Day 11 : Lubbock, Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico

322 Miles

The next morning, Amanda and I enjoyed a couple of cups of coffee at Lubbock’s version of coffee shop, and then stopped by Lubbock Christian University for a tour of the campus. It was my first time ever being there, and I have to say that it was not what I expected, though it was very nice as I had expected. After some parting prayer and hugs, Albuquerque beckoned, and the riding continued with the sun on my back.

The road led through Littlefield, Melrose, Clovis, and on. The motorcycle overheated once on the edge of Fort Sumner, but started right up about 20 minutes later. I rode with one eye on the sky; watching thunder clouds gather and spread. Finally, they began to pour with resolve on the east end of the Cibola National Forest. I pulled over at a road side gas station and food mart in the hopes that the storm would not last long, and it passed in about an hour’s time.

It was not too late in the afternoon when I broke the city limits of Albuquerque.

The driving directions I had received to Tim and Cheryl Russell’s house were just a bit less than dead on, and the motorcycle ran out of gas heading the wrong direction. Luckily, I was able to guide the motorcycle across the road and push start it down the hill. Tim and Cheryl had lived for a short time in Portland, and have since moved back to work with PUMP. Tim met me at the gas station at the bottom of the hill and we made our way to their home.

After unpacking the motorcycle, settling in, and taking a much needed shower, we made our way to dinner. Kerry and Karla Lowery met us at El Pinto for some fantastic Mexican food, and blessed fellowship. Kerry and Karla were PUMP members that had recently moved to Albuquerque, and it was great to get to see them and catch up on current events.

When we got back to the house, Tim and Cheryl introduced me to the video game Rock Band. Who knew that pretending to play music could be so much fun? You just haven’t lived until you have seen the Russell’s kids wailing the lyrics to Say It Ain’t So by Weazer into a plastic microphone. We eventually gave in the need for sleep, and retired to bed.

Day 10 : Arlington, Texas to Lubbock, Texas

328 Miles

What a blessing to spend the Lord’s Day with the Maxwells and the family at the Park Row church of Christ! I was honored to serve by singing on the praise team and by offering thoughts before communion. The members of Park Row were interested in PUMP; they were gracious and generous, and they sent me on encouraged. Lunch was a tempting offer, but I was hoping to visit other friends that day, and to get into Lubbock somewhat early in the evening for a longer night’s sleep.

At this point pulling back onto the road began to feel like reconnecting with a familiar partner. After a quick stop for gas, I settled in for a comfortable ride in some very pleasant weather. There was a gas station with a roadside diner along the lateral stretch of Interstate 20, so I filled the motorcycle with fuel and ordered myself a beef brisket sandwich. The place seemed like exactly what one might expect: vinyl booths, an old re-run of Quincy playing on the television in the corner. The food was not cheap, but it was good, and there was plenty of it. 30 minutes later, I was on my way again. Traffic was lively on the way from Arlington to Abilene; there were no construction hang ups, and drivers seemed intent on maintaining a maximum speed, so the miles rolled along with no incident.

I stopped at Abilene Christian University to hug the neck of Kenli Edwards. Kenli is a former PUMP Summer Program director whose friendly nothing-is-really-that-hard-let-alone-impossible attitude grew on our family like an aggressive fungus. It was fun to see her ruling the domain of her dorm at ACU. I’m sure there is no better dorm parent in the world than Kenli. Seriously Edwards, would a visit to the Rose City kill you? :)

More fuel, and a northwest turn onto Interstate 84 led me on to Lubbock. I pulled into town and couldn’t resist a brief stop at Church’s Chicken to get directions and enjoy a greasy chicken leg. Less than an hour later I pulled into the home of the Petersons. Amanda had also been an intern and director in PUMP’s Summer Program; she was home for just a short spell before she began her tour with the Peace Corps in Africa. It reminds me that God, in his mercy, regularly sends remarkable people to PUMP to serve for a period of time. Over the years, we have been blessed to minister alongside gifted people that go forward to bless every corner of God’s kingdom with love.

Amanda and I spent some time catching up on life and looking forward into ministry. We caught each other up on lapsed friendships and missing details from blog stories. I should have known that there would be no early rest. Time with friends is too precious!

Day 9 : Nashville, Tennessee to Arlington, Texas

685 Miles

Saturday morning we shared a brief breakfast, snapped a few pictures (sorry McCools, for the life of me, I cannot locate those pictures), and by mid-morning I was on the road to Arlington, Texas. My plan was to bunk at Steve and Alasha Maxwell’s house Saturday night, and attend church with them the next morning.

The weather was pleasantly warm, so I had decided to forgo wearing riding pants. There was a moderate amount of traffic on Interstate 40, but everyone seemed to be committed to the flow of traffic, so the morning melted into the afternoon without much interest. The motorcycle was running just over 100 miles per tank, which was a great interval to check oil levels and fill up as necessary which was just about every other stop.

If a motorcyclist traveling at 70 miles per hour is hit just under the knee by a golf-ball-sized rock (kicked back by an semi-truck) traveling in the opposite direction at approximately 5 miles per hour, the resulting impact carries the force of approximately 75 miles per hour, it evokes a sizable, verbal response, heavily-saturated with inappropriate language, and is a great reminder of why it is always good to wear protective gear when one rides. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.

Arkansas is some beautiful scenery. I have to tell you, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting anything that green, especially from the freeway. I was impressed. Now the roads themselves: zebra striped with tar; I felt like I was driving on a Jackson Pollock painting. Cracker Barrel welcomed me once again for a late lunch, and then I found a Honda dealer to renew the oil supply. The remains of the day were spent watching the road go by and wearing out my seat. By the time night fell and I could see the distant lights of Dallas, my posterior was tired of negotiating and ready stage a full-scale walk out. One last stop for gas, a phone call to the Maxwell’s and a look at the map, and it was the beginning of the end of the trail.

It was late when I finally pulled into the Maxwell’s garage. Steve had a cardboard pad waiting for the motorcycle, and a tall glass of ice water for me. We spent some time catching up on life: family, ministry and music, and eventually resigned to the night hour.

Sleep never came so easy.

Day 8 : Nashville Tennessee

0 Miles

Friday morning there was sunshine, and I enjoyed some time on the campus of Lipscomb University, and then headed back to the McCool’s house in the afternoon to do some maintenance on the motorcycle: oil change and a gasket replaced. The work went fairly smoothly. I was feeling a little too proud of myself as I was tightening the oil pan bolt and heading back to Lipscomb in my mind when...

Snap.

I over-tightened and stripped the oil pan bolt. One look under the motorcycle revealed the pan dripping freshly changed oil onto the ground like a Mr. Coffee maker. After throwing the pan back under the bike I rushed inside and found the nearest auto parts store on Google maps. Autozone was just a short ride away; they had disposable oil pans stacked just inside the door, and a very friendly staff, happy to help me face this challenge: I don’t remember the manager’s name, but he looked like Jack from Lost. The other worker was named Brett, and he looked like a shorter, more muscular version of my college roommate Andy Williams. These were true good-ol’ boys at their best. In between helping other customers they came out, crawled under the motorcycle, tried a number of solutions to stop the bleeding; and it was the manager (on his back, on the ground in the parking lot) who first discovered it. “Look here,” says Jack, “I think you may have cracked your oil pan.”

My stomach disappeared; this realization was deeply disappointing. It did open up the possibility of other temporary (though less efficient) fixes. The new oil was already drained from the pan, so Brett and I worked some miracle weld to a putty and applied it to the inside of the oil pan threads. After it had set we gently threaded the oil pan bolt back into the hole and then waited for it to harden. Finally we poured the oil back in and started the engine to see the effect of our work. The drip was slowed considerably. It would be an oily trip home, but the pan was holding admirably in spite of my careless abuse.

I arrived back at McCool Manor in time to change my clothes and enjoy an insider’s tour of Nashville and dinner with Raleigh and his parents. The McCools are very generous hosts, and candid tour guides. They showed me a lot of popular, beautiful, and cool Nashville points of interest, and the editorial and family interaction was the best kind. We enjoyed excellent conversation and amazing dinner thanks to Baja Burrito.

Day 7 : Mt. Vernon, Illinois to Nashville, Tennessee

235 Miles

I woke up with a start in Mt. Vernon; it was Conference Day One! Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann started his first lecture at 4:15, and I did not want to miss a word. A look out the window confirmed that the motorcycle was still there. None of my tweets had made it to Twitter the day before. A call to T-Mobile and hard reset of the phone fixed the issue, and before long I was ready to go. The map and fluid levels were checked one more time; after a quick stop for gas, the last ride east began.

Traffic on Interstate 57 started slowly. The speed picked up around Marion, and then I had been moving right along for about 5 miles when a guy in a pick up truck pulled up next to me waving wildly. We both pulled over and he let me know that I had lost my spare gas tank off of the back of the motorcycle. Thankfully no one had hit it, but it was not salvageable. Truck man was a rider as well, and we stood on the side of the road and talked about motorcycles for almost a half an hour.

I pulled off the highway in Paducah, Kentucky for gas and the front brake seized up at a red light. I was not ready for mechanical delays this close to Nashville. Pumping the brake lever furiously seemed to work the caliper loose, and I was able to pull into the service station. After getting gas, everything seemed to be fine, so I said a prayer and pulled back onto the highway.

Just outside of Clarksville, Tennessee, the rain started to fall again. I pulled off at the first exit and begged for garbage bags, but they really didn’t help. The last 50 miles to Nashville was a baptism. Thankfully it was not too cold. The freeway traffic in Nashville was bumper to bumper so by the time I pulled into Lipscomb’s campus, Dr. Fleer was giving his welcome speech and introducing Dr. Brueggemann. I dripped my way to registration, changed clothes, and took a seat in the back.

Dr. Brueggemann was amazing. His presentation was manuscripted so it sounded understandably like his books read. But to hear the good Dr. present the material in person was a treat. His work is a vacuum of fluff. The man can preach.

Chris Goldman and Walter Surdaki found me drying off in the back, and took me by a Laundromat on our way to dinner. It was great to catch up with those guys. We stopped into Starbuck’s on the way to the next session, and who should amble in and sit down next to us but Brian McLaren! We introduced ourselves and made a little small talk, but McLaren was checking email so we didn’t bother him too much.

Jerry Taylor preached Thursday night, and inspired as usual. Taylor has to be one of the most solid preachers in our movement at this time. He thoroughly understands himself, his craft and his audience, and most importantly his relationship with God is evident both in the act of preaching and in his personal life.

It was late when I finally pulled down the driveway at the McCool’s house. Raleigh McCool interned at PUMP last summer, and was an excellent example of a thoughtful servant leader. The McCools graciously agreed to host me while I was in Nashville. When I walked in the house I met the family, was handed a nice warm cup of good coffee, and immediately felt at home. We talked for awhile; I got a tour of the house which ended at the bed in which I was going to sleep, and soon after that I got busy sleeping.