scott would die a short time later, about 6 months after we graduated from OSU. A drunk driver t-boned his car going 65 mph down Summit as he was driving people home late one night.
In 1989, sitting in the middle of a fog bank, we all moved forward…all three of us thinking about what to do to give us more time. Some of us thinking moving was living…some of us thinking that moving was dying.
We all know the truth…we have a finite time in this life that is always running out.
God says He has numbered our days…but He has not told us how many are left. Is it to our benefit or detriment to know? I don’t have an answer. It is enough to know our days are numbered and that they are running out and we must not waste them…which leads me back to fog banks.
Back in 1989, sitting in a fog bank at 3am, we cracked a Mt Dew from the cooler, put the flashers on, and put it in drive. We weren’t going fast, but we decided, agree, and moved forward… together.
Are you in a fog bank and you’ve been there a while and this is hitting you?
What’s the one thing to do that moves you forward? Do you know what that is?
(For me, it’s usually that one thing you DON’T want to do)
That one phone call, that email, that letter? The flight to book or box to throw out? The one “I’m sorry” you owe to a long lost brother? A visit to a friend’s grave to lay the past to rest?
or the one prayer… even a prayer saying that you don’t know WHAT to do.
To invite the Divine, the Eternal, the one who knit you together in the womb, the one who has your name carved on the palm of His hand….that’s a good first step. You can’t go wrong here, no matter if you’re a believer or not.
You don’t need to know the whole plan, just the one step you know to take and the new journey begins.
No matter where you are, how deep the fog is, or how long you’ve been there…Adventure and life awaits you my friend.
I have a large box of things from my youth at my parents house.
In this large tattered box there were lots of things from different phases of my life…trophies, school essays, old goalie shirt, essays, collectibles from vacations, grade school class pictures, bottle caps, boys scout merit badges, family pictures, art projects, some comic books from middle school….all kinds of things that had been consolidated over many years from many boxes that started as a grade school middle school box and a high school box, a few college boxes. But over the years, I threw things, cut a varsity letter jackets down to just letters, tossed text books and “Spuds McKenzie” posters…until I was down…down to just one box.
I can see some of the things in this box like a picture of Ms Mori’s third grade class… soccer trophies…a pinewood derby car…Callie Jabron’s ‘Prophet’…seashells from a child Florida trip in grade school…or spring break of college…a Sideout volleyball signed by Sinjin Smith…a rocket from an aerospace class I took at OSU, a picture of Scott Shroeder and I holding a 6 pack of beer as we hit the Florida state line in 1991, a piece of paper from a friend’s funeral, a plaque for winning the state of Michigan Rec league B level…a letter from a girl. It was like my whole life was spread out for me to take in for just a second…and a wave of nostalgia swept over me as each item held deep meaning of days and times of a person I used to be.
Some of those reminded me of places my life changed or was about to. Some of those times I was the hero or on an adventure. Some were beautiful and reminded me of laughter and youth and a world opening up. Some are mementos hold thoughts of lost loves, lost friends, and lost innocence.
Some of my personal gems in the box like my 6th grade Tidy Car regional soccer trophy where I scored the one and only goal in my whole life that won us a regional game in sudden death overtime. It was a rare moment where I remember the world celebrating me as a child. Nate Elter, Rodney Lucas, and a few other lifelong friends were in that team picture.
There was the picture of Scott, Steve, ‘Bink’, Stephanie, and I on spring break Daytona laughing poolside drinking beer.
There were a couple US half dollar coins with bb imprints from where my brothers and I would get them from grandpa who gave them to us after we shot them with a Daisy BB Airgun at 50 yards on family vacations in Minnesota.
A picture of my brother and I on RM125s at 13 or 14 when I was FINALLY allowed to buy a dirt bike after scraping money together from returning coke bottles and paper route money…a taste of freedom to roam trails in the woods and down corn fields and back roads. It was Liberty and Freedom I had never experienced before and a feeling I still chase to this day.
There were also some things in the box that were not so great like a picture of Mark Wells who passed away too young…another of Scott Schroeder who went a few years later.
A letter from my grandmother…a postcard from a friend who moved on to a better place…a marble from childhood…a pottery piece from high school.
All these things fit snugly in this tattered brown cardboard box.
This box is just like your box…we leave it at our parents house, or we stash it in the back bedroom closet of our house.
These boxes are mementos of our lives…our souls as they collects things too. I say ‘soul’ because it’s not like our mind. Our mind collects a memory, but the soul collects a feeling with that object, with that time, with that emotion, that nostalgia that goes with a memory.
I cannot look at a picture of Scott in Daytona and not feel a smile of how he used to talk, think of him listening to AC/DC, mixing drinks at the bar we used to work at…the fun times at Ohio State.
I cannot pick up the half dollar coins without being flooded of summertime in northern Minnesota…the smell of grandma’s hot bread…the way she used to say “well, well, well”…grandpa’s pipe and his stories about those ‘damn Dickensens’…homemade chimes hanging from the trees, the front screen door slamming shut, the creak of the door of the school bus camper, the sound of rain on the roof, a bb hitting the school bell, or Paul Harvey on his AM radio. It’s the memories of my childhood.
I cannot pick up the Tidy Car trophy and see my awkward kick send the ball past the goalie and the screaming teammates celebrate me and our win…a rare moment of pure celebration of me by my teammates and coach Wells that I will never forget.
My weathered box and my weathered soul. In both cases everything fits contained…
…most of the time.
I say ‘most’ of the time lightly because as most of our lives go, we fit and stuff more and more into the ‘box’…but it’s confined by time and heart space. We rarely get to take things out and examine them…those lost moments and re-remember the times and friendships that used to be there….those old relationships that were really important to us and those times that shaped our lives….they’re like those things in my box.
Something happened in Covid that I’m grappling with on a very deep level, something that I cannot quite yet wrap my mind around…but I can explain it using the analogy of my ‘box’.
This physical box that I have, similar to my heart, is packed with mementos and memories both good and ‘ungood’ as a friend of mine Bob used to say. It’s packed TIGHTLY and has taken literally my whole life to fill it, to fit things in, and condense it…to where it fits in my heart without spilling over.
In the covid lockdown, for most of us, life stopped. For me as a single realtor, my life abruptly ended for a season. Prior to the lockdown, I had a hunger and need for community and acceptance that lockdown put a tourniquet on…cutting off any little bit that I had.
And it began to affect me.
The coping strategies that I used to dull down my inner needs, turned inward in the beginning days of the lockdown eating me from the inside. In all honesty, after 2 weeks of lockdown I had to pour out all my alcohol because even though I wasn’t drinking heavily, I was waking up and having to wonder if I was dragging because I had a couple drinks or if I was coming down with covid.
I wasn’t the only one.
Addiction problems exploded during covid and I don’t have any wonder as to why. Our addictions were hidden in the social constructs of our regular lives…but with our schedules completely cleared to stay at home…these addictions didn’t have the shadow corners of our lives to be hidden or camouflaged in happy hours where everyone else was imbibing and not paying attention. We were face to face with our lives and needs and fears on full display to ourselves and maybe those closest to us.
For instance, the need to blow off steam with alcohol was no longer hidden during happy hour or a weekend out with the boys. We couldn’t escape the kids or avoid the spouse by going to work early or working late. Our coping with friendships, motivations, loves, hates…it all came bubbling up for us to deal with it in a way we had never had to before.
Our ‘boxes’ were dumped out our living room floor for months and we were forced to look at them, to ponder them, to DEAL with them and make changes for the better if possible.
I have friends that moved, got into rehab, got married/divorced, changed jobs and careers, setting new family rhythms and traditions.
I had a friend tell me that he and his wife spent time with a group of people for years on a regular basis. When covid lifted, they found that they really didn’t like drinking, and they found those relationships left them longing for something deeper. When they tried to re-engage with the old group, it left them lacking…so they moved on to find and define fulfillment in a different way.
I had people tell me that they had great friends that they always called…and found that the maintenance and pursuit of the friendships became, or had always been, a one way pursuit. Their last outbound call became the end a long unreciprocated friendship that they had never really been fully aware of…until their world was stilled.
For me, coming out of covid, I’m trying to fit things back into the box…and what I’m finding is that nothing fits the same way. It’s NOT ONLY that things don’t FIT back in the ‘box’ the same way…it’s that the things we’re trying to put back in the box have CHANGED…we literally cannot put Pandora back in the box.
The things that used to motivate me don’t anymore. Many relationships are not the same. I’m not sure why I liked doing some of the things I used to do…I don’t enjoy them anymore. I’m questioning the energy I’ve put in some relationships. I’m questioning my motives and motivations. I’m questioning where I want my life to go. I’m questioning whether Facebook and Instagram belong on my phone anymore. I’m questioning now because I never had time to really stop and take inventory…
I guess I just have bigger questions for God than I did before my world stopped.
Let’s face it…we never HAD the opportunity to stop. But stop we did. (Did it actually help us?)
I’m still struggling to put things back in the ‘box’
And so if things don’t fit back into my box, and maybe you’re having the same problem…
maybe it’s ok that things don’t fit back into it.
Maybe they didn’t fit there in the first place and God’s been trying to tell us that for a long time and now you’re ready to pay attention.
I know it’s taken me a while to finish this story…it’s taken a while to work through much in my life that’s happened, so I’ll pick up where I left off.
July 9th, 2022 Joe and I camped on public land just outside of Silverton Colorado at a public campsite along a stream.
We were 2 weeks in to our adventure and on the morning of July 9th, I honestly was getting worn out. We had ridden out of the desert in Utah (a story all it’s own) and then put a half day of pavement to get to Colorado to come over Ophir Pass on the HARD Ouray side. The day before that, Joe and I had done Shafer’s Trail on the inside face of The Canyonlands where I thought I was going to die. ‘Going to die’ close calls were not around EVERY corner, but there were a few. Cliffs, trucks backing out of blind curves, rocks in the wrong spots.…I could have counted the times but that’s not what these trips are for.
On that morning I looked at my motorcycle tire on the bike and knew I needed to finally change it with the brand new tire I had been carrying with me the entire trip. Unfortunately that would require some time off from riding. I didn’t want to do that until I absolutely had to.
As worn as my tire was, my mind was worn too.
2 weeks of on and off-road riding, camping in a tent, and almost falling off the edge of the world were taking a toll on me. I felt it, I knew it, and I told Joe I was going to take the morning off, change the tire at our current campsite, and rest while he went riding for the day.
But I didn’t…
We packed up and decided to ride the “Million Dollar Highway” into Ouray. It’s a beautiful paved windy road that cuts through the mountains with breath taking scenery…in the morning air, high up as we were, it was a cool, crisp, sweet feel that morning. Joe and I talked on our headsets and as we approached Ouray where I said I was going to stop and spend the day changing my tire and walk around the hip little town.
But I didn’t.
I thought I would follow Joe for a while so we turned off the road, did some off-road trails and ‘minor’ passes. We stopped at an old abandoned structure and messed with our bikes for a minute, had a quick snack and a drink of water, and headed over to Imogene Pass. I thought it would be like all the other passes we had done, coming down the easy side of the pass to Telluride stopping to enjoy lunch.
But I wouldn’t.
Imogene Pass had a reputation as a pretty hard pass for big bikes as far as Colorado goes, or anywhere for that matter. I had watched a GoPro video of an adventure rider going over it and I really didn’t see the big deal…but videos are deceiving and it’s hard to get a real understanding of what riding a large bike loaded with gear feels like until you’re there.
At the base of the pass, the 4 wheel drive trail was pretty gnarly but fun. The path cuts in and out of deep puddles and rock beds and peculiar obstacles, and paying attention to every detail was pretty serious business. We passed an older mountain biker on some of the steep inclines only to have him catch back up to us a couple times as we stopped from time to time to pick our routes around/over/through things.
The ascend turns steep quickly as you get above the tree line…going up the high pitch inclines with loose ‘baby heads’ everywhere. Baby heads are rocks that are roughly the size of…you guessed it…baby heads. The rocks are loose and bigger in size making it hard to go over in a straight line on level ground, but put them all over the steep trail up and your route is ‘difficult’ to say the least. It’s physically taxing to control your ride, keep up your speed, and keep your bouncing 550 pound bike on the path.
As we’re getting toward the top, we can see the ridge line and I thought it would get easier.
It did not.
We come to a place where the climb isn’t so steep but there’s a ‘step’ ahead of us. Joe’s first and I’m following. The path splits around a big group of rocks in the middle. Joe takes the right side that climbs steeply, his tires spitting rocks out trying to maintain momentum and control. I look at the trail, and determine to the left seems a little more gentle and decide to take it.
Rounding the rock formation, I come face to face with the steepest loose rock hill I have probably ever tried to climb…it’s about a 45 degree climb of 15 feet. I knew I was screwed, but gave my bike all the gas it could take in as it struggled with the low oxygen altitude. I got about halfway up before gravity sucked the momentum out of my ride and we both fell over and slid back to the bottom.
I was frustrated and quite honestly a little pissed off. A guy in a side by side stopped to help me right my bike and I tried fruitlessly to ride the rock wall again with another failed attempt. My bike on the ground, I was alone as the Good Samaritan had left not wanting anything to do with my next attempt…I stood for a minute to catch my breath.
Half exhausted, the bike laying on the ground, I dragged the front tire over to point it back down the hill because I knew I needed to go back down to the last plateau and take another run at it following Joe’s path.
By this time I’m fatigued, out of breath, and a little angry as Joe’s head pops out at the top of my impossible rock climb.
“Whatcha doing?” He says with a smile on his face.
He was amused. I was not amused, I was frustrated.
We talk for a minute or two as I wonder if getting to the top of Imogene is worth it…but Joe points to the ridge line… we can “SEE the top of the pass…it’s right there” he says and points about 1000 yards from where we are.
There is another reason to finish this twisted trail up to the top. Once we get to the top, the downhill trail on the other side to Telluride is supposed to be very easy. So, to start down from this point could be real pain, as compared to the easy route that was just 1000 yards away.
I get on my bike, ride down the steep embankment to a flat spot where I can get turned around and point my bike back up the hill and give it hell…going RIGHT around the rock formation this time, barreling past Joe and continue the last 1000 yards to the peak, I felt victorious against the mountain and smiled at the top.
The peak of Imogene pass is pretty spectacular. Lots of rock and some snow still to be seen in July. Not much green, not much living up there…the air is thin and crisp, a bit nippy compared to the base temperature. The only signs of civilization are a couple 4×4 vehicles up there with their passengers, and a view of the mountain ridges around us.
At the flat spot where we take a minute, my heart skips a beat and my smile fades as there is a sign and barricade on the trail going down to Telluride that says “Road Closed”…our easy way down is not an option.
I get a sinking feeling.
Resting at the top, we get off our bikes and take a minute. There’s a few others up here taking in the peak…a couple in a Cherokee and a realtor from Phoenix in a Wrangler.
Of course there’s another realtor up here I thought! We shoot the shit for a few minutes about ‘the business’… but weighing on me is the descent off this beast of a trail. After 15 minutes, I’m ready to make my way down…acutely aware that my balding back tire should have been changed with the brand new one I was carrying.
When you’re going uphill, if you make a mistake on the bike, you pull in the clutch and grab the front brake and the bike comes to a complete stop VERY quickly because gravity is working with you to stop.
However…when going downhill, gravity works against you and it’s harder to stop. The more weight you carry, the harder it is.
We start down, Joe in the lead.
There are several ‘drops’ where the trail is steep and then levels off. You try to control your slide on the drop and then bring yourself to a stop on the level as you study the next drop.
We come to this rock formation and Joe goes right and it’s a STEEP drop off…and I wait at the top for him to clear the 20 foot steep section and get to the edge of the next drop.
(In hindsight, Joe says this the the exact spot I couldn’t get up on my way up…we needed to go left to the less challenging route, but we went right)
I start down the steep section with barely any movement but the bike starts to pick up speed immediately. I pump the brakes trying to crawl down it but instead of slowing the bike starts to speed up in its slide and I realize that gravity is now in control. I am along for the ride.
In the millisecond the bike starts to take off I realize I have to get the bike to stop or 1 of 2 things was going to happen. 1- I was going to run into Joe, or 2- I was going to slide off the trail into the rocks.
When something like this happens, your mind does what it does…not like you get to think about your options. I instinctively put the bike into a sideways slide down the hill…back tire to the right, front to the left. In this action I thought to myself to ride the bike down the slide instead of falling/jumping/stepping off to try to control it and keep it on the trail.
What ended up happening was that my left ankle rolled and then slid under the bike as it fell. The left crash bar ended up landing on my leg just above my ankle with a good portion of the bike weight on my lower leg. Still sliding down the embankment, the weight of the bike hammers my leg trapped between the crash-bar and the rocky trail.
Adrenaline kicked in immediately as the pain shot through my body and the bike came to rest. I tried to stand but my leg was trapped under the bike. I pulled, thinking my foot would slide out but the bike’s weight was on the boot kept me pinned.
“I’m down…and need help.” I say to Joe through the headset.
Joe ran back and helped me get the bike off my leg. I can’t put my weight on it. A dread falls on me.
I’m hurt I’m hurt at the top of a 4 wheel drive mountain pass in Colorado. …and this is bad in a LOT of ways.
Just as all this was happening…do you remember the older mountain biker that we passed?! He just so happened to be right there when it happened… running up he explains he’s some kind of wilderness EMT and started checking me out.
The next short period of time, he examined my already swelling ankle and leg. He didn’t think it was broken but it also wasn’t ok because I couldn’t walk on it. I shouldn’t/couldn’t ride the rest of the way down…Joe didn’t WANT to ride my bike down…and we all thought that I needed to get to an emergency room to see what kind of damage was done.
The REMAX agent from Phoenix with the Rubicon Jeep was on his way down and just happened to catch us at this time. He didn’t give it a second thought as he got me strapped into his jeep with my wallet and a quick change of clothes to head to the bottom. We pulled the key out of the ignition on my bike and left it on the kickstand on the side of the trail where she would sit by herself all night.
In the Jeep, on the way down, I felt more helpless than I’ve maybe ever felt in my life. My adventure was over, I was injured, and I had no idea on how to get my bike down from the top of the mountain, let alone get it back to Cincinnati.
It was a long painful ride down to the bottom.
Once in Ouray, my swelling and turning purple foot and ankle were examined by an EMT and then taken 45 miles north to a Montrose Urgent Care where they informed me my fibula was fractured along with the badly sprained ankle. They put me in a medical boot, gave me crutches and said see a doctor when I got back home, ‘good luck’.
I spent the next hour in the waiting area talking to people who worked at the urgent care who said to be careful where I went to spend the night. That night I got a hotel room and worked with Joe over the phone to get a plan together.
It was an awful night, but things came together slowly.
Joe found a 4×4 company owner who would ride my bike down first thing tomorrow while I found a transport to get back to Ouray in the morning to meet at the 4×4 company.
Arriving in Ouray that morning, I went to the shop and waited for them to bring my bike down. The owner had his buddy drive him up in a Can Am, unload my gear into the Can Am, and he rode it down. They finally showed and he was laughing. “That’s a HEAVY bike! Even WITHOUT all those bags it was not easy to control!”. He was a funny guy who loved riding motorcycles…but SMALLER ones.
With my bike down off the mountain, I could breathe a little easier.
As the timing turns out, we were at the tail end of our second leg of our journey and Joe and I were supposed to meet up with a group that was coming in to do some Wyoming riding…and their trailer was parked at the Cody, Wyoming airport, about 4 hours north.
After speaking with AAA, the way I saw it, I could pay them thousands to tow myself and my bike 4 hours north to meet the trailer and drop it off…or I could stuff my throbbing injured leg into my boot and ride it to meet the trailer.
To play it safe and do the ‘reasonable’ thing was to let AAA take me and the bike.
So, I made the decision that any reasonable man would do in this situation…I wanted to finish this ride, this adventure, on my terms.
So I stuffed my black and blue foot into the boot, leaving between TORRENTIAL rain storms, and headed out of Ouray down into the desert on a highway where a massive weather front chased me for the next 3 hours with high winds and temps that would be 90 one minute, 50 the next.
It was a somber ride, but I made it to the Cody, Wyoming airport, handed off my bike, and caught a flight home.
Hurting and limping (literally) home from my mountaintop (crash) experience (literally) I got back to my house and life. I came off of my adventure high to home, submerged in a numbing depression. The failed extended adventure/sabbatical, the damaged body, and now home to face the loss of a serious relationship that ended a couple months before leaving.
Several months later, my leg and heart were still both slow in healing.
4 months later I woke at 2:30 in the morning with some thoughts rolling around my head that would not stop and I decided to pay attention to them.
I kept coming back to the ‘weight’ I was carrying and the brand new tire that I had not changed. Changing my tire would have made a big difference, but what really hit home was the extra things I carried. 1 brand new spare tire: 15 pounds 2 extra super heavy tire tubes: 6 pounds A heavy 3 man tent. The additional weight of about 5 pounds 1 full gallon of water (along with a Nalgene) : 7.5 pounds 1 quart of oil: almost 2 pounds Heavy duty Klim jacket: 6 pounds Teak camping table: 2 pounds Full tanks of gas: additional 2-3 gallons at 6 lbs per gallon…potentially 12-18 lbs
The extra things I carried…I estimate just shy of 50 lbs ON THE LIGHT side of the extra weight.
Joe and i had spent a significant amount of time going over potential gear, parts, and camping supplies with the possibility of being out there a month. I had packed, eliminated gear, re-packed and packed again with regards to SPACE.
The bikes and saddle bags we carry have ‘lots’ of space. I could pack a lot of gear and even had some ‘luxury’ items like a small table, compact cot, and extra cooking fuel. When I was on smooth level road, whether asphalt or packed gravel, weight is not a concern. I’ve got a big strong bike, the extra weight is negligible…as long as the road isn’t difficult.
But
When it came to the extreme scenario…the extra weight that I carried is the difference between me controlling the bike… and gravity controlling the bike.
On this particular mountain pass, coming down, I had a gravity problem that my level of skill could not fix.
I had roughly a 500 pound motorcycle with about 70 pounds of gear and 225 pounds of me. The embankment with loose rocks and gravity trumped my ability to control it.
I had packed for ‘space’ and not ‘weight’ and it made all the difference.
In the dark hours of that morning, working through the extra weight, God also spoke to me about the relationship that had ended.
When our relationship was on level ground…I didn’t worry about the extra weight that we carried. It was insignificant to both of us. But when the road became an off level off-road trail…that extra weight made things tricky…but with a little extra effort and skill, we could keep things righted…most of the time.
But on my adventure trip, just like in relationships, when the conditions became extreme…the ‘extra weight’ was too much.
The things we carried were ego and expectations The things we carried for ‘comfort’ or ‘control’ The things we carried from our childhood The wounds from past relationships
We can and do carry weight for others…but the extra weight in those critical moments where self awareness is absolutely essential because it’s the difference between ‘make’ and ‘break’.
The fractured fibula did not heal properly and I had surgery a few weeks ago where the surgeon re-scars the fracture and then stabilizes the break with a plate and screws. Weeks following the surgery, new X-rays showed the bone is finally healing properly this time.
The heart is a little trickier…there are no plates and screws…only time, love, and acceptance…forgiveness.
I can say now, many months later…our hearts found some healing by unpacking and talking through some of our hurts…coming to peace with the pieces, working through what happens next.
You can carry a LOT of things when the road is easy…but the road to adventure life are not always easy, not always straight, not always predictable. Whether it’s life or trail, the things you carry can be life and death.
Leave behind luxury, egos, and jettison the extra weight when the trail gets tough.
Check your maps but correct for weather, attitude, and altitude.
…make sure the road down the easy side is open before you start up the hard side.
I’m sorry if you’re getting tired of my ‘adventure biking’ adventures, it’s just where I’m so far out of my comfort zone that things affect me in new ways…wake me up from the mundane and normal life that I live.
But, this is another story about, yes: 1) adventure biking 2) I did something questionable (stupid) 3) and where I thought I JUST might die
(Mom don’t read this one)
Joe and I were about 1-1/2 weeks into our journey. We went through Montana, Idaho, and were currently in Utah. It would only be a few more days that I would have my accident that fractured my fibula and turned my ankle…but it was zero days before I would do something stupid.
I had been wrestling with the thoughts that God was telling me that I was holding onto life too much, needing to trust Him in the ride. I decided to take Him up on the this and lean out over the edge a little bit. I was (un?)intentionally about to put that to the test.
Joe and I traveled through the desert and rock canyons in Utah at a temperature that was nearing 100. Traveling through the desert and red rock canyons moving towards Moab, the off-road Mecca for ATVs, dirt bikes, rock crawlers and the like we went through areas of heavy deep sand, the slickest mud I have ever encountered, and gullies with deep sludge that sucked our bikes deep into a mess….and the challenge was fun, but taxing. At one point of a long trail through muck and deep sand and a few bike dumps, we came within site of the highway only to have a 75 ft wide mud slide mess stand between us and the highway. It was a struggle, but we got on the other side of it as the heat of the day took it’s toll.
Once out of the muck, we struck pavement headed to Moab area.
As we approached Moab, we had to be deliberate as the parks were crowded and access was limited. We also wanted to spend as little time as possible on the pavement.
Of the Arches, Canyon Lands, and Moab, we started with Canyonlands. Canyonlands is near the Grand Canyon, and has much of what the Grand Canyon offers with less people, and maybe a little less depth…but it’s a close second in my opinion…the beauty (I think) is more captivating .
Joe and I ride slab (pavement) into the park, ride around and look at the spectacular views, and stop for water at one of the rest stops. It’s hot enough to soak everything you’re wearing, start riding down the road in the heat, only to be dry 30 minutes later.
Having stopped at several of the overlooks, Joe and I are talking about routes, where we want to end up today, sleep at what park or hotel…and we’re looking at the routes to the town Moab from where we were.
We COULD take slab back out to the highway, go down a ways and eventually end up at Moab… ….or… Joe says, do you see this little line here? This line is on the inside of the canyon and winds down to a road that takes us on a shortcut to Moab. It’s called Shafer Trail.
“Wait, what?” I ask. As we stand at a viewing station, I walk a little closer to the edge, peering down at the tiny road that seems cut into the cliff.
Yeah, as we’re looking at this canyon in front of us…there’s this little rocky, steep, four wheel drive path that rides along the edge, like RIGHT ON THE EDGE of a cliff with big drops.
Joe was excited whereas my fear of heights makes me nervous just thinking about it.
I thought for a minute and asked God, can I trust you in this? Can I lean out over this cliff and be ok?
I didn’t get a ‘DON’T DO THAT’ feeling…and so… I guess I’m doing it.
We follow pavement to the turn off and start down the gravel road. It’s easy going and we head towards the canyon. Joe starts out ahead of me…we both knew he would be faster than I in doing it, so it made zero sense for him to be behind me. He’d be frustrated and I’d feel pushed. We hit it and he takes off.
As we start in, it’s a gradual drop, winding to the right of the canyon. The trail gets closer and closer to the edge as a buffer zone between the road and the cliff shrinks. As the buffer shrinks, my grip on the handlebars tightens and my mouth goes dry and my body sweats.
As I travel down the path, the buffer zone goes to only a few feet…and I’m feeling the adrenaline and my heart pounding out of my chest.
Picture this: I’m riding on a rocky 4 wheel drive path that is about 1-1/2 lanes wide with 2 clear tire tracks. I’m going ‘right’ along the canyon rim, in the right tire track. To the right side of this trail is a sheer cliff going straight up. I’m in the right tire track and then there’s the left tire track..and to the left of that could be as much as 10-15 feet…but as little in some places of just a COUPLE of feet.
(Like a ‘couple being 2 to 3 feet and then the edge of the world…the edge of eternity…the end of my life)
In some place there’s a straight drop off cliff that is several hundred feet.
Did I mention I’m not fond of heights?
I’m riding…on a rocky trail with no guard rails…with a straight drop off cliff 10 feet from me…a drop off of hundreds, maybe thousands of feet. I’m getting anxious just thinking about it now sitting in Ohio.
We have comms with mics in our helmets to talk to each other. Joe’s on the comms and he’s excited and hyper with the rush of someone who’s EXCITED by this ride. It’s exhilarating for him and he’s LOVING it.
I’m not loving it. At one point, all I can think, all I can say is “STOP!”
I’m asking him to stop talking because I cannot get the overwhelming terrifying anxious thoughts of going over the edge out of my head. I have stepped into a ride of my worst fear…heights.
The steepness increases and I approach a switchback. A switchback is a steep section where the trail changes direction 180 degrees from it’s current path. So you need to ride your bike and do a complete turn around on the path, where, just for a few seconds, your path is towards the edge of the cliff.
I’m shaking as I make the turn, gripping the handlebars with a death grip.…the trail forward now is to the left down the edge of the canyon, making it’s way lower and winding around the edge.
You would think I would start to settle in, having a little confidence.
I did not.
I approached the next switchback and it was equally terrifying.
To the left of me, there was some kind of runoff rut for water. If you went too close to it, you could slip into it and wipe out…so you had to stay squarely in the left rut. To the right of me, there was a drop off to the trail below me on the switchback. But the thing that had me scared beyond any of this was the switchback itself.
If I were at the center of a clock, riding towards 12 noon, the trail litterally wound around a half circle to where I would be going towards 6 o’clock after going through this switchback. At about 11 until about 1:30…the edge of the trail was the cliff going up, a wall. At about 1:30, the cliff wall going up ended and the edge of my world dropped off, straight down thousands of feet straight down.
This was like a breaking point for me as I took a second to steady myself for what I needed to do. I needed to stay left as tight to the wall as possible (without going into the rut) , and then start my turn, cutting across the 180 turn as tight to the center as possible to avoid being too close to the edge. Cutting across as close to the center of the circle kept me from having to ride towards the outer edge of the trail, where the sheer drop off lay.
As I started leaning right, cutting across the top of the circle, I was on the verge of freaking out…I felt my heart beating hard, my grip crushing my hands, the bike teetered for a second, rolling across the top of the turn when I hit a rock and the front of the bike lurched left towards the cliff.
The bike lurching left, I leaning right, I realized that I was going down and didn’t know where I was in relation to the cliff. fI screamed as I fell. Fff
I fell and for what seemed to be a small eternity. I didn’t know if I had gone over the edge of the cliff…I just knew that I was falling and everything slowed down. In that moment I thought I was going to die.
I hit the ground.
(Just to be clear, I have never been so happy to hit the ground.)
My eyes closed, my heart hurting inside my chest, I felt the rocky trail hit me and it was almost as though I wanted to grab onto it.
Joe had heard my cry and was yelling over the comms asking what happened and was I alright.
I got up on my knees afraid to see how close I was to the edge.
I was not as close to the edge as I had imagined but I still felt insanely overcome with fear. I got to my knees.
I surveyed the bike. The right handguard was broken off, my right mirror mount snapped off. There was a thick smell of gas as I could see a faint trickle coming from around the gas cap. The smell of gasoline is not uncommon when you dump your bike…but what was uncommon was the heavy leaking this time. I could see the moisture on my tank bag.
I needed to get my bike up.
I stood there a second, the edge of the world only about 10 feet from me. My heart hurt and my mind racing. I was on a 4 wheel drive trail, halfway down a steep cliff. I could see no other vehicles, I could see no other people. Joe was a long ways down from me and I realized that unless I wanted to wait on the side of this cliff for Joe to come back up or some 4 wheel drive vehicle with some good samaritans…I was going to have to put on my big boy pants and get myself off this cliff.
I started talking to myself. I’m not sure if it was out loud or just in my head…but I was like “Ok, get your shit together Tony.” “I need to get this bike upright before all my gas leaking out or leaks onto something hot and ignites” I grabbed my bike by the handlebars and rear gear rack and pulled with all my might to get it upright but it was too much for the angle on the hillside.
I grabbed the rear tire and drug it around for a better leverage angle.
Repositioned, I turned and put my back into the bike, seized the handlebar with my left, gear rack with the right and pushed with my legs in a kind of deadlift, lifting the bike up and backward with all my might towards the cliff. Through the Adrenalin…the shakes…the exertion…the bike rose and righted behind me as I pushed it to a balance point.
I rested for a moment.
“Ok Tony, get on this bike” I said to myself…turning and throwing my weight over the seat and getting back on the bike I sat in the seat my breath heaving from my lungs, sweat pouring off my face and soaking my shirt…I took a second for the oil to level inside the engine. Turning the key, the electronics cycled through and it started. “Ok, ok” I said…focusing on the path in front of me. I had to start moving again despite what I was feeling and what I wanted to do.
The bike started and I let out the clutch…and started moving again.
I felt my life was somehow shortened, somehow death had gripped me and I was not the same. I was drained and beaten as I wound down the trail to where Joe was waiting…I did not want to be on my bike any more, I did not want to ride anymore. I did not want to be on this journey anymore.
I don’t know about my life passing before my eyes, but if I had been a cat, I just blew all nine lives right then and there…all my lives, all my ‘luck’, all my remaining soul had just been cashed in. I felt like a ghost.
I reached Joe as he was at the bottom of the ‘terrifying section’ waiting for me. He was laughing and excited that I had not died…and that I had ‘conquered’ my fear…he was almost celebrating for me.
As much as I wanted to feel like I had conquered something, I was overcome with feeling of almost having gone too far..almost dying.
We stood there a few moments and as he asked me how I felt, I told him blankly, “I think I’m done.”
“Done?” He asked, “we’ve still got to get to the bottom of this trail.”
“Yeah, but I think I’m done with this trip…done with adventure riding…done with riding motorcycles.” I said. Funny thing was, if someone had been standing there and offered me $20 for my bike and gear, I would have been tempted to take it.
Shaken, exhausted, sweaty hot, and mentally damaged, I followed Joe down the rest of the trail which was extremely rocky but the 100 foot cliffs were less threatening and stopped to take a break at an overlook. I had done something so incredibly terrifying to me that I simply walked up the edge of a 200 foot cliff and stood near the edge taking in the view of the Colorado River. Prior to that day it would have terrified me…that moment, It didn’t phase me. I felt like I had already died and this cliff couldn’t hurt me. It was strange.
We wound down the last of the trail, went into Moab and had a bite to eat, talking with a guy who was enthralled with our stories, and we celebrated a good day to live through.
Because I almost died and it was still extremely hot in Moab, we got a hotel room with 2 king sized beds…a luxury well deserved that day. We cranked up the AC and I took a 20 minute shower and crawled into my own bed, passing out immediately. I slept as though dead.
I thought I would die that day. I thought I would quit and sell my bike. I thought I would be not afraid of heights anymore.
I was wrong on all accounts.
I did not celebrate when I came down that trail, I did not feel like I had looked death in the face.
I actually felt like something died in me. I can’t describe it but I had rode my bike through one of my most deep seated fears and had and (to me) terrifying fall on the edge of a cliff…and had to work through my deepest fear to get my bike upright and keep going. I’m sure there’s a phycologist that could give a clinical term…but all I know is that I lost something…something died in me…and I had no remaining lives…just the one I had barely managed to keep.
I can’t explain this…but I felt like a ghost.
We woke the next day, did some laundry, and then found a KTM store and bought a few parts for his bike and mine. We spent almost 2 hours in a parking garage lower level (sheltered from the desert heat) fixing what had been broken on mine and a few modifications to Joe’s so as to finish the journey.
I had said I was done…but I wasn’t and Joe knew it and once the repairs were done, without a word about me ‘quitting’ we rode out of Moab and headed east-ish on a 2 lane.
We rode that for a while to the edge of a mountain until the slab ran out and we started up a gravel 4×4 road. At the bottom it was mid-90s and maybe a 1,000 feet of elevation and the temperature cooled and the trail side became green as we wound up to 13,000 feet and 70 degrees.
Ever degree it cooled, every mile behind me, I felt more myself…but still, I was not the same.
“Fistful of Seeds Part 2” honestly was unintended…on my part anyway.
I had thought through and written “Fistful of Seeds” where I had written about what I considered what God was saying to me in the story of the bushmen. I felt that was done…but the second part of the video kept coming back to me…there was just something left undone, left hanging.
And then my motorcycle adventure started and I kind of forgot about it. (mostly)
About a week into my trip, we had been riding every day, all day. When I say ALL DAY EVERY DAY…I mean starting shortly after breakfast until the sun had, or was about to go down. These are long days that wear you out mentally and physically.
Of the things getting the biggest workout, my hands topped the list. They felt like giant mitts of beef twice their normal size, swollen and arthritic from being used all day to hold onto the handlebars. I would wake up and my fingers were frozen in a curved way every morning like I was riding in my sleep.
A close second from the riding was my mind. At the end of every day, I was fatigued from the constant scanning, focus, and energy of keeping on task to make sure I stayed upright and alive.
On these trips, in this case specifically Idaho, there are plenty of extreme drop-offs from the edge of trails and pavement that were sometimes terrifying to me. You could be riding 2 feet from a drop off or cliff that you would not recover from going over. You would be riding on a trail and come face to face with sheep and deer that unpredictably dart into your path. You would turn a blind corner to come face to face with ATVs coming at you…or a truck that was just backing blindly out of a fishing stop outside of White Pine that you BARELY miss running into the back of it. The mental fortitude it took to keep on task of staying focused is taxing.
One day after starting early and riding well into the late afternoon, I was sharing (bitching) with Joe that I was feeling (exhausted) like I wanted to take in more scenery (rest more often). He, being younger (a couple decades I might add) was not as taxed as I was. We started talking about riding styles and control of the bike through hands as well as knees gripping the bike. My mind wandered back to the story about the baboon gripping the seed.
*In my head, I’m like why did my mind make a connection here to that video again? What was causing me to thing about this now? What did the story have to do with me holding onto my handlebars too much. In moments like this, I ask God ‘what are you telling me here?’ in some form…I ask God what the connection is.
A statement comes into my mind that tells me that I’m not having fun because I’m not trusting that things will be ok…that something bad will happen if I don’t control every pebble, every shift in weight, every rock that I miss, every ‘line’ that I take through obstacles. To control EVERYTHING is obviously an impossible task that I’ve commissioned my mind and body to do.
My mind makes another connection…one that hits me in my heart.
I’m not enjoying parts of my life lately because I’m holding onto things too tightly. (An ‘aha’ moment is happening)
Now I’m paying attention to the connection, paying attention to what it means, because this is not a thought I would have on my own.
I start discussing with Joe my thoughts…Joe starts to think about things he’s holding onto too tightly too….so we’re having this spiritual discussion about how God is using this moment for both of us and we’re talking about what we’re holding onto too tightly in our lives.
After a while, I start talking about the monkey in the video again.
So who’s the bushman, who’s the monkey? What does the salt and water mean?
In my mind things start to unravel a little…because if I’m holding onto something too tightly..then it’s obvious to me that I’m the monkey with his hand holding on too tightly to the seeds in the termite hill. So who holds me captive? Satan seems to be an obvious answer. Water is often used as the symbol for the Holy Spirit….
Then a bigger picture begins to take focus.
Satan often traps us by enticing us to hold onto things we cannot possess…I wrote about this in part 1.
Now I’m thinking through ‘thirst’ in my life, this things that I WANT and what those things are.
I have a relationship that recently ended…now I thirst for relationship, intimacy, and affection.
I have a job that pays 100% commission…so you’re always thirsting for the next deal. And the next deal…and the next deal…
I have a nice car…that now has 223k miles…I thirst for a new ‘cool’ vehicle.
I get get just enough ‘things’ that I want…but if they’re the center of my life, they only bring more thirst.
Ok, you may follow me through what I’m about to say, you may not…but what I felt like God was showing me, was that Satan was giving me just enough intimacy, gold, and power that I thought would fulfill me…I wanted more and more…but it was empty…and like the salt on that baboon’s body, the more I thought the ‘salt’ would satisfy me, the more that salt made me thirst for something.
I know this may sound like I’m rambling…but this is how God speaks to me…things come up that my mind can’t shake and I wrestle through them, chew on them until parts are revealed or come to my understanding.
Now, God doesn’t just give me the answer as a suggestion, He often gives it to me when I’ve decided to start looking for an answer. That way the discovery of the answer knocks me on my ass. Like, If Joe just said to me “Hey Tony, stop holding onto the handlebars so tightly and by the way, do you think maybe you’re doing this in your personal life the same way?” I would have said, “Hey Joe, shut the hell up, you’re the one riding like an idiot, mind your own business!” And that would have been the end of it because I wasn’t ready to fully comprehend what I was suppose to learn.
You may say, God doesn’t speak to me. Maybe you’re expecting an audible voice booming out of the clouds?
But maybe…
Maybe there’s a song in your head that keeps repeating that won’t quit and you realize the lyrics hold a special meaning or it’s the song that brings back a memory.
Maybe somebody says something that sticks in your mind like a splinter that you can’t quick dig out.
Maybe the past won’t stay buried in your heart that won’t heal or they constantly haunt you.
I believe in those moments, God ‘speaks’ and it just doesn’t always look like the way you expect it to.
So pay attention to what’s running through your mind, what’s happening to you emotionally or physically…because you may find that you’re running through Utah on a motorcycle complaining that your hands hurt…and God’s trying to get your attention.
There was this national geographic type of video I watched as a kid…it was about how bushman in Africa found water in desert areas. If you go to YouTube, you can do a search under “How to fool a baboon into showing where to find water”.
I know this video is very old, may be a little staged, but watch it so that this story may make a little more sense, because a few decades after I watched this as a child…God used it to speak to me.
Water in the Kalahari desert is extremely scarce but bushman in the area have learned how to find it. In this video, a bushman would chisel a hole in an giant ant mounds in sight of baboons who are (evidently) very curious animals.
They would hollow out a little hole and put seeds in the hollowed out area and then move away but watch from a distance. The baboons would get curious and stick their hands in the holes and feel the seeds. Curiously, they would grab a big fistful of seeds and go to pull their hand through the hole. The hole was smaller than their hand with a fistful of seeds and they couldn’t get their hands out of the hole.
The baboon shrieked and fought and pulled and screamed!!!! Escape would be very easy…all it had to do was release the seeds and it would be free to slip it’s hand out of the hole. But it wouldn’t release the items it had grabbed, even though the baboon didn’t even know what it was And because it wouldn’t release what it had…it was captive.
It was captive to an imaginary value of something in its hand. As they did this, the bushman, who were watching, quickly came up to the baboon and put a leash on the animal as it struggled desperately to get it’s hand out of the hole.
The rest of the video is that the bushmen put a leash of the baboons and feed it salt…which the baboon eats like candy. A short time later the baboon is dehydrated and desperate for water. The bushmen release the baboon and it IMMEDIATELY goes to a water source…leading the bushmen to water also.
I have been drawn back to this story…I remembered it, it kept coming back to me…couldn’t shake it like a song you remember as a teenager that you can’t get off your mind. You forget it at lunch only to have it back on your mind on the way home. A mental itch I couldn’t scratch over a couple days. A quick search on YouTube and I found it and watched it. As I watched it a couple times, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a message here for me. In these moments, I believe God is ‘talking to me’.
As I watched this and thought about it and let me thoughts make ties to my own life, the places where I was struggling. In this way, God was showing me I was being held captive the same way the baboon was in the video. I was being held captive by the handful of seeds that I gripped so tightly in my fist.
I find that as life goes along, we either learn that lesson…or we stay captive to that.
To this baboon it was an impossibly irresistible curiosity of what it’s touching and trying to possess.
To me and you a similar grip is the grip on a bigger house or car… a better job title or rank in the company… a better wife or girlfriend…. a better salary or the corner office… …even a relationship that wasn’t evolving to become more
By not releasing these things, we’re held captive, easy prey for manipulation, exploitation, and compromise for the things that we can only JUST touch, JUST feel, JUST BARELY get a grip on…but never possess.
And the enemy comes up casually while we struggle to pull our hand out with that gold…and puts a leash on us for 6 months? 6 years? 6 decades?
I want to be free to be living out my best life, to be unhindered by the things that hold my life captive…and then before you know it, I’m crunching numbers and envying awards but what I really want is a weekend with friends. I want to come home to family and kids…but the program doesn’t quite run right…never ends the way I want it too. I find myself fine tuning a way of life over and over…not realizing that by fine tuning it, I mean I’m gripping a handful of what I think will bring fulfillment, that maybe never could.
So I sit with my hand gripping something that really doesn’t have the value I think it does, trying to pull it out of a hole that is too small.
What is it that keeps you from freedom? What are you gripping so tightly, so urgently that you are held captive until that happens…or until you die? Are you dying while you wait for that hole to get bigger or your hand to grow smaller?
There are things that you have to let go of to move your life forward…paradigms that HAVE to shift…or you will die with your life stuck, gripping a bag of empty promises that hold you to a dirt pile.
If, by reading this story, and it’s speaking to you…and you know what you’re not letting go of…and held captive by it? Do this quick little thing. (If you’ve read this far, take one more moment)
Close your eyes and then hold out a fist. SEE the thing that you’re holding in your mind and squeeze your grip on this thing in your mind’s eye. Then, when you’re ready, open your hand and turn it down releasing into God’s hands and ask Him to set you free.
A friend asking me if God was speaking to me on this trip…I had a moment to sit for a minute and share with anyone who wanted to hear.
I believe God is speaking to me through friends, circumstances, gentle and no-so-gentle nudges/intuitions, thoughts, and reading the Bible to name a few. Sometimes it’s the still small voice, sometimes it’s undeniable smack you on the head with a 2×4 in every day of my life….and I try to listen to Him…and things get in the way.
I’ll try and explain from my perspective.
Have you ever observed someone sing or play an instrument on the street or a subway stop? Have you watched the person playing putting their heart into the moment? Have you ever watched the crowd AROUND the performer? Some people in the crowd are talking, some are walking by completely ignoring the moment or don’t even SEE the performer, some stop for a second and find no value, and some heckle. But some stop and listen and find value in the moment, stopping where they were going for a few minutes to take in the intimacy of the performer playing as if it were just for them.
God speaking to us is a little like this, not that I’m trying to reduce God to a street performer…but the MOMENT of God speaking to me is a little like this.
If I tune in to this moment intentionally, I tune out the sounds, the noise, the people, the chaos, and focus. These moments where you remove as much as possible and sit with God.
On trips like these
I remove ‘comfort’ and ‘certainty’ and ‘playing it safe’ (which are huge for me) I remove the worry of my next deal of real estate and the worry of making a living I remove structure of the day and my will to form it I add uncertainty and excitement and expectation
I add moments to take in the beauty of the creation…the flowers, the mountains, the trees, the animals, the smells of campfires and forests I add my interaction with my motorcycle like it’s alive as we do our dance I add in moments of conversations on the comm devices as we talk and laugh and carry on I add in exploration or new trails and abandon houses and mining structures
And in those moments, new thoughts, new emotions, new desires….”renewal” comes to me.
In the renewal I see God playing and speaking to me and giving me things to ponder about how my life is ‘going’ and what I should be thinking and doing and taking in.
In adventure biking, things do not always go as planned….matter of fact they often do not.
We wreck, we break things, trails abruptly end, we turn around, we have unexpected detours, and weather and heat can be punishing. We can choose to see those things as obstacles…or we can see those as opportunities. Opportunities to grow, to lay down our schedule and planned routes, lay down our pride and egos and ask for help….see the moment of challenge as a moment for growth.
These trips are a lot like life. We plan, we strive, we move and adjust. We can see each of those moments as random and chaotic….or we can see them as custom experiences to grow, to stretch us…a designer showing me what I’m capable of, what I was intricately and deliberately created to be. A father who has good things for me.
Next time you see that moment where the unexpected catches you off guard, take it in as though God had moved heaven and earth for you to be there at that specific time and place to hear that music whether on a subway platform in NYC or a field of Beargrass flowers on a trail in the middle of the the Bitterroot Mountains and thank Him for it.
When you’re put in a place where you have to see and experience things differently, that’s when you’ll see and experience things differently.
I am part of Crossroads Church and we have this thing called Man Camp. It’s for men, it’s out camping, working, playing, and spending time around men, being men.
I don’t always agree with everything I see out there…don’t necessarily agree with what I hear. But…I see things there that lead me to know that I need to continue to be part of it…not only for me, but for the other men that God pours into using me.
At Man Camp, I’m part of what we call MASH…basically the prayer team. Being on MASH, I see and hear things as men come to the prayer tent.
Some come to confess or lay burdens down, Some need wounds tended to. Some come to be set free. Some ask for renewal.
And some… some come to fight.
I heard a prayer this last weekend that was one of the most incredible honest prayers I have ever heard…maybe ever. A man in the MASH tent said a few things in his prayer mostly questions to a God he felt was indifferent, confusing, and distant. He had challenged God to a fight in the past…Terry and I suggested a better challenge might be to challenge God to show up. He didn’t object and we talked more about that.
He asked me what he should say and I suggested that he be honest with God and use his own words. They came out raw and honest…and in his ‘prayer’ came a few words that stood out to me:
“God, if you’re wanting to communicate with me, you’re going to have to step up your game.”
I started laughing on the outside and inside I was celebrating…because I know God will show up in an unexpected way for this man. How do I know? If I’m honest, even being on MASH, I too have this same prayer sometimes…because I want God to show up too.
In this man’s prayer, in that moment, I knew God was listening to this one honest, heartfelt, and raw moment in this man’s own words. His pain and confusion and need laid out before the God he needed to hear from.
In Mark 9.24 a man with a need comes to Jesus and challenges him in a desperate way, saying
‘if” Jesus could help. ”If?” Jesus asks back incredulously. ”I want to believe…help me in my unbelief.” Cries the man in the story.
I believe this is a prayer that we all struggle with sometimes…and that’s ok.
Jesus didn’t chastise the man who asked for a miracle, he challenged him back…and then did something that would cause the man to have to come to grips with his faith as he watched Jesus perform a miracle.
I think God’s big enough and gentle enough to hear us when our faith is not enough…when our questions are too big for hearts…when we wrestle with Him for an answer.
I think God likes a fighter…so bring your big boy pants and get in the ring with Him.
Die On Empty 