Meeting Glenn Near Gordo, Alabama (Flat Tire #10)
Photo Above: The westerly view of Highway 82 near Gordo, Alabama.
This is the spot where I changed a tire tube.
A Local Pulls Over And Offers Help
The pebbles and crumbly pieces of asphalt increased east of Gordo
and I kept my guard up. Watch that road!
By now, I almost had a built-in radar for messy roads and items that might cause flats.
Then it happened ... Flat Tire #10!
I was disappointed alright. I took a deep breath and captured the view of the highway
from where I had just come from. I was not there for long before a Ford SUV pulled over.
"I'm just here if you need help." said the man,
"I'm a bicyclist myself and I know it can be humiliating to be changing a tire on a highway like this."
We immediately connected. I told him about my bike across America trip and it turned out
he enjoys riding long distances himself and has a desire to bicycle across America someday.
Alas, like many men, the common obstacles of having family and work responsibilities are his largest roadblocks.
He talked about possibly taking one to two weeks off each summer and riding shorter portions
of the route with his buddies each year. That's actually not a bad idea!
His name was Glenn (small right photo) and he gave me his business card.
"If you need any help just call me. I'm driving to Tuscaloosa and will be coming back later today."
I did not need any help at the moment, although it would have been nice, I suppose, to have
just sat there and let him change the tire. Not that I would have ever asked him to. No,
this was my flat tire on my journey.
This was my baby, and similar to changing a dirty diaper of one of your own children,
it was my dirty job.
Where Is God In All This?
I looked down at his business card and noticed he was a pastor of a church in Gordo.
Ah, now his friendliness made sense to me.*
* - This reminded me of my first pastor, Mark Heijerman, the
man who led to me to Christ in 1992 when I was age 21. He always told me he downplayed
his position as pastor of a church, and he made efforts to conceal
the formal title of "Rev." before his name.
"If someone finds out that I am a pastor, my hope is they won't be surprised."
"Oh wow. I just want you to know I'm a Christian." I quickly interjected.
We connected some more. I shared about my trip and why I was doing this. It was
hard to come up with words, to provide a short answer.
"This isn't some leisurely, casual thing I'm doing," I explained emphatically,
"This is a dream I've thought about doing for years and God has helped me do this."
We talked about God, and it sounded like we know the same God.
Glenn briefly shared his own story - he had a fairly radical experience and came to faith
in his adult years - having a lifestyle mired in reckless drinking and gambling.
My story had some similarities. I grew up in a religious tradition where
I learned a lot about God, but I never quite knew him personally,
like a real friend. I gave my life to Jesus Christ as a young
adult in my 20's, after realizing
I was at my "wits end" in my search for meaning and fulfillment in this world.
Telling Glenn about this lit a fire in my spirit.
"I have been a Christian for 15 years now,
and somehow I have gotten stuck in this small,
conservative life where I'm all about my
responsibilities and trying to fit in with what I think people want me to be.
You know that feeling of all
that passion and excitement, when I first gave
my life to God and I couldn't stop telling people about it.
I needed something like this (my trip) to get me out of my routine." I said.
Glenn understood. He shared what it was like to pastor a church,
and to know that he is in charge of challenging
and leading his congregants to grow a spiritually vital lifestyle.
Spiritual vitality. Aliveness. Passion. Ah yes,
those elusive things that happened to be on the "want list" of my heart for quite a long time.
I had some pressing and practical decisions that I would need to make before 2008 ends as
I started my ride: Career matters, where to live and sifting through confusion at this stage in life.
Maybe this trip would help bring some clarity! Well, at this point,
39 days into my bike journey and about 2,000 miles of riding,
I had no concrete answers. Sometimes life is like that.
We seek out specific answers through prayer and petition for our life questions,
and then we realize there is a whole another lesson
to learn that does not quite answer our original question, but at least gives
some insight, some comfort and maybe some transformation inside.
I resolved there would be no "calling in the sky" or any kind of
huge directional statement for me during this trip, and that was okay.
I realized my bike trip, as grand and impressive as it was, was just a series of fairly monotonous
rides day after day - nothing more, at least on the surface.
Maybe the direction and blessings I was seeking would
come months later or maybe even years after the trip. Oh ... I had that sentence,
that glorious sentence, that I received in the
Arizona desert.
Maybe the fact that I had been safe thus far was a blessing enough.
Or the fact that I was even accomplishing this trip was
perhaps a dazzling display of God's power and encouragement in my life.
Charting A Route In Alabama
There was another major coincidence with Glenn and I, when I showed him my remaining route.
I was headed to
Tuscaloosa and if I felt good and strong,
I would continue to Centreville at the only motel in Bibb County.
This man grew up in Centreville and was well-acquainted with the area!
He warned me: Highway 82 is not a good highway for bicyclists.
Past Centreville, there is very little shoulder all the way to Montgomery
with a large volume of trailer trucks on weekdays. One time,
he considered riding Highway 82 all the way to the ocean - the very route I planned to take! - but he
opted against it because of the dangers.
He examined my map of Alabama and suggested an alternate route
that he considered to be safer with less traffic. He suggested I detour Highway 82 tomorrow
at Maplesville (past Centreville), then take Highway 22 east through
Clanton and near Alexander City. Then I could ride on Highway 280, a four-lane highway
all the way through Auburn, Phenix City and Columbus, GA
before reconnecting with Highway 82 in Dawson, GA. The detour
would be three days long, the same amount of days, with some extra mileage.
I did not heed Glenn's direction. Yes, a part of me took his words seriously,
but changing the route was confusing and could cause more problems.
I already had lodging planned out in Alabama
(Centreville, Montgomery, Eufaula) and
I had no guarantee the roads would be any better.
Highway 82 is indeed the most direct route to the ocean and
I just needed to press on and deal with whatever happens out there.
This was my thinking at time, and as these three days unfold, you shall see what came of my decision!
This connection with Glenn, a man selfless enough to
pull over and offer help cheered me up. The human contact meant a lot. Even just
leaning my head and body into the passenger side window of his truck was a nice change of pace.
Glenn and I prayed together.
We had quite a brotherly connection, like two old friends, talking about
bicycling, God and those Alabama roads. Our talk made me feel okay ...
a smile came back on my face ... everything was going to be alright.
At this point, I generally had a lot of peace about the day to day events
of riding, even if they were unpleasant, but there was
a major rise in my spirit that I could not deny.
Glenn left and I changed that tire alright. I was eager to reach Tuscaloosa.
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