In The Darkness Of New Mexico
In the summer of 2000, the United States was on fire in the West and South. Drought and horrendous heat gripped the deserts and plains. As the early shade of dusk fell over western New Mexico one night in August of that summer of endless days of temperatures above 110 degrees, I rolled eastward off I-10 onto the first off-ramp of Lordsburg into a Love's Truck Stop to get gas. I was tired, but I was thinking of getting to Las Cruces, 121 miles down the pike. Deer at night give me second thoughts. So I was leery of continuing on. When I pulled up, a man in his 30's was finishing up refueling his bike. He was going to San Antonio. He wasn't going to stop for another 713 miles, he said. He asked me if I would like to ride with him on toward Texas. The eastern skies looked ominous. Monsoons were boiling high over the desert. I was a long way from Michigan. I thought a partner was a good idea. He was on a naked bike. I was on a 94 Harley Wide Glide.
As gray became black, our lights pushed through the wall of darkness together. We sped in tandem at 80 mph through the corridors of the night. Lightning all around us made it midday for brief moments. A glimpse upward spotted portentous black on black thunderheads towering above us. Rain was falling like walls of curtains around us, but I-10 seemed to weave a path between them. We hastened on. Occasionally the raindrops found us for a short time, not enough to deter us. But just miles ahead we could see a dim form taking shape and blotting out everything. This was our cue to take the next exit and wait out the maelstrom. We pulled up to the edge of town and into the first vacant store with bright lights in a place called Deming just as the deluge arrived, about 60 miles into our journey. We drank coffee as he smoked. I started asking questions. He had left Alaska about 5 days before. He had no other transportation except this bike. He was rushing to San Antonio on this machine with full exposure to the elements to see his father who was dying in a hospital there. He wanted to see him one more time before it was too late. So he wasn't stopping. He told me he had seven children by three women and was married to none. I'll never forget what he said, "I know God is going to get me some day." This gave me the opportunity to talk to him about the best word in the Bible - justification.
We tore on to our destinations. He was a good companion. We never stopped again. He waved and passed out of sight in the darkness of the freeway as I turned off at Las Cruces. I have thought a thousand times about him and whether he made it to San Antonio the next morning, whether he saw his father, and whether our discussion meant anything to him when we Providentially intersected at Love's.
As gray became black, our lights pushed through the wall of darkness together. We sped in tandem at 80 mph through the corridors of the night. Lightning all around us made it midday for brief moments. A glimpse upward spotted portentous black on black thunderheads towering above us. Rain was falling like walls of curtains around us, but I-10 seemed to weave a path between them. We hastened on. Occasionally the raindrops found us for a short time, not enough to deter us. But just miles ahead we could see a dim form taking shape and blotting out everything. This was our cue to take the next exit and wait out the maelstrom. We pulled up to the edge of town and into the first vacant store with bright lights in a place called Deming just as the deluge arrived, about 60 miles into our journey. We drank coffee as he smoked. I started asking questions. He had left Alaska about 5 days before. He had no other transportation except this bike. He was rushing to San Antonio on this machine with full exposure to the elements to see his father who was dying in a hospital there. He wanted to see him one more time before it was too late. So he wasn't stopping. He told me he had seven children by three women and was married to none. I'll never forget what he said, "I know God is going to get me some day." This gave me the opportunity to talk to him about the best word in the Bible - justification.
We tore on to our destinations. He was a good companion. We never stopped again. He waved and passed out of sight in the darkness of the freeway as I turned off at Las Cruces. I have thought a thousand times about him and whether he made it to San Antonio the next morning, whether he saw his father, and whether our discussion meant anything to him when we Providentially intersected at Love's.