Life’s ride on a dirt bike

In California, I experienced a one-time event of soaring off a mountain on a dirt bike and into a ravine; I was barely out of college, young, and anticipating my future. However, that day, my world flashed out of control. And I thought my life might end when I’d taken the seat on the dirt bike when courage (or, in my case, a little insanity) played out, as I’d never ridden a dirt bike alone in my life. Somehow, I’d convinced my friends on our camping trip I could maneuver the motorcycle up the mountain trail.

So, we took off, three men riders in front of me, and I was trailing behind, ready to enjoy the ride, and yes, I wore a helmet. So I should have been safe.

We climbed the mountain path and encountered switchbacks as our bikes spit dirt and roared, a hum of short-lived excitement.

I trekked behind them, the wide path flat and smooth as we went higher. We moved along, the bikes pushing us upward and around the trail’s edge.

A few tumbleweeds cut at my hands, and a branch sliced at my jeans. But I stayed with the rest of the pack. Not too close, but not too far behind.

Then the path narrowed, twisted, and zigzagged without warning—and my life slowed, becoming snapshots of slow-motion action. It was like watching someone in a movie, but I was on the screen as the main character when the trail dropped below me. The other bikers had steered to the left to miss the ravine, but my skills prevented such quick responses.

However, the bike and I soared into the air, and I gripped the handlebars with my hands, and for a second—like two—I was flying.

Then I dropped as fast-motion resumed, and I tumbled 30 or 40 feet into a wash, a crevice between the mountain where the path had washed out.

Time stopped. And then, with one big blur, I bounced downward on the slope, hit the bottom with a thud, and flew once again, but the abrupt by a bush tossed me as the bike landed on my leg.

I rolled over, pulling my leg from beneath the bike’s weight, and realized I was alive. Hurt. But breathing. My arms were bloody. My jeans were torn. My body was covered in a mixture of sand and blood.

The three friends from above stopped on the trail but couldn’t get to me without risking their lives. And I was stunned and unable to climb the wall before me.

The moments rolled into worry and lost thoughts, and I wasn’t too conscious of what happened next. But a team of rescuers came. A helicopter hovered over me, where I met some first responders. And an ambulance ride ensued.

I had a visit to the emergency room at the hospital and discovered a bruise from the handlebars left a two-foot mark on my left thigh, down my leg—a deep purple bruise that lasted for six months.

But thankfully, no broken bones. Just wounds. Scars. Some cuts. And lots of dirt. And pain.

In the Bible, we receive instruction to dress for the day and to put on the armor of God, as we read in Ephesians 6:10-18, that we should fasten on the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, and shoes of peace. That we would take up the shield of faith to extinguish all the flaming darts of Satan, and that we should put on the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit.

We need spiritual preparedness for our life’s ride because those trails contain washed-out places that can steer us toward pain or death.

So let’s be prepared. We’re up against far more than we can handle on our own. God is strong. And He wants us to stand in His strength. We’re in a fight for life. God’s word is our indispensable weapon to ride the dirt bike into the day or to remind us not to get on that thing!

Oh, the doctor in that emergency room also said the helmet I almost didn’t wear saved my life. The dent on the back of the blue helmet reminded me of how hard I’d hit the ground on a day when I was anything but brave or prepared! So ride ahead, but please make sure it’s the path God has called you on, and dress for the ride!