The Pastor's Wife Wears Biker Boots (7 page)

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow you get to help me practice riding my motorcycle.” I motioned with my fists as if I were revving up an engine.

“Oh, I do, do I?” Aaron stood and took me in his arms. “I didn’t realize I’d married a biker chick.”

“Well, you better get used to it, buddy.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Take your pick.”

Aaron laughed.

“A threat or promise?” Timmy stood in the doorway of our room without his pjs on.

“Whose turn is it?” I looked at Aaron’s exhausted face. “Never mind, I’ll do it. You go to bed and get some sleep.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” He didn’t argue.

“C’mon, Timmy. Let’s go find your pajamas. Where’d you hide them this time?”

“Find pajamas. Daddy go night, night. Night, night, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, Timmy.”

I took Timmy to his room, found his pajamas and dressed him again. I lay next to my big strong son with the little boy’s heart and fought the tears that threatened to trickle down my cheeks as questions raced and popped through my mind like a Harley V-twin.

Why did life have to be so hard? What happened to the dreams Aaron and I had of a loving family instead of the dysfunctional ones of our childhood? Why did God make it difficult for us to understand Him? For Patrick to sense His love?

Why did God have to make Timmy autistic?

And when would I ever feel truly happy again?

9

“Just follow me in case I drop the motorcycle,” I spoke to Aaron through the van window as sweat dripped off my forehead. I should have worn more deodorant. My protective gear was stifling, and the bouquet of my pits was none too lady-like.

Timmy, perched beside Aaron in the front seat of the van, clapped and waved at me.

Daniel reclined in the backseat reading the latest sci-fi novel he’d picked up at the library, and Patrick was in the house playing video games. He wouldn’t be caught following his mom on a motorcycle. That would be extremely un-cool.

Even though I passed the licensing tests, I needed to practice my new skills on real roads. I pulled on my gloves and started the bike. I was still afraid to get past third gear. I wanted to soar like my Aunt Mary had on her motorcycle. But fear kept me from going any faster than thirty-five miles per hour.

I pulled up beside Aaron and shouted over the motor. “I’m going to go out by Parker’s farm, and I’m going to keep going. Don’t ride on my tail in case I stop suddenly.”

Aaron glowered at me. “I think I know how to stop a car, Kirstie
.”

“I know. I just feel better saying it. I don’t want to croak the first week after getting my license.”

We drove out to the country, and I spent thirty minutes learning how to stop at a stop sign and start again without killing the engine. I never did ge
t past third gear.

It didn’t matter. Riding and enjoying the Indiana spring with its wildflowers in full bloom thrilled me. Red-winged blackbirds, cardinals, and eastern bluebirds danced in the meadows as I passed. All of nature celebrated my newfound freedom.
I drank in the beauty of daisies, blue-eyed Mary, and Star of Bethlehem. The scents of freshly mown grass, forget-me-nots, and lily of the valley seared my nostrils, but my favorite scents by far were the lilacs. This aromatic revelation brought enormous joy to my scent-deprived life. I couldn’t smell all these grand miracles in the car!

At the next stop sign, I looked back to see Timmy and Daniel clapping for me and shouting, “Go, Mom!”

Even Aaron grinned ear to ear. He was proud of me.

But this stop sign was on a hill
, and I hadn’t yet learned how to navigate one.

“OK, Kirstie, remember the friction zone,” I said.

I let the clutch out slowly and gave my bike plenty of throttle. But when I let off the clutch, I started going backward, and it scared me. It conked out.
I started the bike and tried climbing the hill from a complete stop again.

“Go, Mom, go!”

“Bike broken!
Bike broken!” I could hear Timmy shouting as he stuck his head out the window.

OK, girl, c’mon. You can do this.

My heart raced and my lips were salty from sweat. Panic caused me to perspire even more in this heat. I decided I hated hills.
I was terrified.

I tried going forward again, but I let the clutch out too fast and killed the engine.

My hands shook with fatigue, and I sweated profusely under my full-face helmet.

“One more time, Kirstie.
” I let off the clutch nice and slow and gave Heaven plenty of throttle.

This time the engine engaged in a smooth purr as I moved forward and over the hill. My boys cheered behind me as if I’d just won the Boston Marathon. There was no way I could quit in front of my fans. I wanted to show them that
I could persevere no matter what the obstacle.

The next day, Lily, Opal, Reba, and I decided to get together and practice our turns in the high school parking lot. We all met up at my place. Well, the parsonage. I’d never had a house truly my own. Living in a parsonage means hundreds of landlords.

We sat parked at the end of my driveway in full motorcycle gear. I had a nagging concern about what the neighbors were thinking. I hated that I cared.

Reba took a swig of water from the bottle sitting between her bike’s windshield and handlebars. “After the parking lot, we’ll go to the cemetery and ride through there. It’s got lots of curves.”

“I’m not going there if there’s a funeral.”
Opal’s refusal came from somewhere inside her helmet.

“Of course not.” I laughed.

I could tell by the way Opal chewed on her lip she was terrified.

Reba rolled her eyes.

“Good grief, Opal, we live in northern Indiana not the Ozark Mountains. All ya gotta do is aim and fly straight. These roads go on forever. Stop and go is all ya gotta learn. It’s not like there’s any traffic on the road other than an occasional raccoon family or deer.”

“Deer? Oh no, I forgot about the deer…” The fringe on Opal’s boots trembled like a wind chime.

I stifled a laugh.

“What if I hit a deer?” Opal whined
and groaned.

“Well, you’ll probably die,” Reba quipped.

“Die?”

“The way I see it is we’re all pretty much flirting with death at our age anyway—so why not die havin’ fun?”

“Yeah.” I tried to sound brave. “At least this way we have a say in how we go.”

“And what a way to go.” Lily’s hair was matted to her head from her helmet, making her look ridiculous.
But we wore our helmet hair as a badge of honor. Not every woman had motorcycle skills.

“OK, quit yer bellyachin’ and hit the parking lot.” Reba started up her bike, revved the engine, and shot me a wicked grin. She took off before the rest of us could find first gear. We watched as she roared to the end of the road, did a U-turn, and came back.

Lily followed her and did the same.

“They make it look so easy.” Opal
shook her head in despair.

“I know. But just think, with a little practice, we’ll both be riding like that.”

Opal looked at me sideways.

“Look, I’m terrified, too, but I’ve spent every day since class practicing, and now I can do a U-turn, too.”

“Like
that
?” Opal yanked her head toward Reba.

“No, not exactly…but she’s been riding forever. C’mon. We gotta do this. You promised, and we spent way too much for all this gear to give up now.”

I spoke tight-fisted Opal’s language now. She’d laid down a couple thousand dollars of her pension just for gear. And besides, now that she had it all on, it would be too much work to take it off.

Finally, we started our engines.

Opal found first gear and ran herself right up into my neighbor’s yard. At least she stopped before she hit the living room window.

“Opal!” I shouted. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.” I had never heard Opal snarl before. I kind of liked it.

“What happened?” Lily yelled.

“I couldn’t find the off switch!” Opal hollered back.

I looked at Reba who sat
with her jaw hanging open.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she said. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking. And if you don’t like it, you can just let me go home.”

“You aren’t going anywhere, Opal,” I said. “We’ve worked too hard to get here. We aren’t going to let this lick us.”
I helped push her little Rebel back on the road.
“That red switch there on your right is the off switch, should you find yourself crashing into another yard.”

“Thanks. This bike is different than the one in motorcycle school.” Opal looked over at Reba and Lily. “Well, what are you two staring at? We all learn at our own speed.”

We traveled the two blocks to the high school parking lot, and Reba designed an obstacle course with tennis balls cut in half for markers. We practiced weaving in and out of the balls, making U-turns, doing figure eights, and finding our friction zone. After about an hour, we rode a block to the park and sat in the shade of the trees to cool off.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Opal took off her helmet and ran shaky fingers through gray curls. “It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Me, too.” I applied another layer of sunblock to my nose.

“It’s not crazy.” Reba flipped the visor up on her helmet. “It’s probably the most sane thing the two of you scaredy-cats have ever done. You won’t be sorry. You wait and see. Biking is a lifestyle. You’re gonna love the freedom.”

After our rest, we went to the cemetery and made our way through the maze of little roads. Reba seemed satisfied with our practice that day.

“OK, girls,” she said. “Tomorrow, we hit the road. We’ll go to Wabash for ice cream.”

“But you have to travel on a highway to get to Wabash.” Opal whined.

Lily rolled her eyes and shook her head. “What are you going to do, Opal, ride around in the cemetery all your life?
”

“Maybe. Better riding in it than sleeping in it like all these folks.” She pointed to the grave markers
.

I cleared my throat. “I have a confession to make. I’ve never gone over thirty-five miles per hour.”

“Not a problem,” Reba said. “Once you get out on the highway, you’ll want to go faster. You’ll see.”

“But what if I don’t?

“Then we’ll all go thirty-five miles per hour. I won’t lose you.”

I had my doubts about that.

10

“Excuse me? Did I hear right, or are my ears deceiving me again?” Elder Watson Cobb’s jowls shook when he talked. “You want us to pray and bless a bunch of motorcycles?”

“It’s more like you pray for the biker than the bike, but you know, you bless the bike to ask the Lord to protect the bikers on the road, that kind of thing.” I passed out brownies and napkins, careful not to make eye contact.

“Has anyone ever seen one done before?” My husband looked around the conference table where we sat in the fellowship hall and everyone shook their heads.

“Look.” I set the brownies down and took a seat beside Aaron. “It’s simply another way to bless a group of people who don’t normally come to church. We pray over the bikers, serve a lunch, maybe a band plays Christian music, and then we ride.”

“That sounds reasonable.” Aaron took a bite of brownie and wiped his fingers on his napkin.

“It’s ridiculous,” Elder Norman said. “Bernice will never go for it.”

“But it’s not Bernice’s decision.” I took a quick bite of my brownie.

Aaron glared at me.

“When would we do this?” Elder Pete studied his coffee cup, deep in thought.

“As soon as possible. On a Sunday after church,”
I spoke with my hand over my mouth full of brownie.

“Where would we do it?” No
rman tapped his fingers on the table. He didn’t touch his brownie. Not a good sign.

“In the parking lot,” I said. “We could easily take our sound equipment out there and—”

“Whoa, now, wait a minute. The Millers donated that sound equipment in memory of their father. I’m not sure they’ll like the idea of using it out of doors.” Deacon Wilcox looked across the table at Norman for support, and he got it.

“But they donated it to be used.” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Surely they won’t mind when they learn it’s being used for outreach.”

Aaron shot me a look again and raised his eyebrows. I recognized his “know-your-place” look. I almost glared back at him
but avoided his gaze instead.

“What about our insurance?” Norman looked at Pete Hansen, our church treasurer.

“We’re covered for any activity that takes place on church grounds.” Pete
shot me a smile. I could usually count on his support.

“I don’t know.” Norman cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. “Seems dangerous to me. And noisy. The neighbors won’t like it.”

“It’ll be during the day, on Sunday at lunch time, not at night when they’re trying to sleep.”
I hoped I didn’t sound sarcastic.

“Well, I know Bernice isn’t going to like it, and if Bernice doesn’t like it, you know half the church won’t like it.” Norman looked at all the board and gave a slow nod.

I leaned over to whisper in Aaron’s ear. “But one person shouldn’t be allowed to be the majority.”

“What’s the purpose of this anyway?” Pete asked.

“It’s an outreach,” Aaron finally spoke up. “A way to pray for protection for people who ride motorcycles and to show them the love of Christ.”

Elder Pete nodded.

“What’s it going to cost us?” Deacon Wilcox looked at Aaron with deep furrows at the top of his nose.

“Not much, really. Everyone can bring a dish to share. Kirstie said there’s a really good band in Indy who would be glad to come on an honorarium basis, and she knows some Christian bikers willing to pitch in and help pay that.
” Aaron doodled on his notepad. He only drew wheel rims when nervous or anxious. He drew three of them.

“What if those hellions tear up the parking lot?”
Norman was, if nothing else, tenacious.

“What makes you think they’ll do that?” Aaron asked.

“They’re bikers. Haven’t you ever watched that movie
Hell’s Angels
? They’ll be burning rubber all over the place, tearing up our flower beds and lawn, breaking windows, scratching up vehicles, and who knows what all else.”