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.

Day 6 : Wakeeney Kansas to Mt. Vernon Illinois

623 Miles

I woke up refreshed. Having ended the previous day early, I knew I had many a mile to recover, so I packed quickly, checked fluids, loaded the motorcycle, and launched again east. The storm had passed over and the sky was solid blue all along the lanky Kansas horizon.

With a resolution to stay dry I walked into the Wal-Mart in Hays, Kansas, looking to buy a pvc rain suit. I was late to the dance; there was only one left and it wasn’t my size, I happened to see a Goodwill store on the way to the interstate, but unfortunately there was nothing sufficient to be found among their racks. Back on the road and determined to make time, I rode the motorcycle hard and only stopped when the gas tank was dry. I saw three states on Day 6:

Kansas: the only state kind enough to recognize me for my nimble driving. The officer patrolling between Topeka and Kansas City was surprised that I would try to make this kind of trip in October. I would have thought he might have been a little more understanding about my haste. I hope Kansas did something constructive with my financial contribution to their justice system.

Missouri: looked a lot like Kansas until I drove into St. Louis just after sunset. Downtown was stunning, and I was mesmerized by the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial. So much so, that when Interstate 70 abruptly ended in a tangled-spaghetti explosion of smaller freeways, I had no idea where to go. 

Illinois: I was in Illinois? According to Google Maps, I spent the evening in Mt. Vernon, Illinois. By the time I reached Illinois, the sky was black, and my countenance coordinated. I had cast my eye toward Nashville despite my complaining fundament. But when I saw that sign for the Cracker Barrel Country Store at exit 7b, I caved like a house of cards.

I limped into the restaurant and was shown a seat. I ordered food and then noticed that the other patrons were staring at me. When I went to find the restroom, a look in the mirror revealed the reason I had earned the attention: oil and dirt on my face, messed up hair; I looked like I had been run over. I just didn’t care; I tore through the chicken fried steak and cleaned the plate. There was not a crumb of food left on my table. There was a Motel 6 just down the road from the restaurant, but that quarter of a mile might have been the most difficult to ride. I quickly covered the motorcycle, walked in my room, fell directly on the bed and lay dead still asleep all night. I woke up the next morning in my clothes with my boots still on. It was an awesome day!

Day 5 : Westminster, Colorado to WaKeeney, Kansas

325 Miles

I woke up Tuesday morning to the smell of a pancake breakfast. This was a special day in the Hill house: it was Adam's third birthday!

Griffin and Adam kept me sufficiently entertained by rehearsing the results of previous birthday activities. I was shown duplicate sets of Star Wars figures although and I should say that we were all in agreement that a person can never have too many Star Wars toys. In this situation, “more” undeniably equals “better.” We played as mom and dad prepared the special birthday breakfast which included a pancake shaped like the number 3. Breakfast conversation with the boys bounced randomly from subject to subject including but certainly not limited to superhero costumes, bike riding, my kids in Oregon, Star Wars, Lego construction, and Chuck E. Cheese.

Pictures were taken of the birthday boy and the special pancake, and then it was time to pack up and get ready to go. The night before, Blake had graciously provided a large piece of cardboard so that the motorcycle could be parked in the garage without leaving an oily mess on the floor. Kim packed me a great lunch, and before long I was on the road. I stopped at a nearby motor sports shop to pick up extra oil, and then it was east on Interstate 70 toward Kansas.

I was not alone in surviving the Rocky Mountains. It turns out the seasonal record snow storm in the western states turned into a severe rain storm east of the Continental Divide. Just before for the state line, water began to fall from the sky. When you are riding down the interstate at 75 miles per hour with no windows or roof, there is no such thing as a light rain. My water resistant motorcycle jacket (designed in the precipitous Portland, Oregon) resisted water like a sponge. In no time I was soaked to the bone. I pulled off the highway at a small gas station in Burlington, tanked up, borrowed a couple of garbage bags (for creating a poor man’s rain suit), and returned to the road.

Interstate 70 is essentially a straight line across the Midwest, so it seems to be a favorite of long-haul trucks. When the road is soaked, 18 wheels can brew their own brand of storm under and around those trailers, which makes it impossible to ride behind or beside a truck. In the time it takes to pass, there’s about 1 full second when the water stands in the air like a solid wall. Truth be told, it’s thrilling moment to ride but with the sheer number of trucks on the road, it takes a toll.

I took one more break at a service station in Colby, and I finally gave up early in WaKeeney, Kansas at the first hotel with a clothes dryer. 4 hours and $6.00 in quarters later, I crashed.

Day 4 : West Jordan, Utah to Westminster, Colorado

521 miles

I woke up a bit late Monday and ate breakfast with Jill and Anna. Carlos had already gone to work. Jill kindly packed me a lunch the night before, so I checked the oil levels, packed up the motorcycle, said farewell, and hit the road.

The day was sunny and brisk, the snow had melted; I stopped for gas on the edge of town, and tentatively planned my fuel stops for the rest of the day. The road from West Jordan to Grand Junction was full of twisties, and but for some road work and semi-trucks, riding was a lot of fun. There were a few abandon straight stretches for testing the brawn of the engine, which was a thrill. Somewhere in the middle I pulled over, stretched my back, ate my sandwich and admired the golden hills near the border of Colorado.

I stopped for gas in Grand Junction, and pushed on for Denver. The palisades along Interstate 70 stood handsome in the failing sun. As night fell and the road began to wind and ascend, the temperature dove steadily. I was going to cross the Rocky Mountains in the dark.

I was disappointed to miss the views along the highway, but more distracted by the cold. Every stop for gas included pulling more clothes from the saddlebags for unreasonable but necessary layering. One picks his discomforts. The road was wet, and it brought concerns of black ice. As I passed through various towns and ski resorts, I thought of the following seen in Dumb and Dumber.

Eventually the summit was conquered. Traffic creeped on the eastern side of the mountains awaiting entrance to the Eisenhower Memorial Tunnel. Crews were performing maintenance and repairs all along it’s length. In the tunnel the cars were packed and noisy, the smell of exhaust was overwhelming, but who cared? By that time, riding “inside” felt like the biggest treat of the day.

I got a little turned around in Denver, but eventually found myself off the freeway in Westminster, on the correct exit, and pulling into the home of the Hills. I was reminded again what a blessing is to walk into the hospitality of good friends at the weary end of a day of traveling. The boys, Griffin and Adam, had already gone to sleep, but Blake and Kim and I spent the rest of the evening remembering college and catching up on the time in between.

Day 3 : Weiser, Idaho to West Jordan, Utah

422 Miles

I checked the weather on Sunday morning, and it looked the storm was mostly moving northeast. I really didn't have another day to sit, so I rode over to the Burris' house for breakfast and we said our goodbyes. They went off to church, and I hit the interstate. The weather was cold, but the sun was out, and I enjoyed riding through southern Idaho. When I was a kid, our family traveled I-84 between Mountain Home and Twin Falls often to visit family, and it was cool to see several familiar stretches of road along the way.

I stopped for gas and temporary warmth just east of Rupert, Idaho, and as I walked into the truck stop coffee shop, sat down next to three friendly truckers who were checking the national weather service on a laptop. They asked what the hell I was doing riding a motorcycle in this weather, and when they found out I was headed to a minister's conference, they all let me know where they stood with God. I kid you not: one agnostic, one catholic, and one southern baptist.

We enjoyed some humorous, spiritual conversation, and commiserated road conditions over coffee. Interstate 84 was closed between Rupert and Snowville. It was possible to take alternate roots, but probably just as dangerous. The truckers encouraged me to find a hotel a couple of exits down the highway, and wait it out one more day. I finally gave up and went in search of lodging, but as I headed down the road, the temporary road signs were announcing that I-84 had been reopened! I took off down the road praying that "open" meant dry, and sure enough the road was dry the entire way! There were a few patches of snow on the road, but they looked like they had been dropped by truck undercarriages rather than the sky. The interstate was virtually empty for obvious reasons, and I enjoyed an uneventful trip over the state border and into Utah.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten to reset the fuel valve in Rupert, and I ran out of gas two miles north of Tremonton, Utah. Thankfully, a family of angels (parented by Scott and Beverly, and driving a VW Eurovan) armed with an old steel gasoline can came to my rescue. Before long I had a handful of trail mix, a bottle of water, a couple of gallons of petrol in the tank, and Beverly stuffed a pack of fruit snacks in my pocket before I could protest. In no time I was buzzing back down the road.

I got into West Jordan late, and it actually began to snow on me in the last miles to the Zuniga's house, but I arrived safely by the stubborn grace of God. It was awesome to catch up a little with Carlos and Jill and to get to meet Anna for the first time. She is a very beautiful and happy baby! After talking for awhile, we all surrendered to the thought of the busy tomorrow and went to bed.