Here Comes the Diesel

The past couple of weeks, Team Immatour has been on a little bike trip, which is the reason for two Tuesdays without my scribbles. This team is a group of friends who ride together most every summer and were given their name by Francie’s dad while staying with them on a trip through Montana a few years ago. This summer we started in Durango and made our way south and east to Taos, around the Enchanted Circle, then back a different route to our rigs left where we started.

The trip this year offered up a bit of everything: Jaw-dropping sights/sounds/smells, thunderstorms with heavy rain, almost daily high altitude passes, strong NM winds, and meeting so many great people along the way, and the green chili, oh my! Our mix of camping and real beds hit the need just right, coupled to having no crashes or mechanical maladies made it a home run.

But…

I’m 71+, heavier than I want to be and didn’t really train like I should have. If that was a balance sheet, I’d be in debt!

The welcome addition to this year’s tour was a sag-wagon. Jeff’s Suburban served as our mule, so no bags on the bikes, and we rotated drivers throughout the day so the mileage at altitude (all over 7k’ and often above 8k’) could be tolerated. Having the car turned out to be a godsend for me as I drove the most gnarly passes while the others ground on their pedals up the roads.

One of our crew carries the nickname “The Diesel” because while he is far from the fastest, he Just. Doesn’t. Stop. Grabbing a lower gear and finding a pace he can live with, like an old diesel pickup, our diesel chugs along all the way to the top.

While the thin air does what it does and the hill will not lessen its hurt, my friend endures, confident that there will be a summit and a glorious descent beyond. There is sure to be another pass to climb, but all that occupies his mind is finishing this task, passing this test, climbing this mountain.

There is a spiritual principle to this that’s probably obvious: The way to climb your mountain, especially when the air is thin and the road steep with no end in sight and a headwind to boot might lie in gearing down to live just this moment, doing faith in life right now without worrying over what lies after.

In the Lord’s Prayer, the line that reads, “Give us today our daily bread” provides a handhold when the road gets steep. Part of my routine on a ride like this is early in the day to work through the phrases of that prayer, slowly, and letting them soak into my heart. When I get to these words, they becomes very real to me.

I need daily strength, just enough, to finish this day’s ride. And relying on the God who made me to provide what I need reminds me I’m not in this alone. The circumstances of the day might feel like a strong headwind on a long hill, but our God, FatherSonSpirit, does not panic nor scramble, and neither should we.

“Give us today” declares need that only God can meet and a heart that knows where to look. It talks of direction as we look to the Source and not a reflection. After all, the prayer starts with both proximity and enormity with the phrase, “Our Father, who is in heaven.” He is close as a father and he is beyond our imagination, and he has the desire and ability to give what we need to climb.

“Daily” calls for regular renewal of connection with Jesus. Hungry? Come today. Needy? The table is set with support. Uncertain? Constant reminders every morning that he’s got this. And just like with the manna in the wilderness, we must come for fresh bread each morning. This has the effect of moving us closer to the God who supplies.

“Bread” has the stuff of life. It’s not junk food, even when that’s what my craving desires. I know deep down that I need the good stuff, and the Spirit within me will provide it. Bread isn’t sexy or even tantalizing, but it’s good for you…just what you need.

Try this out: Look at your day with all of its ups and downs and practice this phrase as part of your starting point liturgy. Let it settle in your head and heart and take slow breaths through your nose to fill your mind with fresh air. Then go.

Give me enough, Lord, for all I will encounter today. Fill my tank to the brim. I trust it will match the need.

The final pass of three steep ones on day five was dang rowdy. Multiple hairpin inclines all above 9k’ challenged everyone. At the top of this grade between Eagle Nest and Taos, we waited for some time, but then one of the others cried out, “Here comes the Diesel!!” Sure to his understated nature, my friend rode into the gravel parking area, leaned over the bars and gasped, “Well that sure opened the pores.”

I can learn a lot from the Diesel. Gear down. Keep turning the cranks. Set short goals up the road. Endure, which at its simplest means to “remain under.” Maybe you can learn a bit from him as well as you ride your hill. And don’t be surprised if you begin to feel stronger in the climb, more determined in the effort, and sweating but enduring going forward a step at a time.

Call us “Dieselitos”…little diesels, chugging along, following wherever Jesus leads.

Take heart. Keep climbing.

It’s acapella week

Home Free

Pentatonix

Acappella Company

Kings Return

Anthem Lights

…and bad jokes all around

A little three-year-old boy is sitting on the toilet.

His mother thinks he has been in there too long, so she goes in to see what's up. The little boy is sitting on the toilet reading a book. But about every 10 seconds or so he puts the book down, grips onto to the toilet seat with his left hand and hits himself on top of the head with his right hand.

His mother says: "Billy, are you all right? You've been in here for a while.

Billy says: "I'm fine, mommy... just haven't gone 'doody' yet."

Mother says: "OK, you can stay here a few more minutes. But Billy, why are you hitting yourself on the head?"

Billy says: "Works for ketchup!"

*************************

A teacher was reading the story of the Three Little Pigs to her class.

She came to the part of the story where the first pig was trying to gather the building materials for his home. She read, "And so the pig went up to the man with the wheelbarrow full of straw and said: 'Pardon me sir, but may I have some of that straw to build my house?"

The teacher paused then asked the class: "And what do you think the man said?"

One little boy raised his hand and said very matter-of-factly, "I think the man would have said, 'Well, what do ya know?! A talking pig!"