It was my turn to give the lesson in High Priest Group today; lesson 11, The Life of Christ. It’s a subject I feel very inadequate to teach about. Don’t misunderstand. I know the atonement is real; I can’t deny it or the existence of Christ and the reality of His sacrifice. I just feel that my comprehension of the depth and effect of the atonement aren’t very good, so I sometimes - no often - no usually have difficulty seeing how it applies to me, even though I can clearly see it working in the lives of so many others.
Anyway, I digress. As I was studying the lesson it briefly mentioned how Elder Orson F. Whitney had seen the Savior’s struggle in the Garden of Gethsemane in a dream. I vaguely remembered having heard about this before so I looked it up. The references are: “The Divinity of Jesus Christ,” Liahona, Dec 2003, 12, Published in Improvement Era, Jan. 1926, 219–27. I copied a portion of the talk he gave, but only the part that meets my needs:
“Orson F. Whitney was born on 1 July 1855 in Salt Lake City, Utah. He was ordained to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on 9 April 1906 by President Joseph F. Smith. Elder Whitney died on 16 May 1931 in Salt Lake City at age 75. This is an excerpt from an address delivered at the Sunday evening session of the MIA Jubilee Conference held on 7 June 1925.”
“Fifty years ago, or something less, I was a young missionary in the state of Pennsylvania. I had been praying for a testimony of the truth but beyond that had not displayed much zeal in missionary labor. My companion, a veteran in the cause, chided me for my lack of diligence in this direction. “You ought to be studying the books of the Church,” said he; “you were sent out to preach the gospel, not to write for the newspapers”—for that was what I was doing at the time.
“I knew he was right, but I still kept on, fascinated by the discovery that I could wield a pen and preferring that to any other occupation except the [theater], my early ambition, which I had laid upon the altar when, as a youth of 21, I accepted a call to the mission field.
“One night I dreamed—if dream it may be called—that I was in the Garden of Gethsemane, a witness of the Savior’s agony. I saw Him as plainly as I see this congregation. I stood behind a tree in the foreground, where I could see without being seen. Jesus, with Peter, James, and John, came through a little wicket gate at my right. Leaving the three Apostles there, after telling them to kneel and pray, He passed over to the other side, where He also knelt and prayed. It was the same prayer with which we are all familiar: “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt”.
“As He prayed, the tears streamed down His face, which was toward me. I was so moved at the sight that I wept also, out of pure sympathy with His great sorrow. My whole heart went out to Him. I loved Him with all my soul and longed to be with Him as I longed for nothing else.
“Presently He arose and walked to where the Apostles were kneeling—fast asleep! He shook them gently, awoke them, and in a tone of tender reproach, untinctured by the least suggestion of anger or scolding, asked them if they could not watch with Him one hour. There He was, with the weight of the world’s sin upon His shoulders, with the pangs of every man, woman, and child shooting through His sensitive soul—and they could not watch with Him one poor hour!
“Returning to His place, He prayed again and then went back and found them again sleeping. Again He awoke them, admonished them, and returned and prayed as before. Three times this happened, until I was perfectly familiar with His appearance—face, form, and movements. He was of noble stature and of majestic mien—not at all the weak, effeminate being that some painters have portrayed—a very God among men, yet as meek and lowly as a little child.
“All at once the circumstance seemed to change, the scene remaining just the same. Instead of before, it was after the Crucifixion, and the Savior, with those three Apostles, now stood together in a group at my left. They were about to depart and ascend into heaven. I could endure it no longer. I ran out from behind the tree, fell at His feet, clasped Him around the knees, and begged Him to take me with Him.
I shall never forget the kind and gentle manner in which He stooped and raised me up and embraced me. It was so vivid, so real, that I felt the very warmth of His bosom against which I rested. Then He said: “No, my son; these have finished their work, and they may go with me, but you must stay and finish yours.” Still I clung to Him. Gazing up into His face—for He was taller than I—I besought Him most earnestly: “Well, promise me that I will come to You at the last.” He smiled sweetly and tenderly and replied: “That will depend entirely upon yourself.” I awoke with a sob in my throat, and it was morning.
“That’s from God,” said my companion (Elder A. M. Musser), when I had related it to him. “I don’t need to be told that,” was my reply. I saw the moral clearly. I had never thought that I would be an Apostle or hold any other office in the Church; and it did not occur to me even then. Yet I knew that those sleeping Apostles meant me. I was asleep at my post—as any man is, or any woman, who, having been divinely appointed to do one thing, does another.”
His experience made a profound impression on him and he began to make character-changing decisions about his behavior that eventually molded him into the man he became. As I read his account I felt a powerful witness that this was a real vision. That he had actually seen the event as it occurred and several strong impressions came to me.
First, I felt some part of the emotion Elder Whitney must have felt. As much as I could at least from simply reading the story and not seeing it. I felt the Spirit strongly let me know that Elder Whitney saw it as it happened. I felt transported into his place and saw it happen in my mind’s eye as he described it, and I felt my own emotions swell and tears start to come to my eyes. I knew it was true. I know it’s true.
Second, it reaffirmed that we all have very specific missions to fulfill while on the earth, but agency means we are not compelled to carry them out. There is no predestination, no concrete destiny. We are gently led to them as we strive to hear and obey the promptings of the Spirit and do what’s right. Only then can we make our calling and election sure.
Third, although I have never been taught such, I have for much of my life, at least subconsciously, suffered from the western protestant, Old Testament image of God; an angry old man glaring down at us from the heavens waiting for us to mess up, after which He would slap us upside the head and berate us for being so stupid. No matter how hard I try, because I am weak I must always be under condemnation. How can he be patient or forgiving with me when I know so much better than to do some of the things I do or have done. I know He forgives others. He even forgives horrendous sins such as with Alma, and even as serious as murder as with the Ammonites. But somehow, for some reason I don’t seem to qualify for the same kind of remission.
Now this flies in the face of reason and everything I’ve been taught. Logically I know better than this. Alma and the Sons of Mosiah were first-class sinners. Alma himself says that they “were the vilest of sinners”. And it’s not as though Alma was sinning in ignorance. He had been taught from the beginning by his father – a prophet of God, all he needed to know for salvation. He was sinning against the light.
I used to think that when the converted Lamanites, later called Ammonites buried their weapons of war as a testimony that they had repented of their murders, and that they would never again shed blood that they were speaking metaphorically. I couldn’t believe murder could be forgiven in the classical sense. But I have since changed my mind. The Ammonite King said in Alma 27: 6-8; “But the king said unto them: Behold, the Nephites will destroy us, because of the many murders and sins we have committed against them. And Ammon said: I will go and inquire of the Lord, and if he say unto us, go down unto our brethren, will ye go? And the king said unto him: Yea, if the Lord saith unto us go, we will go down unto our brethren, and we will be their slaves until we repair unto them the many murders and sins which we have committed against them.” (My italics) I believe he meant exactly what he said, that this was a real vow about a real condition.
Anyway, this is the long way around to the point I am trying to make; I knew – know – logically that with true repentance in one way or another, in one time frame or another the atonement can apply to everyone except the Sons of Perdition, but somehow I still don’t feel fully qualify for His complete love. I just don’t quite measure up somehow.
But as I read Elder Whitney’s conversation with the Lord, and His reaction to Elder Whitney, these phrases jumped out at me; “I shall never forget the kind and gentle manner in which He stooped and raised me up and embraced me. It was so vivid, so real, that I felt the very warmth of His bosom against which I rested. Then He said: “No, my son; these have finished their work, and they may go with me, but you must stay and finish yours.” Still I clung to Him. Gazing up into His face—for He was taller than I—I besought Him most earnestly: “Well, promise me that I will come to You at the last.” He smiled sweetly and tenderly and replied: “That will depend entirely upon yourself.”
Elder Whitney, by his own words was not measuring up to his potential - asleep at his post he says. Yet observe the Savior’s behavior towards him. There is a profound love, patience and compassion. This is no cranky, angry old man. And look at how Christ reacts to the apostles falling asleep. He is under incredible stress and pain, worse than anything we can imagine. If there could be any justification for righteous anger, or even just righteous irritation He would have it. But it says “a tone of tender reproach, untinctured by the least suggestion of anger or scolding.”
This is a loving, gentle and benevolent being, and he’s real. He’s really very much concerned about our well-being. He will not remove the trials because that’s how we grow and become what He has in mind for us. But He will lovingly support and sustain us as we serve him, and reward us beyond our greatest imagination if we endure well.
Elder Whitney’s experience isn’t limited to just Apostles. My own mother had similar dreams and spiritual experiences. I spoke with her about one in particular today to get the story right, and to make sure she didn’t mind my sharing it with those I felt would respect it for what it is.
Mom said that at various times while she was in the temple that she would ponder the crucifixion. The prophet Joseph teaches us that the soldiers who nailed Christ to the cross were afraid that the weight of His body would cause the nails in His hands to tear through the flesh, so they also drove nails through His wrists. Mom was contemplating the incredible pain and agony of having nails driven through the carpel tunnel nerves, and the arms being fixed at two points with no possible movement, and she asked in a silent prayer if we had been witnesses to the crucifixion.
She did not expect the answer she received. She was only looking for a confirmation, a yes or no answer. But after a period of time she had a dream, and her answer. She said that she saw the event not as if she were actually present, but rather as though she was seeing a vision of the event, much like we would see something on television.
She saw a great multitude of men, assembled in a great circle, like a stadium, only limitless in size, but affording each person a clear view of what was happening in the center. She said all the men were dressed as if for battle, but she didn’t elaborate on their style of dress. She asked, “Where are the women? She was told that they were somewhere else. She understood that no one was compelled to watch and that there were some who just couldn’t’ bear to watch, it was so painful to the soul, but that those women who wish to were also witnesses.
She said they were all watching intently in a profound, overwhelmingly solemn silence, yet she and they could hear the cries of the rabble as she called it, crying for Christ’s blood. She didn’t see them nail the Lord to the cross herself, she seemed to be looking away at that point, but she saw the soldiers raise the Lord up on the cross and drop it into the hole that had been dug to hold it, and felt a personal pain of sympathy as it hit the bottom with a jolt.
Then, just as Elder Whitney described, all at once the circumstance changed and a great shout went up. A shout that was as profound as the silence had been. Not a raucous, vulgar shout like a sporting event, but a shout of tremendous, overwhelming joy felt to the very core of the soul. The Lord had risen from the dead, the Atonement was complete, the door to salvation and redemption was open and physical and spiritual deaths were defeated.
I often think about the suffering in Gethsemane and on the cross. Alma and Isaiah both tell us that Christ not only felt the pains of sin, but also all the pains, sicknesses, profound depressions, mind-numbing fears, temptations and humiliations all people have suffered and will suffer, guilty and innocent alike. To me the most amazing thing about it all is that through it all He had His agency and could have called it off at any time. He could not be compelled to do what he did. It had to be a free-will offering or it was of no value. The only thing that could keep Him going was a total and profound love for us all; perhaps more especially for those who many might consider to be the cast-offs of society. I believe He has a special place in his heart for those who suffer so much in life.
He held nothing back. He gave everything He had to offer in life and death. How is it that knowing this I still find it hard to give all that I have? The older I get the more clarity I have about my own behavior. I am ashamed of the self-centered and self-righteous attitudes I had as a younger man and I am certain there are many more such attitudes I have now that I haven’t identified yet. Age and repentance does that.
The historian Will Durant said; “Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance.” I re-coined that phrase to “Repentance is the continual discovery of the depth of our sinning.” It’s kind of a two-edged sword. The more we strive to improve the more we clearly see our actions and ideas, past and present for what they were and are. It can be depressing, but in reality it’s a clear sign that we are improving or we would be blind to those things. Still, I am very glad the Lord sees fit not to show me all my faults at once. I think it would be devastating.
Still, I am resolved to do better. I owe Him nothing less.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Special Stake Conference
May 2, 2010
We had a special Stake Conference today. Elder Quentin L. Cook, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles came to visit. No one knew that Elder Cook was coming till about three weeks ago so the Stake only had a short time to prepare. From what I understand he was out here to train the presidencies of the ten local stakes and other leaders, and, I believe to start training Jerry Garns, a long-time friend and acquaintance, who was just released as the Valencia Stake President, and called to be an area Seventy last month at General Conference.
I saw Jerry just before the meeting started and congratulated him on his new calling. I know that’s a bit of an awkward thing to do; it’s not the kind of position someone aspires to or takes pride from, and it’s more a privilege and responsibility than an honor, in the secular sense. Jerry was typically self-depreciating and expressed a hope that he would grow into the position. I’m sure he will.
I also spoke briefly with President Lindberg. He was a little nervous and at the same time excited about the whole thing. It’s amazing to me. I’ve watched Steve since he was a small boy and to see the way he’s grown, not just older, but in the grace and strength of Spirit. He is a gentle, wise and really caring person.
I suspected the audience would be larger than normal. We’d been given printed invitations to pass out to friends and neighbors, and I figured that as the word was out we would also get visitors from neighboring stakes, so even though conference didn’t start till 10 AM I went down to reserve a seat for us at 7. There were several members of our ward already there and two investigators who will be getting baptized sometime later this month or next. In the end our ward had at least 4 investigators there, including Kyle’s friend Josh Koulzen (sp?) who we had invited. Bob Keller, the former Santa Clarita Mayor and current city councilman was representing the city and was attending with his wife. I had the chance to talk with him before the meeting and thank him for the support he had given us during the Prop 8 debates and demonstrations. I also spoke briefly with him after the meeting and could see that he had been touched by the messages.
By 9 AM the chapel was full and most of the seats in the cultural hall were taken too. Luckily Cherryl had the day off. She, Adam and mom sat with me just three rows from the front where we had a great view of all speakers. Eventually the crowed spilled over into the Relief Society Room, Scout Room and the Primary Room where closed-circuit television was hooked up. Sherree Poire-Packer and her husband and child sat near the front where an ASL missionary signed the talks for her. I took notes of all the talks. I wish I knew short-hand or some other form of quick, accurate note-taking, but I don’t, so what I write here is essentially expanded notes.
President Lindberg spoke first about families. He referred to “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” I don’t remember if he read directly from it, or if he simply referred to it, but the gist of this part of his message was;
“The family is ordained of God. Marriage between man and woman is essential to His eternal plan. Children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother who honor marital vows with complete fidelity. Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”
He referred to, what the First Presidency has called the “preeminent importance of the family”, and that what we are taught and commit to in the temples is vital to our families. He told us that our homes should be just as sacred and protected from the outside world as the temple is, and that to do this there are four essential family activities that we must do daily:
• Have family prayer
• Hold regular Family Home Evening
• As parents, conduct family gospel study and instruction
• Have regular wholesome family activities
In closing he bore witness of the sacred calling of President Monson as the prophet, seer and revelator of the church, of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the plan for eternal families.
Sister Wilson, the Stake Relief Society President spoke next. She asked, “What quality defines us best as Latter-day Saints?”
Answering her own question she quoted Matthew 22: 37-40; “Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”
She said that for all the good we are doing in the world, the one place for improvement is among those closest to us. That we must learn to love as the Savior does. She gave four things to focus on:
1. Be more considerate and sensitive to the needs of others – encouraging to the youth and those we love.
2. Be complementary to others
3. Be charitable, with our time as well as our means. She explained that sometimes giving our time is more beneficial and meaningful to the recipient than giving money.
4. Be grateful – showing our gratitude not just by what say, but by how we live.
As a summary she read from Alma 7: 23 & 24;
“And now I would that ye should be humble, and be submissive and gentle; easy to be entreated; full of patience and long-suffering; being temperate in all things; being diligent in keeping the commandments of God at all times; asking for whatsoever things ye stand in need, both spiritual and temporal; always returning thanks unto God for whatsoever things ye do receive. And see that ye have faith, hope, and charity, and then ye will always abound in good works.”
She than expressed her gratitude for all the service the sisters in the stake had given in the past years and bore her testimony of the gospel and the truthfulness of the church.
The Stake choir sang a rendition of “Have I Done Any Good in the World Today”
Elder Garns spoke next and expressed gratitude for all the past Stake Presidents who had mentored and taught him: Presidents Stevenson, Larkins and McKeon, and bore testimony of President Lindberg’s calling and capabilities. He expressed his feelings of humility and his desire to learn and fulfill his current calling.
I believe he said he was quoting Elder Bednar who said that when we listen to talks in the church we should not write what is said, rather we should write the things we feel (this while I’m working hard to write down everything as accurately as I could) because it is what the Spirit whispers to our hearts and minds, and it is by the Holy Ghost that we are taught, that while one person hears and learns one thing from what is said, another may get something entirely different, each getting the message that is uniquely tailored to them.
He explained that in order to learn by the spirit two things must happen; we must understand by the Holy Ghost and be edified by what we hear. He quoted Doctrine and Covenants 50:22;
“Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that receiveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together.”
He then told us of the four Prophetic priorities – the priorities of the First Presidency
1. Strengthen our faith in Christ
2. Strengthen our families
3. Care for and love each other
4. Strengthen priesthood power in the home.
Focusing on the first priority he said we need to develop a greater trust in God and in His willingness to help, no matter how great the need or circumstance, that God can make a way where there is none. We need to learn to obey His commandments and demonstrate that He can trust us to do what He asks of us. He taught that reverence invites revelation; that we need to be still to hear the promptings of the Spirit, and then act courageously to that prompting. He then said we need to learn to be patient and understand when God lets us struggle to grow.
In relation to this, and on a side note, this afternoon I was reading C S Lewis “Paved with Good Intensions” - a sort of summary of the principles explained in “The Screwtape Letter”. For those who have never read the book, the viewpoint here is from a senior devil teaching his nephew, a junior tempte, the best ways to tempt and corrupt a Christian convert. So everything is taken from a negative point of view. Screwtape writes to Wormwood, “Work hard…on the disappointment or anticlimax which is certainly coming to the patient during his first few weeks as a churchman. (By patient he means the recent convert.) The Enemy (meaning God) allows this disappointment to occur on the threshold of every human endeavor. It occurs when the boy who has been enchanted in the nursery by Stories from the Odyssey buckles down to really learning Greek. It occurs when lovers have got married and begin the real task of learning to live together. In every department of life it marks the transition from dreaming aspiration to laborious doing. The Enemy takes this risk because He has a curious fantasy of making all these disgusting little human vermin into what He calls His “free” lovers and servants – “sons” is the word He uses ... Desiring their freedom, He therefore refuses to carry them, by their mere affections and habits, to any of the goals which He sets before them; He leaves them to “do it on their own“. And here lies our opportunity. But also remember, there lies our danger. If once they get through this initial dryness successfully, they become much less dependent on emotion and therefore much harder to tempt.” (Italics mine).
Last of all, Elder Cook spoke.
He started off by relating his experiences when he was in the Philippines, how the people were such hard workers and so faithful in the face of grinding poverty and struggles. He spoke of teaching the principle of gratitude to our children, a love and appreciation for what the Father has provided, and that we show our gratitude by how we serve and live our lives.
He spoke of Christ’s final days before the Atonement and Resurrection. He explained how when Christ suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane, when he bled from every pore, that he was not only suffering for the sins of the world, but also for all the “unfairness” in the world, the suffering of those who did nothing to deserve it, the handicapped, the abused – both children and adults, those suffering from the wrong choices of others who exercised their free agency unrighteously, and how through the Atonement Christ is able to make all things right again.
He stressed our responsibility to share the gospel with others. He taught that we must try to pattern our lives after the Savior, to think about His life and message and example. He remarked how in the last two chapters of John that basically everything the Lord said was for us to go and teach the gospel.
He then bore his special witness of Christ. He said, as near as I accurately wrote it down; “I have had the kind of experiences that allow me to say unequivocally that Jesus is the Christ”
He then said that in his position it is his privilege to leave an Apostolic Blessing on us. He said: These are difficult times; there is a lot of noise in the world, many angry and unsettled people. He promised and blessed us that as we strive to live Christ-like lives, a peace will come into our hearts and we will not get caught up in it (the noise and instability), and that as we demonstrate a willingness to act as Christ did we will know how to reach out to our children and others – what to do to bring them back to the Father.
He blessed us that we would learn that there are things we can do without and to live on less, that we would have “sufficient for our needs” to provide for our families.
He blessed us that we would have warmth and unity in our homes and that our righteous desires would be fulfilled.
The meeting closed with the Hymn “I Believe in Christ”, after which Elder Cook stayed to shake hands and speak with anyone who wished to do so. The line was long as practically everyone wanted to meet him. I waited till the line was almost done and because it was short and there wasn’t any pressure behind me I was able to speak with Elder Garns and President Lindberg a little while longer, and then also with Elder Cook. I told him there were a number of investigators from our ward in the audience and how they had been touched, and also Bob Keller’s comments to me about the meeting.
Now that it’s over it has a kind of dream-like quality to it. There was a subtle and sublime feeling of peace and contentment left behind. I am relying on his blessing, especially since this year is going to be very challenging financially. As in all promised blessings, obtaining those promises always depends on our faith and faithfulness, but I know that Elder Cook really is an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, just as the Apostles in the time of Christ every bit as much as I know my own name. Today was a privilege and a real blessing.
We had a special Stake Conference today. Elder Quentin L. Cook, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles came to visit. No one knew that Elder Cook was coming till about three weeks ago so the Stake only had a short time to prepare. From what I understand he was out here to train the presidencies of the ten local stakes and other leaders, and, I believe to start training Jerry Garns, a long-time friend and acquaintance, who was just released as the Valencia Stake President, and called to be an area Seventy last month at General Conference.
I saw Jerry just before the meeting started and congratulated him on his new calling. I know that’s a bit of an awkward thing to do; it’s not the kind of position someone aspires to or takes pride from, and it’s more a privilege and responsibility than an honor, in the secular sense. Jerry was typically self-depreciating and expressed a hope that he would grow into the position. I’m sure he will.
I also spoke briefly with President Lindberg. He was a little nervous and at the same time excited about the whole thing. It’s amazing to me. I’ve watched Steve since he was a small boy and to see the way he’s grown, not just older, but in the grace and strength of Spirit. He is a gentle, wise and really caring person.
I suspected the audience would be larger than normal. We’d been given printed invitations to pass out to friends and neighbors, and I figured that as the word was out we would also get visitors from neighboring stakes, so even though conference didn’t start till 10 AM I went down to reserve a seat for us at 7. There were several members of our ward already there and two investigators who will be getting baptized sometime later this month or next. In the end our ward had at least 4 investigators there, including Kyle’s friend Josh Koulzen (sp?) who we had invited. Bob Keller, the former Santa Clarita Mayor and current city councilman was representing the city and was attending with his wife. I had the chance to talk with him before the meeting and thank him for the support he had given us during the Prop 8 debates and demonstrations. I also spoke briefly with him after the meeting and could see that he had been touched by the messages.
By 9 AM the chapel was full and most of the seats in the cultural hall were taken too. Luckily Cherryl had the day off. She, Adam and mom sat with me just three rows from the front where we had a great view of all speakers. Eventually the crowed spilled over into the Relief Society Room, Scout Room and the Primary Room where closed-circuit television was hooked up. Sherree Poire-Packer and her husband and child sat near the front where an ASL missionary signed the talks for her. I took notes of all the talks. I wish I knew short-hand or some other form of quick, accurate note-taking, but I don’t, so what I write here is essentially expanded notes.
President Lindberg spoke first about families. He referred to “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” I don’t remember if he read directly from it, or if he simply referred to it, but the gist of this part of his message was;
“The family is ordained of God. Marriage between man and woman is essential to His eternal plan. Children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother who honor marital vows with complete fidelity. Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”
He referred to, what the First Presidency has called the “preeminent importance of the family”, and that what we are taught and commit to in the temples is vital to our families. He told us that our homes should be just as sacred and protected from the outside world as the temple is, and that to do this there are four essential family activities that we must do daily:
• Have family prayer
• Hold regular Family Home Evening
• As parents, conduct family gospel study and instruction
• Have regular wholesome family activities
In closing he bore witness of the sacred calling of President Monson as the prophet, seer and revelator of the church, of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the plan for eternal families.
Sister Wilson, the Stake Relief Society President spoke next. She asked, “What quality defines us best as Latter-day Saints?”
Answering her own question she quoted Matthew 22: 37-40; “Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”
She said that for all the good we are doing in the world, the one place for improvement is among those closest to us. That we must learn to love as the Savior does. She gave four things to focus on:
1. Be more considerate and sensitive to the needs of others – encouraging to the youth and those we love.
2. Be complementary to others
3. Be charitable, with our time as well as our means. She explained that sometimes giving our time is more beneficial and meaningful to the recipient than giving money.
4. Be grateful – showing our gratitude not just by what say, but by how we live.
As a summary she read from Alma 7: 23 & 24;
“And now I would that ye should be humble, and be submissive and gentle; easy to be entreated; full of patience and long-suffering; being temperate in all things; being diligent in keeping the commandments of God at all times; asking for whatsoever things ye stand in need, both spiritual and temporal; always returning thanks unto God for whatsoever things ye do receive. And see that ye have faith, hope, and charity, and then ye will always abound in good works.”
She than expressed her gratitude for all the service the sisters in the stake had given in the past years and bore her testimony of the gospel and the truthfulness of the church.
The Stake choir sang a rendition of “Have I Done Any Good in the World Today”
Elder Garns spoke next and expressed gratitude for all the past Stake Presidents who had mentored and taught him: Presidents Stevenson, Larkins and McKeon, and bore testimony of President Lindberg’s calling and capabilities. He expressed his feelings of humility and his desire to learn and fulfill his current calling.
I believe he said he was quoting Elder Bednar who said that when we listen to talks in the church we should not write what is said, rather we should write the things we feel (this while I’m working hard to write down everything as accurately as I could) because it is what the Spirit whispers to our hearts and minds, and it is by the Holy Ghost that we are taught, that while one person hears and learns one thing from what is said, another may get something entirely different, each getting the message that is uniquely tailored to them.
He explained that in order to learn by the spirit two things must happen; we must understand by the Holy Ghost and be edified by what we hear. He quoted Doctrine and Covenants 50:22;
“Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that receiveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together.”
He then told us of the four Prophetic priorities – the priorities of the First Presidency
1. Strengthen our faith in Christ
2. Strengthen our families
3. Care for and love each other
4. Strengthen priesthood power in the home.
Focusing on the first priority he said we need to develop a greater trust in God and in His willingness to help, no matter how great the need or circumstance, that God can make a way where there is none. We need to learn to obey His commandments and demonstrate that He can trust us to do what He asks of us. He taught that reverence invites revelation; that we need to be still to hear the promptings of the Spirit, and then act courageously to that prompting. He then said we need to learn to be patient and understand when God lets us struggle to grow.
In relation to this, and on a side note, this afternoon I was reading C S Lewis “Paved with Good Intensions” - a sort of summary of the principles explained in “The Screwtape Letter”. For those who have never read the book, the viewpoint here is from a senior devil teaching his nephew, a junior tempte, the best ways to tempt and corrupt a Christian convert. So everything is taken from a negative point of view. Screwtape writes to Wormwood, “Work hard…on the disappointment or anticlimax which is certainly coming to the patient during his first few weeks as a churchman. (By patient he means the recent convert.) The Enemy (meaning God) allows this disappointment to occur on the threshold of every human endeavor. It occurs when the boy who has been enchanted in the nursery by Stories from the Odyssey buckles down to really learning Greek. It occurs when lovers have got married and begin the real task of learning to live together. In every department of life it marks the transition from dreaming aspiration to laborious doing. The Enemy takes this risk because He has a curious fantasy of making all these disgusting little human vermin into what He calls His “free” lovers and servants – “sons” is the word He uses ... Desiring their freedom, He therefore refuses to carry them, by their mere affections and habits, to any of the goals which He sets before them; He leaves them to “do it on their own“. And here lies our opportunity. But also remember, there lies our danger. If once they get through this initial dryness successfully, they become much less dependent on emotion and therefore much harder to tempt.” (Italics mine).
Last of all, Elder Cook spoke.
He started off by relating his experiences when he was in the Philippines, how the people were such hard workers and so faithful in the face of grinding poverty and struggles. He spoke of teaching the principle of gratitude to our children, a love and appreciation for what the Father has provided, and that we show our gratitude by how we serve and live our lives.
He spoke of Christ’s final days before the Atonement and Resurrection. He explained how when Christ suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane, when he bled from every pore, that he was not only suffering for the sins of the world, but also for all the “unfairness” in the world, the suffering of those who did nothing to deserve it, the handicapped, the abused – both children and adults, those suffering from the wrong choices of others who exercised their free agency unrighteously, and how through the Atonement Christ is able to make all things right again.
He stressed our responsibility to share the gospel with others. He taught that we must try to pattern our lives after the Savior, to think about His life and message and example. He remarked how in the last two chapters of John that basically everything the Lord said was for us to go and teach the gospel.
He then bore his special witness of Christ. He said, as near as I accurately wrote it down; “I have had the kind of experiences that allow me to say unequivocally that Jesus is the Christ”
He then said that in his position it is his privilege to leave an Apostolic Blessing on us. He said: These are difficult times; there is a lot of noise in the world, many angry and unsettled people. He promised and blessed us that as we strive to live Christ-like lives, a peace will come into our hearts and we will not get caught up in it (the noise and instability), and that as we demonstrate a willingness to act as Christ did we will know how to reach out to our children and others – what to do to bring them back to the Father.
He blessed us that we would learn that there are things we can do without and to live on less, that we would have “sufficient for our needs” to provide for our families.
He blessed us that we would have warmth and unity in our homes and that our righteous desires would be fulfilled.
The meeting closed with the Hymn “I Believe in Christ”, after which Elder Cook stayed to shake hands and speak with anyone who wished to do so. The line was long as practically everyone wanted to meet him. I waited till the line was almost done and because it was short and there wasn’t any pressure behind me I was able to speak with Elder Garns and President Lindberg a little while longer, and then also with Elder Cook. I told him there were a number of investigators from our ward in the audience and how they had been touched, and also Bob Keller’s comments to me about the meeting.
Now that it’s over it has a kind of dream-like quality to it. There was a subtle and sublime feeling of peace and contentment left behind. I am relying on his blessing, especially since this year is going to be very challenging financially. As in all promised blessings, obtaining those promises always depends on our faith and faithfulness, but I know that Elder Cook really is an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, just as the Apostles in the time of Christ every bit as much as I know my own name. Today was a privilege and a real blessing.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Solvang 2010 - Ten Years After
Solvang 2010
This year was my 18th ride in 19 years. If I hadn’t crashed and broken my collar bone two weeks before the ’93 ride it would have been 19 rides. I wrote the bulk of this 10 years ago. I decided to revisit it and modify it some.
The Town
Every year since 1991 Cherryl and I gone with and several friends and sometimes family to the town of Solvang, California for the annual 100 mile bike ride. The area is located about 40 miles northwest of Santa Barbara, on the banks of the Santa Ynez River between the coastal Santa Ynez range and the San Rafael Mountains, It was originally settled by the Chumash Indians, then the Spanish Missionaries who built the Santa Ynez Mission, located in the town - an interesting place to visit by itself.(2010, Sydney – we really missed you on the ride this year)
About 130 years ago a group of Danish settlers moved in and liked what they saw. The name Solvang means "sunny field" in a Danish dialect. The town was originally a farming community that kept some of its Danish flavor with the half-timbered construction, clean narrow streets, Lutheran churches and lots of bakeries and restaurants where you can get authentic Danish pastries and sausages. Over the years it evolved into a tourist stop, but has managed to keep a lot of its charm in spite of rampant commercialism.
The area is generally wealthy, especially the neighboring town of Santa Ynez. President Reagan had his ranch on the top of the coastal range that looked down on the valley and there are many Hollywood types, and business moguls who have getaway homes and ranches there including Michael Jackson’s "Never Land" till he lost it.
The area between the mountains is mostly rolling hills with vineyards, cattle and bison ranches, an Ostrich/Emu ranch or two and a lot of horse owners. Nearer to the river are old riverbed plateaus and bottomland that have rich fertile soil and it is used extensively for agriculture and grazing. In the spring everything is green and beautiful. This year (2010) was no different. We had almost a month of rain before the ride. The uncut grass was at least two feet high and in some of the meadows and fields it was so green it almost looked black. If the first explorers came here in the spring they must have thought they found heaven on earth.
It sooo green!!
The Route
The ride starts at the Royal Scandinavian Hotel on the east side of town, - this year, 2010 it started at the golf course down the street from the hotel. The Chumash indians bought the hotel last year and raised the fee to SCORE, the sponser - winds west through the back streets, then out to highway 246, a couple of miles to Buellton and the 101. From there we get out into the real country and follow the old Santa Ynez River Road for about 20 miles into town of Lompoc. Until 9/11 we used ride the back streets through town till we got to Ocean Ave. and followed it towards the coast for about 10 miles to the 13th Street gate of Vandenberg Air Force Base. We’d pass the guards showing our little armbands that separate the real riders from the “bandits” – riders trying to take advantage of the ride without paying the fee - and up the hill to the top of the Vandenberg plateau. It was about 20 miles across the base and the Vandenberg Grade, the Casmalia hills, then we’d drop down into the Santa Maria valley, out to the Airport and the Hilton Hotel SAG stop. Now we have to go to the east of the base, We pass through the military family housing, but no more through the secured areas. From Santa Maria we head south to Orcutt, then away from the town up into the Sisquoc and Foxen Canyon farmlands and vineyards. This is the mentally longest part of the trip, all uphill and a rough road. Eventually we reach the top of the ride at about 1,560 feet (we were almost at sea level in Santa Maria 30 miles back) and it's mostly downhill for the last 10 miles back into Solvang.
Every year I wonder how I'll do or if I'll even make it. I usually spend the last 2 1/2 months training for it, riding farther and harder each week, out Highway 126 to Ventura, up San Fransisquito Canyon and out to Palmdale. The real question is will I do it faster or slower than last year, or will I have an accident. This year – 2010 - was even more stressfull. It rained every Saturday for a month before the ride. I was never able to get the training rides I needed. Syd’s training schedule was so fouled up she decided to drop out.
THE RIDE
Bob (the husband of Syd's high school friend Chris), me, Syd and Bill - 2008. We missed Syd this year. We didn't see Bob, though we knew he was here. We did run into him and Chris at AJ Spurs when we went to dinner. Bob's a monster rider. Only Bill can stay with him.
(This is from 2000. I’ll note where I update for 2010) I usually leave the motel about 6:50 AM. I want to go to the official start point and reset my odometer and timer to get an accurate time and distance. It's 6:57 AM and I'm off. It’s cold, but I like it. My thermometer says its 40 degrees, but I know my readout is about 4 - 5 degrees high, so it's really around 36 degrees. A lot of the riders have outer pants and jackets on over their regular riding outfits. I try to avoid that. What are they going to do with all that stuff when it gets warm? I love the cool and I only wear thin knit gloves under my regular ones and the removable long sleeves that I can stick in my pockets.
It's a low-key excitement to be starting out. It feels good to have the cool breeze blowing past my ears and the vibration of the road under my wheels. I wind through the residential streets and out to Mission Road, turn left and we're officially on our way. We drop down a short steep hill and already some people seem to think it's a race. The road is busy with cars even this early and the bike lane is only big enough for single file, but they have got to pass every one and put us all in jeopardy.
It's foggy. I can only see about 1/4 mile down the road. Trees on both side of the road come out of the fog and fly past me. I can see large green pastures of the horse ranches on both sides of the road, but not the houses. The horses stand singly or in groups of two or three, shadowy, in soft focus, heads down, nibbling on the grass or half asleep. It's one of those mental pictures I want to keep.
I get into Buellton about 7:10. It's a small town whose biggest claim to fame used to be the Anderson's Pea Soup Restaurant. I'm supposed to meet Bill Reynolds at the Mobile gas station. I'm late and I don't see him. I find out later that we had a mix-up and he's in his room waiting for me to call and let him know I'm coming. I think he's gone ahead because I'm late, so I don't wait. It's just as well. Bill is an avid rider. He turns 51 this year, but he has the physic of a twenty year old and the stamina of a cross-country runner. We only stay together for a mile or two anyway and at the first hill I don't see him anymore. I’m through Buellton in the blink of an eye, turn left and head down to the bridge, cross the river and turn right onto the river road.
This year – 2010 – Bill and Lyn n are in the same motel so we meet up before leaving. Bill turns 61 this year, and nothing has changed with him physically. He still looks 15 years younger and has the same build. But he has been sick a lot this year with the flu going around and a head cold he hasn’t been able to shake. He’s sick today too, but he doesn’t let it stop him.
The river road is one of the most beautiful parts of the ride. The hills rise steeply on my left and the river plain stretches out on the right. It has rained almost every day for the last three or four weeks and the wild grasses and mugwort are trying to get to full growth before the wet weather stops. It's so green it hurts to look at and I think this must be what Ireland looks like. Ancient oaks cover the hills and many are covered with Spanish. The fields are either freshly plowed or have an early growth of what appear to be asparagus, cabbage, brussel sprouts and lettuce; the cold weather crops. Farther down the road we get into the orchards. Some of them are very old and the trees are so large that as I ride along and look into the rows it's like looking down long dark tunnels. Sometimes I become mesmerized by the patterns of the precisely planted rows that revolve and change as I pass. Usually a pothole brings me back to reality.
The road begins to narrow after a time and the centerline disappears. The fog is thicker and my glasses start to mist up making it hard to see details on the road. The riders are starting to spread out across the road, riding three and four abreast. The road may be a country road, but it's still in use. Field hand's cars come up from behind and can't pass because they can't see far enough ahead. Calls of "Car back!" or "Car up!" come out of the mist and most riders pull to the right to let them by.
The first real hill comes into view and we all start to gear down for the ascent; all of us except the velo club riders. You can hear them coming from behind, a short of whirring sound that gets louder and louder till they fly by. They whiz past like a bullet train crowding me toward the shoulder, but I hold my line. They're bent over their handlebars, thin as paperclips, no stomachs, calve muscles so ripped that they look like an illustration from Grey's Anatomy. And that's the girls!!!
As I get to the top of the last major hill on the river road I look back down to the valley and I've climbed above the fog bank. It lies in the hollow like a thick gray blanket, the valley rising up on either side. The sun is starting to shine through the upper clouds and illuminates the grassy hills and trees for the first time today. It's a Kodak moment. Two more small hills and then the ascent to Highway 1 and we drop down into Lompoc.
Lompoc's mainly an agri-town that got extended life from the state penitentiary and the air force base. It's a nice place, but it's a long ways to anywhere else. They don't want us getting run over by the locals, so they put us off onto the side streets and the local police bold traffic for us at the intersections. Most of us make sure to say thanks to the cops because the poor guys are going to be out there pretty much all day just for us. I turn onto Ocean Avenue and head toward the coast. I'm in a large river plain with plowed, unplanted fields, very wide. About 2 miles I think. The fog has closed in somewhat and this becomes a featureless ride for the next 8 miles. Later the wind will pick up from the ocean and blow it all away.
Three years ago -1997- we had the bright idea of starting the ride in Santa Maria. Good idea we thought. We'll get the worst of the hills out of the way while we're still fresh, then the rest should be a piece of cake! No one told us about the afternoon winds. That year it was worse than usual. Just before Lompoc I felt the wind startup, straight into my face. I still had about 35 miles to go and was getting a little tired. When I dropped down out of the hills and into town the wind really picked up. Out on Ocean Avenue it was so bad I could never get faster than 11 mph, and that was when I was drafting some poor guy. Most of the time I was hunched down over the drops, out of the saddle in low gear, cranking for all I was worth and doing about 8 mph. For the first time ever I was seriously thinking about going back into Lompoc, calling Cherryl and telling her to come get me. At the Vandenberg Gate the road takes a right angle turn to go up onto the plateau. Good, I thought. At least now the wind will be blowing from the side, but by some freak twist of the terrain, the wind was right in my face again. It was the point of no return. If I went through the gate couldn't get onto the base to pick me up. My ego and pride overruled my common sense and I went through. Not a good choice. No matter which way the road turned, the wind was in my face, all the way across the base, into the canyons, downhill, uphill, every which way. It never got behind me till I was almost to the airport. That year it took me 7-3/4 hours to do the ride and I slept like the dead that night.
In 2010 the wind started about the same place and was in our faces from about mile 19 to mile 56 at the turn to the airport. In 2008 it turned on us and was in our faces all the way from Lompoc and back into Solvang. I can truly say that was the worst wind ride ever. I was so blown out that by the time I got to the climb at the top of Foxen Canyon I actually got off the bike and walked to the top. This year, because I hadn’t been able to do the training rides I was very careful to use all the SAG stops and conserve my strength, so I was able to do all the hills without cramping.
This year – 2000 - I'm ahead of the wind and the fog begins to lift as I near the gate. I flash my armband to the guard and he waves me through, then I begin the ascent to the top of the plateau. This is usually a pleasant part of the ride. At the top and through most of the base there are eucalyptus groves all around us. The ground doesn’t seem to drain well even on the plateau, so this time of the year it's a little swampy in some areas. Cattails and ferns, many of the types of plants associated with wetlands thrive here during the rainy season. Ponds, streams and creeks line the road in the lower places. There are several species of duck, snowy egrets and other waterfowl. The temperature has risen to about 70 degrees and the shade of the trees feels good.
There's a light breeze starting and the fog is gone. From the top of the plateau I can see out to the ocean and I can see Point Sal State Beach. If the coastline didn't stick out so far I'm sure I could see all the way to Pismo. The road drops off the plateau and I get my first zippy-wee downhill ride, then it's up the long canyons. There are several such drops and ascents on the base and after the first time I learned to conserve my energy for the last long climb over the Casmalia Hills. I crank past the second SAG stop, still too proud to stop. Who's tired? Not Me. I rocket down the 1/2 mile to the bottom of the canyon, and then start that last ascent. It's a 2-mile climb at a 7% grade. I do pretty well, passing a fair number of riders. Then a girl passes me! Then a peloton zips by. I’m humbled, again.
Finally I reach the top of the "Vandenberg Grade" and get a real downhill ride. This is where I'm lucky. At just over 200 pounds I can still get into a tuck and go aerodynamic. With all that weight I can really get the speed. I even pass that girl! The bullet train is more aerodynamic than I am though, so I let it go.
I can hit about 45 to 50 mph on this hill, especially if the wind is behind me. I love the speed. I try not to think about what the road can do to bare skin at 50 mph if I go down. You have to suppress those thoughts or it can freak you out. One year at this same spot I had just reached the bottom of the hill and was slowing down. There were two riders about 25 yards ahead of me and we were doing between 25 and 30, when for no apparent reason one of the guys just went down hard. He got separated from his bike and glasses, all of which were going in the same general direction and slowing fast. I couldn't stop in time so I gritted my teeth and tried to maneuver through the wreck. Somehow I managed to miss all three obstacles and get by without dumping myself. No skill, just providential interference.
Since 9/11 we have left Lompoc and ridden up Highway 1 and out to Orcutt, turning left at West Rice Ranch, through old town Orcutt, West on Clark to Highway 1 and right at Black Rd, which gets us generally back to the old route.
The rest of the ride into Santa Maria is through some of the earthier parts of the agri side of town. No pun intended. Landfill, tractor repair, liqueur stores, rough road; I go into autopilot and don't pay any more attention to the ride than I need to. I pass a guy stopped on the side of the road who's got one of those folding tuck-in-the-trunk bikes that BMW used to sell or give away to the proud owner of a new 325i. I've seen some strange things on this ride before, but this is a top candidate for the worst type of bike to use. He's got maybe 24" diameter wheels and is about 15 inches closer to the ground than I am. He's still got a little less than 50 miles to go. He's got a bib number so he's part of the ride and I wonder if he'll make it. His gear ratios don't look too promising and I think he's cranked himself out. He says he's alright so I ride on.
I feel a little sorry, and a great deal of respect for the people on the mountain bikes. They're great for downhill and cranking up a dirt road, but there's a reason that road bikes were invented. Their bikes are so much heavier and with so much more road resistance from the tires that they use a lot of energy just spinning down the road. 100 miles on one of them is more like 150 on my Cannondale.
The recumbent and tandem bikes are another story.
The visual or apparent balance of a recumbent kind of unnerves me. They look very unstable, but I've never seen one crash. Maybe because it's easy to plant both feet on the ground if you start to lose it. The seats have got to be the most comfortable; like sitting in a lawn chair. They are heavier than a road bike so they aren't quite as fast uphill, but they are much more aerodynamic and literally scream going down, if the rider has the nerve. I'd guess there's not much saddle pain after the ride either. That alone has got to be a big advantage.
I play leapfrog with the tandems. Unless the stoker is strong I can pass them on the uphill, but with the weight of two riders they can often get more downhill speed than I can. I get a smile out of the father/child tandems. It's got to be a great bonding exercise. Either that or they will hate each other for the rest of their lives. This year while going up a canyon I'm overtaking a father/son tandem and I can hear the squeak squeak of a rubber ducky kind of toy. As I pass them I see they have stuck a toy dinosaur, Barney or something, on the stoker's handlebars. As dad shifted back in the saddle to get more push into his rank, with each revolution his butt pushes against the toy making it squeak and the kid is cracking up.
(2010. I have seen some remarkable things on this ride, but this year between Lompoc and stop # 2 Bill pointed out a tandem with a set of crutches strapped on the back. When I was leaving stop #2 I saw them come in and saw that the lady acting as the stoker was an amputee. She was missing her left leg about 10” below the hip. At this point of the ride I knew they were doing the full 100 miles. That’s determination and grit.)
Here's where I saw the amputee
I roll into the third SAG stop at the airport and refill my water bottles, stuff a PB and J sandwich in my mouth, eat a banana for the potassium, hit the outhouse and go. Elapsed time is a little less than 10 minutes. 58 miles behind me and 44 to go, all uphill for the next 30. I feel pretty good and don't want to lose time standing around when I can be riding. I probably should pick up another banana, some Fig Newtons and oatmeal cookies to take along, but I've still got a couple of jell packs and power bars, so I don't hang around.
This stop is usually pretty crowded. I see a lady TV reporter from a local station interviewing one of the ride officiators. She asks him how many riders are on the course today and I hear him say a little over three thousand. That's why it so quiet. In the past there have been as many as seven thousand riders. The airport was one of the starting points for several years, but not this year. A few times the ride was so big they had a third starting point in Lompoc. I don't know why it's so low this year. Maybe the rain scared some off.
I roll out to the street, cross the intersection and hang right down the frontage road along highway 135 for a few miles. The guy ahead of me is wearing tube socks, which give him away as a novice rider. I pull up alongside and we start to talk. It’s his first time on this ride.
"Well, the best part of the ride is coming up." I tell him. "Now we get into the hills."
"You mean those weren't hills back there?"
"Oh they were OK, but the good ones are a few miles ahead. The top of Foxen Canyon and ‘The Wall’ ". (You always say "The Wall" in quotes. It sounds ominous.)
He's heard something about "The Wall" and thinks he saw something on the map last night. I'm getting a kick playing with his head.
"Yeah, the top of Foxen Canyon is actually steeper, but you can't see it except for short stretches because it turns a lot, but "The Wall" is psychologically more intimidating because you can see the whole thing from the bottom and you've already gone 87miles with the last 30 all uphill. But don't worry," I say. "Just drop into low gear, stand up and keep pumping. You'll make it." I’m so patronizing. Truth is, I hate the top of the canyon and "The Wall". It's the only real challenge for me on the whole ride, and believe me it's enough.
A couple of miles and we turn east on Clark avenue and start the long uphill grind for the next couple of hours. Uphill, across highway 101, up another hill, then out on the flat for a couple miles. We're out of the low areas and into cattle and oil country now. There's a slight prevailing smell of sulfur from the oil wells rising in the heat.
I can see the front of the San Rafael Mountains. There's snow on the upper peaks and everything is so green. California is technically desert and the green season is short even on the coast. I love it all the more because it's so uncommon. My thermometer says 87 degrees but a light breeze is blowing and it feels cool and soothing. Now down a short drop, right on Dominion and up another long climb for about 3 1/2 miles at a 3% grade. Not bad if it's not too hot. It's a camel hump with two climbs and two drops till I end up at the same altitude before I get to Sisquoc. The last drop can be a killer. You can get going faster than you think and when you get to the turn at Palmer road you're turning left into a right hand banked curve, and the road is banked the wrong way for you. To make matters worse there's loose gravel on the road. There are warning signs all down the bill to the curve but more than one rider has eaten it on this turn.
Once again I blow past the SAG stop just before Sisquoc but I'm starting to think I should have stopped. I'm not really low on liquids but I think maybe I should be rehydrating more often than I have. I probably should have finished a 24-oz. bottle since Santa Maria and refilled before "The Wall". But it’s too late for that and I just keep going. I suck on a couple of jell packs, eat a power bar, take a few swigs of juice and hope it kicks in when I need it. I'll be sucking on these bottles for the next 15 miles or so. A little farther, turn right at Sisquoc and I'm now officially going up Foxen Canyon.
The road runs straight for about a mile, then jogs right and hugs the south side of the canyon in the shade of the trees. About 8 years ago at this spot I saw a rider about 300 yards ahead of me with a sign fastened to his back He wasn't going very fast so I caught up with him in a short time. The sign read, "Please be patient with me. I'm going as fast as I can for 83 years old" That just blew me away. He'd already gone some 75 miles and was still going steady. I hope he made it and I think about him every year when I start to feel sorry for myself. (This year I had the strangest thought as I was riding through here. As healthy as that guy was – he has to be dead now. He’d be over 100 years old today. I wonder how many more years I have.)
The next year as I was riding across the Vandenberg plateau I saw similar rider. He was gray haired and mustached, lean and angular, lined face, kind of weather beaten with that old cowboy look. By now I'd gotten into the habit of talking with fellow riders so I pulled alongside and started to chat. To my complete surprise I found out he was a couple of years younger than me! At first I thought he was telling a tall tale, but as we talked I saw that he was the real thing. It turned out he had been a heavy drug user and drinker and it had just about killed him. He was off the juice and dope now and biking was one of the ways he was trying to regain his health. I think about him at every ride too and thank God for my own amazingly good health.
We’re in wine country now. The breeze is gone but the air is a little cooler, coming off the mountain. It's about 11:30 and the day hasn't heated up in the canyon yet. The workers are out in the fields pruning back the vines. There is vineyard after vineyard here and most of them have been here for over 100 years. The trees feel ancient. I pass an old adobe farmhouse that burned down many years ago. The roof is long gone as are the window headers. The columns and walls of sun-baked adobe are weathered and crumbly and stick up like the pillars of a Greek temple, and grass is growing thickly out of the tops.
I wish I knew more about this area and its history. I do know that it was settled by a man named Foxen and explored by John C. Fremont, the man of whom Lincoln said he would not have such a general surveyor who became the owner of all he surveyed. The Chumash had a large population living here and There are still a tribe of Churnash living in the area and they run the Chumash Casino in Santa Ynez.
This is the deadly part of the ride. For the next 10 or so miles it's nothing but climbing. Sometimes steeply, sometimes not so steep, but always up and up. Usually when I climb I recite things or sing songs in my head to take my mind off the job. It works, but I've noticed that when the climb is really tedious the weirdest things come into my mind, like Gordon Lightfoot singing Canadian Railroad Trilogy. Canadian Railroad Trilogy??
Part of the 30-mile climb
The road is a farm road in every sense of the word. It's poorly paved, rutted and in place. Someone ran a caterpillar tractor along it so it has the texture of a washboard. Most of the ruts take on a stealth quality in the sunlight. They're not sharply defined and there are no shadows. You really can't see them until you hit them. I'm already tired and the jolts are sapping what energy I have left. It's bad enough that my shoulders are starting to ache and my rear is getting sore from the saddle but now the vibration from the road is starting to work its way from my legs and lower back to my upper spine and finally my brain. Mile after interminable mile. I don't look around much anymore and my attention closes down to the 6 or 8 feet directly in front of my bike. The rattling becomes the only sensation. My brain even begins to shut down and finally only the medulla oblongata keeps me going. Some of my family would say that's the only functioning part of my brain anyway, so maybe I'm not so far gone.
The bottom of the climb out of Foxen Canyon
Suddenly the road turns right and rises into the trees. I'm near the top of the canyon and the toughest climb of the ride. It's 6/10s of a mile to the top and we rise a little more than 250 feet; about an 8% grade. Now I pay the price for not drinking enough early in the ride. My thighs start to cramp. With each turn of the crank I get a charly horse right above the knees. I try standing but for some reason it makes my legs spasm worse, so I sit back down and work on the pull more than the push of the crank. The road rises through the trees to a turn then rises more through more trees to another turn waaay up there. I think about the rider whose head I played with and I have a feeling this is Karma payback time. Then I turn another bend and I'm at the top. The road slowly starts to level out and I can shift up till I'm in my top gear at last and flying down the other side.
(2010) I’ve learned my lesson since then. I refuel at all the SAG stops, usually drink about 80 oz of Gatorade by this time and rarely have cramps anymore. But it’s still a very tiring climb)
Oh blessed relief! It's a steep drop and I can sit back a little and relax. The road drops quickly to the backside of the hill into another canyon. I'm getting back into wine country and there are some nicely tended vineyards in the lower part of the canyon. Fess Parker, the original Daniel Boone of Walt Disney fame built a vineyard and Visitor's Center here. The first year I rode was before the center was built and he let them put in a SAG stop on the lot. It's a beautiful building and if I was a wine drinker I'd go there just to say I'd been.
For about 2 1/2 miles I get all the rest I can because I'm coming up to "The Wall". The Firestone Vineyard at the base of "The Wall" is the last SAG stop. (This year it was Fess Parkers’s place again) Again I don't stop, but for a whole other reason. One year I stopped there and my legs stiffened up so badly that I hardly made it up "The Wall". I can tell by the way they worked at the canyon top that if I stop it will happen again so I decide to tough it out and climb.
"The Wall" is also about 6/10 mile climb and about 250 feet up, but like I said before, you can see it from start to finish. And besides, when you stand something up that's 250 feet tall it looks a heck of a lot higher than it sounds. Consider that the average Freeway Bridge has a 15-foot clearance for trucks, then stack 16 of those one on top of the other and you have 250 feet. We've already gone 87 miles and the last two hours have been that lovely farm road from Hell. My legs ache and there doesn't seem to be anything left in them. I shift down to the lowest gear and settle in for the climb. The cramping comes back with a vengeance. My mother’s voice comes to me with a vengeance. "You push yourself too hard dear. I worry about you, you're so competitive with yourself” Dang! I think she's right this time. I do make it though. Some kind soul has painted a message on the road, "Last Hill", and farther up, "You're almost there!" I glance to my right and see the valley floor laid out below me and it's a wonderful sight. The road begins to flatten out. I shift up gear after gear. I'm over and it's 14 miles downhill to Solvang. Almost downhill.
It's 2+ miles down to Highway 154 and then a hard right on Ballard Canyon Road for the really truly last hill. It's not a tall hill or even that steep, but it's like the final parting shot from the ride. I wind up and up, back and forth through the hairpin turns and I'm over. I don't even cramp on this one. Down sharply on the other side, through another hairpin turn and it's a straight shot to town. As I go through this last turn I slow down a lot and study the road ahead. The ride wasn't always popular with the locals and one year, the story goes, someone scattered tacks on the road at this turn to blow out tires. I tend to think this was just an urban legend.
From the top of "The Wall" to the town we drop about 700 feet. There's not much need to pedal and it's a good thing because fatigue has caught up with me. If there's no headwind I average about 30 mph for the rest of the road until I get into town.
Ghosts of the past come to me again. The year I started in Santa Maria I was fresh and riding like a bat out of Hell down this road. I stopped at the Solvang SAG stop to get some snacks and as I started out the driveway, not even completely on my bike yet, my front tire popped. When we got it off the rim we found that the rubber spoke guard had deteriorated and fallen apart and a spoke had punctured the tube. There was basically no guard left. I could see the imprints of all the spokes on my tube. All I could think of was that the tire could have blown at any time on the downhill run, but it went out at the least possible dangerous time. I could only write it off to Providence again, there was no other explanation.
March 15, 2000
2010
Although we missed Syd this year we had the added surprise of having GK, Susanna and Van (and the twins, sort of) meet us in Solvang.
This year was my 18th ride in 19 years. If I hadn’t crashed and broken my collar bone two weeks before the ’93 ride it would have been 19 rides. I wrote the bulk of this 10 years ago. I decided to revisit it and modify it some.
The Town
Every year since 1991 Cherryl and I gone with and several friends and sometimes family to the town of Solvang, California for the annual 100 mile bike ride. The area is located about 40 miles northwest of Santa Barbara, on the banks of the Santa Ynez River between the coastal Santa Ynez range and the San Rafael Mountains, It was originally settled by the Chumash Indians, then the Spanish Missionaries who built the Santa Ynez Mission, located in the town - an interesting place to visit by itself.(2010, Sydney – we really missed you on the ride this year)
About 130 years ago a group of Danish settlers moved in and liked what they saw. The name Solvang means "sunny field" in a Danish dialect. The town was originally a farming community that kept some of its Danish flavor with the half-timbered construction, clean narrow streets, Lutheran churches and lots of bakeries and restaurants where you can get authentic Danish pastries and sausages. Over the years it evolved into a tourist stop, but has managed to keep a lot of its charm in spite of rampant commercialism.
The area is generally wealthy, especially the neighboring town of Santa Ynez. President Reagan had his ranch on the top of the coastal range that looked down on the valley and there are many Hollywood types, and business moguls who have getaway homes and ranches there including Michael Jackson’s "Never Land" till he lost it.
The area between the mountains is mostly rolling hills with vineyards, cattle and bison ranches, an Ostrich/Emu ranch or two and a lot of horse owners. Nearer to the river are old riverbed plateaus and bottomland that have rich fertile soil and it is used extensively for agriculture and grazing. In the spring everything is green and beautiful. This year (2010) was no different. We had almost a month of rain before the ride. The uncut grass was at least two feet high and in some of the meadows and fields it was so green it almost looked black. If the first explorers came here in the spring they must have thought they found heaven on earth.
It sooo green!!The Route
The ride starts at the Royal Scandinavian Hotel on the east side of town, - this year, 2010 it started at the golf course down the street from the hotel. The Chumash indians bought the hotel last year and raised the fee to SCORE, the sponser - winds west through the back streets, then out to highway 246, a couple of miles to Buellton and the 101. From there we get out into the real country and follow the old Santa Ynez River Road for about 20 miles into town of Lompoc. Until 9/11 we used ride the back streets through town till we got to Ocean Ave. and followed it towards the coast for about 10 miles to the 13th Street gate of Vandenberg Air Force Base. We’d pass the guards showing our little armbands that separate the real riders from the “bandits” – riders trying to take advantage of the ride without paying the fee - and up the hill to the top of the Vandenberg plateau. It was about 20 miles across the base and the Vandenberg Grade, the Casmalia hills, then we’d drop down into the Santa Maria valley, out to the Airport and the Hilton Hotel SAG stop. Now we have to go to the east of the base, We pass through the military family housing, but no more through the secured areas. From Santa Maria we head south to Orcutt, then away from the town up into the Sisquoc and Foxen Canyon farmlands and vineyards. This is the mentally longest part of the trip, all uphill and a rough road. Eventually we reach the top of the ride at about 1,560 feet (we were almost at sea level in Santa Maria 30 miles back) and it's mostly downhill for the last 10 miles back into Solvang.
Every year I wonder how I'll do or if I'll even make it. I usually spend the last 2 1/2 months training for it, riding farther and harder each week, out Highway 126 to Ventura, up San Fransisquito Canyon and out to Palmdale. The real question is will I do it faster or slower than last year, or will I have an accident. This year – 2010 - was even more stressfull. It rained every Saturday for a month before the ride. I was never able to get the training rides I needed. Syd’s training schedule was so fouled up she decided to drop out.
THE RIDE
Bob (the husband of Syd's high school friend Chris), me, Syd and Bill - 2008. We missed Syd this year. We didn't see Bob, though we knew he was here. We did run into him and Chris at AJ Spurs when we went to dinner. Bob's a monster rider. Only Bill can stay with him.(This is from 2000. I’ll note where I update for 2010) I usually leave the motel about 6:50 AM. I want to go to the official start point and reset my odometer and timer to get an accurate time and distance. It's 6:57 AM and I'm off. It’s cold, but I like it. My thermometer says its 40 degrees, but I know my readout is about 4 - 5 degrees high, so it's really around 36 degrees. A lot of the riders have outer pants and jackets on over their regular riding outfits. I try to avoid that. What are they going to do with all that stuff when it gets warm? I love the cool and I only wear thin knit gloves under my regular ones and the removable long sleeves that I can stick in my pockets.
It's a low-key excitement to be starting out. It feels good to have the cool breeze blowing past my ears and the vibration of the road under my wheels. I wind through the residential streets and out to Mission Road, turn left and we're officially on our way. We drop down a short steep hill and already some people seem to think it's a race. The road is busy with cars even this early and the bike lane is only big enough for single file, but they have got to pass every one and put us all in jeopardy.
It's foggy. I can only see about 1/4 mile down the road. Trees on both side of the road come out of the fog and fly past me. I can see large green pastures of the horse ranches on both sides of the road, but not the houses. The horses stand singly or in groups of two or three, shadowy, in soft focus, heads down, nibbling on the grass or half asleep. It's one of those mental pictures I want to keep.
I get into Buellton about 7:10. It's a small town whose biggest claim to fame used to be the Anderson's Pea Soup Restaurant. I'm supposed to meet Bill Reynolds at the Mobile gas station. I'm late and I don't see him. I find out later that we had a mix-up and he's in his room waiting for me to call and let him know I'm coming. I think he's gone ahead because I'm late, so I don't wait. It's just as well. Bill is an avid rider. He turns 51 this year, but he has the physic of a twenty year old and the stamina of a cross-country runner. We only stay together for a mile or two anyway and at the first hill I don't see him anymore. I’m through Buellton in the blink of an eye, turn left and head down to the bridge, cross the river and turn right onto the river road.
This year – 2010 – Bill and Lyn n are in the same motel so we meet up before leaving. Bill turns 61 this year, and nothing has changed with him physically. He still looks 15 years younger and has the same build. But he has been sick a lot this year with the flu going around and a head cold he hasn’t been able to shake. He’s sick today too, but he doesn’t let it stop him.
The river road is one of the most beautiful parts of the ride. The hills rise steeply on my left and the river plain stretches out on the right. It has rained almost every day for the last three or four weeks and the wild grasses and mugwort are trying to get to full growth before the wet weather stops. It's so green it hurts to look at and I think this must be what Ireland looks like. Ancient oaks cover the hills and many are covered with Spanish. The fields are either freshly plowed or have an early growth of what appear to be asparagus, cabbage, brussel sprouts and lettuce; the cold weather crops. Farther down the road we get into the orchards. Some of them are very old and the trees are so large that as I ride along and look into the rows it's like looking down long dark tunnels. Sometimes I become mesmerized by the patterns of the precisely planted rows that revolve and change as I pass. Usually a pothole brings me back to reality.
The road begins to narrow after a time and the centerline disappears. The fog is thicker and my glasses start to mist up making it hard to see details on the road. The riders are starting to spread out across the road, riding three and four abreast. The road may be a country road, but it's still in use. Field hand's cars come up from behind and can't pass because they can't see far enough ahead. Calls of "Car back!" or "Car up!" come out of the mist and most riders pull to the right to let them by.
The first real hill comes into view and we all start to gear down for the ascent; all of us except the velo club riders. You can hear them coming from behind, a short of whirring sound that gets louder and louder till they fly by. They whiz past like a bullet train crowding me toward the shoulder, but I hold my line. They're bent over their handlebars, thin as paperclips, no stomachs, calve muscles so ripped that they look like an illustration from Grey's Anatomy. And that's the girls!!!
As I get to the top of the last major hill on the river road I look back down to the valley and I've climbed above the fog bank. It lies in the hollow like a thick gray blanket, the valley rising up on either side. The sun is starting to shine through the upper clouds and illuminates the grassy hills and trees for the first time today. It's a Kodak moment. Two more small hills and then the ascent to Highway 1 and we drop down into Lompoc.
Lompoc's mainly an agri-town that got extended life from the state penitentiary and the air force base. It's a nice place, but it's a long ways to anywhere else. They don't want us getting run over by the locals, so they put us off onto the side streets and the local police bold traffic for us at the intersections. Most of us make sure to say thanks to the cops because the poor guys are going to be out there pretty much all day just for us. I turn onto Ocean Avenue and head toward the coast. I'm in a large river plain with plowed, unplanted fields, very wide. About 2 miles I think. The fog has closed in somewhat and this becomes a featureless ride for the next 8 miles. Later the wind will pick up from the ocean and blow it all away.
Three years ago -1997- we had the bright idea of starting the ride in Santa Maria. Good idea we thought. We'll get the worst of the hills out of the way while we're still fresh, then the rest should be a piece of cake! No one told us about the afternoon winds. That year it was worse than usual. Just before Lompoc I felt the wind startup, straight into my face. I still had about 35 miles to go and was getting a little tired. When I dropped down out of the hills and into town the wind really picked up. Out on Ocean Avenue it was so bad I could never get faster than 11 mph, and that was when I was drafting some poor guy. Most of the time I was hunched down over the drops, out of the saddle in low gear, cranking for all I was worth and doing about 8 mph. For the first time ever I was seriously thinking about going back into Lompoc, calling Cherryl and telling her to come get me. At the Vandenberg Gate the road takes a right angle turn to go up onto the plateau. Good, I thought. At least now the wind will be blowing from the side, but by some freak twist of the terrain, the wind was right in my face again. It was the point of no return. If I went through the gate couldn't get onto the base to pick me up. My ego and pride overruled my common sense and I went through. Not a good choice. No matter which way the road turned, the wind was in my face, all the way across the base, into the canyons, downhill, uphill, every which way. It never got behind me till I was almost to the airport. That year it took me 7-3/4 hours to do the ride and I slept like the dead that night.
In 2010 the wind started about the same place and was in our faces from about mile 19 to mile 56 at the turn to the airport. In 2008 it turned on us and was in our faces all the way from Lompoc and back into Solvang. I can truly say that was the worst wind ride ever. I was so blown out that by the time I got to the climb at the top of Foxen Canyon I actually got off the bike and walked to the top. This year, because I hadn’t been able to do the training rides I was very careful to use all the SAG stops and conserve my strength, so I was able to do all the hills without cramping.
This year – 2000 - I'm ahead of the wind and the fog begins to lift as I near the gate. I flash my armband to the guard and he waves me through, then I begin the ascent to the top of the plateau. This is usually a pleasant part of the ride. At the top and through most of the base there are eucalyptus groves all around us. The ground doesn’t seem to drain well even on the plateau, so this time of the year it's a little swampy in some areas. Cattails and ferns, many of the types of plants associated with wetlands thrive here during the rainy season. Ponds, streams and creeks line the road in the lower places. There are several species of duck, snowy egrets and other waterfowl. The temperature has risen to about 70 degrees and the shade of the trees feels good.
There's a light breeze starting and the fog is gone. From the top of the plateau I can see out to the ocean and I can see Point Sal State Beach. If the coastline didn't stick out so far I'm sure I could see all the way to Pismo. The road drops off the plateau and I get my first zippy-wee downhill ride, then it's up the long canyons. There are several such drops and ascents on the base and after the first time I learned to conserve my energy for the last long climb over the Casmalia Hills. I crank past the second SAG stop, still too proud to stop. Who's tired? Not Me. I rocket down the 1/2 mile to the bottom of the canyon, and then start that last ascent. It's a 2-mile climb at a 7% grade. I do pretty well, passing a fair number of riders. Then a girl passes me! Then a peloton zips by. I’m humbled, again.
Finally I reach the top of the "Vandenberg Grade" and get a real downhill ride. This is where I'm lucky. At just over 200 pounds I can still get into a tuck and go aerodynamic. With all that weight I can really get the speed. I even pass that girl! The bullet train is more aerodynamic than I am though, so I let it go.
I can hit about 45 to 50 mph on this hill, especially if the wind is behind me. I love the speed. I try not to think about what the road can do to bare skin at 50 mph if I go down. You have to suppress those thoughts or it can freak you out. One year at this same spot I had just reached the bottom of the hill and was slowing down. There were two riders about 25 yards ahead of me and we were doing between 25 and 30, when for no apparent reason one of the guys just went down hard. He got separated from his bike and glasses, all of which were going in the same general direction and slowing fast. I couldn't stop in time so I gritted my teeth and tried to maneuver through the wreck. Somehow I managed to miss all three obstacles and get by without dumping myself. No skill, just providential interference.
Since 9/11 we have left Lompoc and ridden up Highway 1 and out to Orcutt, turning left at West Rice Ranch, through old town Orcutt, West on Clark to Highway 1 and right at Black Rd, which gets us generally back to the old route.
The rest of the ride into Santa Maria is through some of the earthier parts of the agri side of town. No pun intended. Landfill, tractor repair, liqueur stores, rough road; I go into autopilot and don't pay any more attention to the ride than I need to. I pass a guy stopped on the side of the road who's got one of those folding tuck-in-the-trunk bikes that BMW used to sell or give away to the proud owner of a new 325i. I've seen some strange things on this ride before, but this is a top candidate for the worst type of bike to use. He's got maybe 24" diameter wheels and is about 15 inches closer to the ground than I am. He's still got a little less than 50 miles to go. He's got a bib number so he's part of the ride and I wonder if he'll make it. His gear ratios don't look too promising and I think he's cranked himself out. He says he's alright so I ride on.
I feel a little sorry, and a great deal of respect for the people on the mountain bikes. They're great for downhill and cranking up a dirt road, but there's a reason that road bikes were invented. Their bikes are so much heavier and with so much more road resistance from the tires that they use a lot of energy just spinning down the road. 100 miles on one of them is more like 150 on my Cannondale.
The recumbent and tandem bikes are another story.
The visual or apparent balance of a recumbent kind of unnerves me. They look very unstable, but I've never seen one crash. Maybe because it's easy to plant both feet on the ground if you start to lose it. The seats have got to be the most comfortable; like sitting in a lawn chair. They are heavier than a road bike so they aren't quite as fast uphill, but they are much more aerodynamic and literally scream going down, if the rider has the nerve. I'd guess there's not much saddle pain after the ride either. That alone has got to be a big advantage.
I play leapfrog with the tandems. Unless the stoker is strong I can pass them on the uphill, but with the weight of two riders they can often get more downhill speed than I can. I get a smile out of the father/child tandems. It's got to be a great bonding exercise. Either that or they will hate each other for the rest of their lives. This year while going up a canyon I'm overtaking a father/son tandem and I can hear the squeak squeak of a rubber ducky kind of toy. As I pass them I see they have stuck a toy dinosaur, Barney or something, on the stoker's handlebars. As dad shifted back in the saddle to get more push into his rank, with each revolution his butt pushes against the toy making it squeak and the kid is cracking up.
(2010. I have seen some remarkable things on this ride, but this year between Lompoc and stop # 2 Bill pointed out a tandem with a set of crutches strapped on the back. When I was leaving stop #2 I saw them come in and saw that the lady acting as the stoker was an amputee. She was missing her left leg about 10” below the hip. At this point of the ride I knew they were doing the full 100 miles. That’s determination and grit.)
Here's where I saw the amputeeI roll into the third SAG stop at the airport and refill my water bottles, stuff a PB and J sandwich in my mouth, eat a banana for the potassium, hit the outhouse and go. Elapsed time is a little less than 10 minutes. 58 miles behind me and 44 to go, all uphill for the next 30. I feel pretty good and don't want to lose time standing around when I can be riding. I probably should pick up another banana, some Fig Newtons and oatmeal cookies to take along, but I've still got a couple of jell packs and power bars, so I don't hang around.
This stop is usually pretty crowded. I see a lady TV reporter from a local station interviewing one of the ride officiators. She asks him how many riders are on the course today and I hear him say a little over three thousand. That's why it so quiet. In the past there have been as many as seven thousand riders. The airport was one of the starting points for several years, but not this year. A few times the ride was so big they had a third starting point in Lompoc. I don't know why it's so low this year. Maybe the rain scared some off.
I roll out to the street, cross the intersection and hang right down the frontage road along highway 135 for a few miles. The guy ahead of me is wearing tube socks, which give him away as a novice rider. I pull up alongside and we start to talk. It’s his first time on this ride.
"Well, the best part of the ride is coming up." I tell him. "Now we get into the hills."
"You mean those weren't hills back there?"
"Oh they were OK, but the good ones are a few miles ahead. The top of Foxen Canyon and ‘The Wall’ ". (You always say "The Wall" in quotes. It sounds ominous.)
He's heard something about "The Wall" and thinks he saw something on the map last night. I'm getting a kick playing with his head.
"Yeah, the top of Foxen Canyon is actually steeper, but you can't see it except for short stretches because it turns a lot, but "The Wall" is psychologically more intimidating because you can see the whole thing from the bottom and you've already gone 87miles with the last 30 all uphill. But don't worry," I say. "Just drop into low gear, stand up and keep pumping. You'll make it." I’m so patronizing. Truth is, I hate the top of the canyon and "The Wall". It's the only real challenge for me on the whole ride, and believe me it's enough.
A couple of miles and we turn east on Clark avenue and start the long uphill grind for the next couple of hours. Uphill, across highway 101, up another hill, then out on the flat for a couple miles. We're out of the low areas and into cattle and oil country now. There's a slight prevailing smell of sulfur from the oil wells rising in the heat.
I can see the front of the San Rafael Mountains. There's snow on the upper peaks and everything is so green. California is technically desert and the green season is short even on the coast. I love it all the more because it's so uncommon. My thermometer says 87 degrees but a light breeze is blowing and it feels cool and soothing. Now down a short drop, right on Dominion and up another long climb for about 3 1/2 miles at a 3% grade. Not bad if it's not too hot. It's a camel hump with two climbs and two drops till I end up at the same altitude before I get to Sisquoc. The last drop can be a killer. You can get going faster than you think and when you get to the turn at Palmer road you're turning left into a right hand banked curve, and the road is banked the wrong way for you. To make matters worse there's loose gravel on the road. There are warning signs all down the bill to the curve but more than one rider has eaten it on this turn.
Once again I blow past the SAG stop just before Sisquoc but I'm starting to think I should have stopped. I'm not really low on liquids but I think maybe I should be rehydrating more often than I have. I probably should have finished a 24-oz. bottle since Santa Maria and refilled before "The Wall". But it’s too late for that and I just keep going. I suck on a couple of jell packs, eat a power bar, take a few swigs of juice and hope it kicks in when I need it. I'll be sucking on these bottles for the next 15 miles or so. A little farther, turn right at Sisquoc and I'm now officially going up Foxen Canyon.
The road runs straight for about a mile, then jogs right and hugs the south side of the canyon in the shade of the trees. About 8 years ago at this spot I saw a rider about 300 yards ahead of me with a sign fastened to his back He wasn't going very fast so I caught up with him in a short time. The sign read, "Please be patient with me. I'm going as fast as I can for 83 years old" That just blew me away. He'd already gone some 75 miles and was still going steady. I hope he made it and I think about him every year when I start to feel sorry for myself. (This year I had the strangest thought as I was riding through here. As healthy as that guy was – he has to be dead now. He’d be over 100 years old today. I wonder how many more years I have.)
The next year as I was riding across the Vandenberg plateau I saw similar rider. He was gray haired and mustached, lean and angular, lined face, kind of weather beaten with that old cowboy look. By now I'd gotten into the habit of talking with fellow riders so I pulled alongside and started to chat. To my complete surprise I found out he was a couple of years younger than me! At first I thought he was telling a tall tale, but as we talked I saw that he was the real thing. It turned out he had been a heavy drug user and drinker and it had just about killed him. He was off the juice and dope now and biking was one of the ways he was trying to regain his health. I think about him at every ride too and thank God for my own amazingly good health.
We’re in wine country now. The breeze is gone but the air is a little cooler, coming off the mountain. It's about 11:30 and the day hasn't heated up in the canyon yet. The workers are out in the fields pruning back the vines. There is vineyard after vineyard here and most of them have been here for over 100 years. The trees feel ancient. I pass an old adobe farmhouse that burned down many years ago. The roof is long gone as are the window headers. The columns and walls of sun-baked adobe are weathered and crumbly and stick up like the pillars of a Greek temple, and grass is growing thickly out of the tops.
I wish I knew more about this area and its history. I do know that it was settled by a man named Foxen and explored by John C. Fremont, the man of whom Lincoln said he would not have such a general surveyor who became the owner of all he surveyed. The Chumash had a large population living here and There are still a tribe of Churnash living in the area and they run the Chumash Casino in Santa Ynez.
This is the deadly part of the ride. For the next 10 or so miles it's nothing but climbing. Sometimes steeply, sometimes not so steep, but always up and up. Usually when I climb I recite things or sing songs in my head to take my mind off the job. It works, but I've noticed that when the climb is really tedious the weirdest things come into my mind, like Gordon Lightfoot singing Canadian Railroad Trilogy. Canadian Railroad Trilogy??
Part of the 30-mile climbThe road is a farm road in every sense of the word. It's poorly paved, rutted and in place. Someone ran a caterpillar tractor along it so it has the texture of a washboard. Most of the ruts take on a stealth quality in the sunlight. They're not sharply defined and there are no shadows. You really can't see them until you hit them. I'm already tired and the jolts are sapping what energy I have left. It's bad enough that my shoulders are starting to ache and my rear is getting sore from the saddle but now the vibration from the road is starting to work its way from my legs and lower back to my upper spine and finally my brain. Mile after interminable mile. I don't look around much anymore and my attention closes down to the 6 or 8 feet directly in front of my bike. The rattling becomes the only sensation. My brain even begins to shut down and finally only the medulla oblongata keeps me going. Some of my family would say that's the only functioning part of my brain anyway, so maybe I'm not so far gone.
The bottom of the climb out of Foxen CanyonSuddenly the road turns right and rises into the trees. I'm near the top of the canyon and the toughest climb of the ride. It's 6/10s of a mile to the top and we rise a little more than 250 feet; about an 8% grade. Now I pay the price for not drinking enough early in the ride. My thighs start to cramp. With each turn of the crank I get a charly horse right above the knees. I try standing but for some reason it makes my legs spasm worse, so I sit back down and work on the pull more than the push of the crank. The road rises through the trees to a turn then rises more through more trees to another turn waaay up there. I think about the rider whose head I played with and I have a feeling this is Karma payback time. Then I turn another bend and I'm at the top. The road slowly starts to level out and I can shift up till I'm in my top gear at last and flying down the other side.
(2010) I’ve learned my lesson since then. I refuel at all the SAG stops, usually drink about 80 oz of Gatorade by this time and rarely have cramps anymore. But it’s still a very tiring climb)
Oh blessed relief! It's a steep drop and I can sit back a little and relax. The road drops quickly to the backside of the hill into another canyon. I'm getting back into wine country and there are some nicely tended vineyards in the lower part of the canyon. Fess Parker, the original Daniel Boone of Walt Disney fame built a vineyard and Visitor's Center here. The first year I rode was before the center was built and he let them put in a SAG stop on the lot. It's a beautiful building and if I was a wine drinker I'd go there just to say I'd been.
For about 2 1/2 miles I get all the rest I can because I'm coming up to "The Wall". The Firestone Vineyard at the base of "The Wall" is the last SAG stop. (This year it was Fess Parkers’s place again) Again I don't stop, but for a whole other reason. One year I stopped there and my legs stiffened up so badly that I hardly made it up "The Wall". I can tell by the way they worked at the canyon top that if I stop it will happen again so I decide to tough it out and climb.
"The Wall" is also about 6/10 mile climb and about 250 feet up, but like I said before, you can see it from start to finish. And besides, when you stand something up that's 250 feet tall it looks a heck of a lot higher than it sounds. Consider that the average Freeway Bridge has a 15-foot clearance for trucks, then stack 16 of those one on top of the other and you have 250 feet. We've already gone 87 miles and the last two hours have been that lovely farm road from Hell. My legs ache and there doesn't seem to be anything left in them. I shift down to the lowest gear and settle in for the climb. The cramping comes back with a vengeance. My mother’s voice comes to me with a vengeance. "You push yourself too hard dear. I worry about you, you're so competitive with yourself” Dang! I think she's right this time. I do make it though. Some kind soul has painted a message on the road, "Last Hill", and farther up, "You're almost there!" I glance to my right and see the valley floor laid out below me and it's a wonderful sight. The road begins to flatten out. I shift up gear after gear. I'm over and it's 14 miles downhill to Solvang. Almost downhill.
It's 2+ miles down to Highway 154 and then a hard right on Ballard Canyon Road for the really truly last hill. It's not a tall hill or even that steep, but it's like the final parting shot from the ride. I wind up and up, back and forth through the hairpin turns and I'm over. I don't even cramp on this one. Down sharply on the other side, through another hairpin turn and it's a straight shot to town. As I go through this last turn I slow down a lot and study the road ahead. The ride wasn't always popular with the locals and one year, the story goes, someone scattered tacks on the road at this turn to blow out tires. I tend to think this was just an urban legend.
From the top of "The Wall" to the town we drop about 700 feet. There's not much need to pedal and it's a good thing because fatigue has caught up with me. If there's no headwind I average about 30 mph for the rest of the road until I get into town.
Ghosts of the past come to me again. The year I started in Santa Maria I was fresh and riding like a bat out of Hell down this road. I stopped at the Solvang SAG stop to get some snacks and as I started out the driveway, not even completely on my bike yet, my front tire popped. When we got it off the rim we found that the rubber spoke guard had deteriorated and fallen apart and a spoke had punctured the tube. There was basically no guard left. I could see the imprints of all the spokes on my tube. All I could think of was that the tire could have blown at any time on the downhill run, but it went out at the least possible dangerous time. I could only write it off to Providence again, there was no other explanation.
March 15, 2000
2010
Although we missed Syd this year we had the added surprise of having GK, Susanna and Van (and the twins, sort of) meet us in Solvang.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Syd's Entry
I have been pretty pre-occupied with mundane life lately, so that's why no entries. But my sweet sister had an entry on the family blog that I felt was perfect for this, so here it is.
I Shelter Here Some Days...
Posted by Sydney
Humor me on this entry- I know it's a long one and there aren't any pictures. Okay, at the last minute I included this picture I took of tonight's sunset.
Not sure what's gotten in to me today. Emotional level: high; Sentimentality level: High; Nostalgic level: HIGH
I think it might be an emotional perfect storm.
Last week learning that a friend from my youth took his life; yesterday a girlfriend crying in relief to me in the aftermath of a personal family crisis and realizing she just barely dodged a bullet that would have severely and permanently altered her life; today a friend telling me of the unexpected meltdown he had during a social event over the loss of his mother earlier in the year to cancer; tomorrow the 12 year anniversary of my biking accident that had the potential to alter my life in so many ways and in many ways did- all these things cause me to reflect.
To reflect on my life, it's path, the people that have come in and out of it for good and bad, the dear ones (and if you're reading this that's you), the unknown future and just how did I get this old this fast? So much left I want to do. So much left I want to see. So much left that I want to observe. When I was in my late teens/early twenties the future was so exciting with the unknown possibilities. Don't get me wrong, it's still exciting with the possibilities, only the reality is that my "exciting unknowns" are much fewer than they were back then and have different forms and delineations. But today, I'm tired.
2 weeks ago I went to see the English band, Elbow. It was one of the most intimate concerts I'd been to in a long time. Just me, Elbow and a few thousand close friends- at least that's what it felt like. The lead singer, Guy Garvey, introduced a song that I wasn't familiar with called Scattered Black and Whites. The lead in story was how it was written about the experience he had when his grandfather died. The family was taking shifts sitting at the bedside and that his grandfather would slip in and out of lucidity but was recalling stories and memories. Some stories coherent and others fragmented together, but how those memories told his story and gave him comfort and shelter.
I know that's true for me and my memories. I always get a smile when I think of the hijinks shared with my brothers and sisters. The pleasure I get from thinking of all my wonderful nephews and nieces as little ones and now as big ones, many of you with little ones of your own, well, there are no words to describe it. As the song goes, "I come back here from time to time; I shelter here some days". You've all given me shelter today.
I've grown to love this song and it's appreciation of the beauty, comfort and even preciousness in the day-to-day mundane. If I knew how to connect the song to the blog I would. Until then if you have any interest in the words, here they are:
Been climbing trees, I've skinned my knees
My hands are black, the sun is going down
She scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam
She's listening to the dream I weaved today
Crosswords through the bathroom door
While someone sings the theme-tune to the news
And my sister buzzes through the room leaving perfume
in the air, and that's what triggered this.
I come back here from time to time; I shelter here some days
A high-back chair, he sits and stares
A thousand yards and whistles marching-band
Kneeling by and speaking up
He reaches out and I take a massive hand.
Disjointed tales that flit between
Short trousers and a full dress uniform.
And he talks of people ten years gone
Like I've know them all my life
Like scattered black and whites
I come back here from time to time
I shelter here some days.
I Shelter Here Some Days...
Posted by Sydney
Humor me on this entry- I know it's a long one and there aren't any pictures. Okay, at the last minute I included this picture I took of tonight's sunset.
Not sure what's gotten in to me today. Emotional level: high; Sentimentality level: High; Nostalgic level: HIGH
I think it might be an emotional perfect storm.
Last week learning that a friend from my youth took his life; yesterday a girlfriend crying in relief to me in the aftermath of a personal family crisis and realizing she just barely dodged a bullet that would have severely and permanently altered her life; today a friend telling me of the unexpected meltdown he had during a social event over the loss of his mother earlier in the year to cancer; tomorrow the 12 year anniversary of my biking accident that had the potential to alter my life in so many ways and in many ways did- all these things cause me to reflect.
To reflect on my life, it's path, the people that have come in and out of it for good and bad, the dear ones (and if you're reading this that's you), the unknown future and just how did I get this old this fast? So much left I want to do. So much left I want to see. So much left that I want to observe. When I was in my late teens/early twenties the future was so exciting with the unknown possibilities. Don't get me wrong, it's still exciting with the possibilities, only the reality is that my "exciting unknowns" are much fewer than they were back then and have different forms and delineations. But today, I'm tired.
2 weeks ago I went to see the English band, Elbow. It was one of the most intimate concerts I'd been to in a long time. Just me, Elbow and a few thousand close friends- at least that's what it felt like. The lead singer, Guy Garvey, introduced a song that I wasn't familiar with called Scattered Black and Whites. The lead in story was how it was written about the experience he had when his grandfather died. The family was taking shifts sitting at the bedside and that his grandfather would slip in and out of lucidity but was recalling stories and memories. Some stories coherent and others fragmented together, but how those memories told his story and gave him comfort and shelter.
I know that's true for me and my memories. I always get a smile when I think of the hijinks shared with my brothers and sisters. The pleasure I get from thinking of all my wonderful nephews and nieces as little ones and now as big ones, many of you with little ones of your own, well, there are no words to describe it. As the song goes, "I come back here from time to time; I shelter here some days". You've all given me shelter today.
I've grown to love this song and it's appreciation of the beauty, comfort and even preciousness in the day-to-day mundane. If I knew how to connect the song to the blog I would. Until then if you have any interest in the words, here they are:
Been climbing trees, I've skinned my knees
My hands are black, the sun is going down
She scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam
She's listening to the dream I weaved today
Crosswords through the bathroom door
While someone sings the theme-tune to the news
And my sister buzzes through the room leaving perfume
in the air, and that's what triggered this.
I come back here from time to time; I shelter here some days
A high-back chair, he sits and stares
A thousand yards and whistles marching-band
Kneeling by and speaking up
He reaches out and I take a massive hand.
Disjointed tales that flit between
Short trousers and a full dress uniform.
And he talks of people ten years gone
Like I've know them all my life
Like scattered black and whites
I come back here from time to time
I shelter here some days.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Life Flys By So Fast
I meant to put this on this blog only, but I decided to put it on the family blog first because I wanted to be sure my kids saw it.
Jan 25, 2009
Well, I'm sitting on the floor (because that's the only place I can find a plug for my laptop, which has a chronically weak battery) at the Dallas Ft Worth airport waiting for my connecting flight to Detroit where I will be having a preliminary interview with another car wash company I may want to work for. Sitting here reminds me of an old Paul Simon song, which I can't remember the name of, but where he sings of watching people at the airports, especially the babies and how they look at him with pure innocence, and I think about the lives of the people I see and how each of them are individuals with a fascinating story to tell, and I wonder about them and their families, what their stories may be. Some give me the impression of immense sadness and loneliness. Others seem so well adjusted and confident. Still others just seem to be moving ahead like walking through a rainstorm, just enduring the moment because they know the rain won't last forever. I know this is all just guessing and I don't really know what's going on with them, but it makes me think more about my own life.
A friend of mine sent me a copy of a story that really rang true.
" And it's winter before we know it....You know, time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years. It seems just yesterday that I was young, just married and embarking on my new life with my mate. And yet in a way, it seems like eons ago, and I wonder where all the years went.
I know that I lived them all...And I have glimpses of how it was back then and of all my hopes and dreams... But, here it is..the winter of my life and it catches me by surprise... How did I get here so fast? Where did the years go and where did my babies go? And where did my youth go?
I remember well.. seeing older people through the years and thinking that those older people were years away from me and that winter was so far off that I could not fathom it or imagine fully what it would be like... But, here it is...my friends are retired and really getting gray...they move slower and I see an older person now. Lots are in better shape than me... but, I see the great change... Not like the ones that I remember who were young and vibrant... but, like me, their age is beginning to show and we are now those older folks that we used to see and never thought we'd be.
Each day now, I find that just getting a shower is a real target for the day! And taking a nap is not a treat anymore...it's mandatory! Cause if I don't on my own free will..I just fall asleep where I sit! And so, now I enter into this new season of my life unprepared for all the aches and pains and the loss of strength and ability to go and do things that I wish I had done but never did!! But, at least I know, that though the winter has come, and I'm not sure how long it will last...this I know, that when it's over...its over....
Yes , I have regrets. There are things I wish I hadn't done ,,,,,things I should have done, but indeed, there are many things I'm happy to have done. It's all in a lifetime....So, if you're not in your winter yet...let me remind you, that it will be here faster than you think.
So, whatever you would like to accomplish in your life please do it quickly! Don't put things off too long!! Life goes by quickly. So, do what you can today, as you can never be sure whether this is your winter or not! You have no promise that you will see all the seasons of your life...so, live for good today and say all the things that you want your loved ones to remember...and hope that they appreciate and love you for all the things that you have done for them in all the years past!!"Life is a gift to you. The way you live your life is your gift to those who come after."
Boy, does that say it or what? A couple of weeks ago Cherryl and I met up with my old high school friends, Bart Fenton, Scotty Brunton, Roger LeClair and their wives, Tawnee, Patty and Vickie. I really enjoyed the short time we had but the story above came to life. We're not kids anymore, and each of us has an interesting story to tell.
Lately as I lay in bed at night I think of how fast time is going now. Like President Bush said the other day, the days are long, but the weeks fly by. I'll be 58 this year. I could never have imagined it would come so soon. As healthy as I feel, I am starting to realize that it still may only be a short time before I pass to the other side, my time here is over and I have that personal priesthood interview with my brother Jesus Christ. The reality of his existence and literally, physically meeting him face-to-face is finally sinking in like never before. I'm not afraid of the meeting, but I have to wonder how much more I can do before it happens. (No, I am not having a premonition about crashing on my next flight.)
Sydney and I and her friend John went for a bike ride in the rain yesterday and as messy as it was I completely enjoyed being together just riding and talking. Now that the house is empty mom and I have time to talk and kind of rediscover each other. Life and raising a family can tend to take up so much of your time that it's easy to forget to take time to just be together. I'm enjoying this.
The bottom line is that I am just very grateful for my family and the ever present sense of eternal belonging; Cherryl and all the kids, mom and dad, brother and sisters and all the little grandchildren, nieces and nephews that are coming into my life, and I just feel a tremendous feeling of affection for all of you. The only thing that matters in the long run is God, family, love, service and doing the best you can. Families really can be together forever.
Jan 25, 2009
Well, I'm sitting on the floor (because that's the only place I can find a plug for my laptop, which has a chronically weak battery) at the Dallas Ft Worth airport waiting for my connecting flight to Detroit where I will be having a preliminary interview with another car wash company I may want to work for. Sitting here reminds me of an old Paul Simon song, which I can't remember the name of, but where he sings of watching people at the airports, especially the babies and how they look at him with pure innocence, and I think about the lives of the people I see and how each of them are individuals with a fascinating story to tell, and I wonder about them and their families, what their stories may be. Some give me the impression of immense sadness and loneliness. Others seem so well adjusted and confident. Still others just seem to be moving ahead like walking through a rainstorm, just enduring the moment because they know the rain won't last forever. I know this is all just guessing and I don't really know what's going on with them, but it makes me think more about my own life.
A friend of mine sent me a copy of a story that really rang true.
" And it's winter before we know it....You know, time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years. It seems just yesterday that I was young, just married and embarking on my new life with my mate. And yet in a way, it seems like eons ago, and I wonder where all the years went.
I know that I lived them all...And I have glimpses of how it was back then and of all my hopes and dreams... But, here it is..the winter of my life and it catches me by surprise... How did I get here so fast? Where did the years go and where did my babies go? And where did my youth go?
I remember well.. seeing older people through the years and thinking that those older people were years away from me and that winter was so far off that I could not fathom it or imagine fully what it would be like... But, here it is...my friends are retired and really getting gray...they move slower and I see an older person now. Lots are in better shape than me... but, I see the great change... Not like the ones that I remember who were young and vibrant... but, like me, their age is beginning to show and we are now those older folks that we used to see and never thought we'd be.
Each day now, I find that just getting a shower is a real target for the day! And taking a nap is not a treat anymore...it's mandatory! Cause if I don't on my own free will..I just fall asleep where I sit! And so, now I enter into this new season of my life unprepared for all the aches and pains and the loss of strength and ability to go and do things that I wish I had done but never did!! But, at least I know, that though the winter has come, and I'm not sure how long it will last...this I know, that when it's over...its over....
Yes , I have regrets. There are things I wish I hadn't done ,,,,,things I should have done, but indeed, there are many things I'm happy to have done. It's all in a lifetime....So, if you're not in your winter yet...let me remind you, that it will be here faster than you think.
So, whatever you would like to accomplish in your life please do it quickly! Don't put things off too long!! Life goes by quickly. So, do what you can today, as you can never be sure whether this is your winter or not! You have no promise that you will see all the seasons of your life...so, live for good today and say all the things that you want your loved ones to remember...and hope that they appreciate and love you for all the things that you have done for them in all the years past!!"Life is a gift to you. The way you live your life is your gift to those who come after."
Boy, does that say it or what? A couple of weeks ago Cherryl and I met up with my old high school friends, Bart Fenton, Scotty Brunton, Roger LeClair and their wives, Tawnee, Patty and Vickie. I really enjoyed the short time we had but the story above came to life. We're not kids anymore, and each of us has an interesting story to tell.
Lately as I lay in bed at night I think of how fast time is going now. Like President Bush said the other day, the days are long, but the weeks fly by. I'll be 58 this year. I could never have imagined it would come so soon. As healthy as I feel, I am starting to realize that it still may only be a short time before I pass to the other side, my time here is over and I have that personal priesthood interview with my brother Jesus Christ. The reality of his existence and literally, physically meeting him face-to-face is finally sinking in like never before. I'm not afraid of the meeting, but I have to wonder how much more I can do before it happens. (No, I am not having a premonition about crashing on my next flight.)
Sydney and I and her friend John went for a bike ride in the rain yesterday and as messy as it was I completely enjoyed being together just riding and talking. Now that the house is empty mom and I have time to talk and kind of rediscover each other. Life and raising a family can tend to take up so much of your time that it's easy to forget to take time to just be together. I'm enjoying this.
The bottom line is that I am just very grateful for my family and the ever present sense of eternal belonging; Cherryl and all the kids, mom and dad, brother and sisters and all the little grandchildren, nieces and nephews that are coming into my life, and I just feel a tremendous feeling of affection for all of you. The only thing that matters in the long run is God, family, love, service and doing the best you can. Families really can be together forever.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Working at the temple has some definite advantages. The temple really is a place of learning and for the last year I can truthfully say that every week if I went there with the intent of learning something I have never come away disappointed. I have been shown things while I ponder the ordinances, found new meaning in scriptural passages I never saw before and have begun to see much of the imagery in the ordinances, procedures, paintings and even the architecture. But some of the most gratifying lessons come from being able to sit with learned men and discuss scripture and doctrine in the late hours of the shift when there is time to do such things. I want to share one example.
When Christ walked the earth he gave the blind their sight, the deaf were made to hear, the lame and halt were given their strength to move and function, the sick were cured of disease, the leprous made clean and whole, devils were cast out, and even the dead brought back to life. When Christ was criticized for telling a palsied man that his sins were forgiven he asked the critics “Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise and take up thy bed, and walk? But that ye may know that the Son of Man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (he saith to the sick of the palsy,) I say unto thee, arise and take up thy bed, and go thy way unto thy house. And immediately he arose, took up the bed, and went forth before them all…” This was an example of Christ showing that his power to heal physically was proof of His power to heal spiritually.
The effects of sin makes us blind and deaf to the truth, lame and halt in our capacity to do good, sick and afflicted with the loss of the comfort of the spirit, and dead as to the things of God. The spiritually sick are healed through the atoning blood of Christ by faith in Him and repentance. As we exercise that faith we lose the blindness and deafness, we gain power to make things happen for good and we become alive in Christ.
When we administer to the sick we anoint with consecrated olive oil. For some time I have had the notion that there was a direct correlation between olive oil and the atonement, but I could never find an authoritative reference. I reasoned that the atonement was wrought in the Garden of Gethsemane where olives are pressed to squeeze the oil out. When Christ was in that garden the night he bore the weight of the sins of the world Luke says he “sweat as it were great drops of blood”. I felt the comparison was obvious, but I needed to know if it was true.
I mentioned this to one of the brothers I work with who has a reputation for being very well read and asked if he had any thoughts about it or references I could read. Without a second’s hesitation he told me to look up “The Olive Press” by Truman G. Madsen, May 1989, and Russell M. Nelson, “Why This Holy Land?,” Ensign, Dec 1989. Both address the topic, but Elder Nelson’s hits the point directly. I quote:
“Sites and Symbols of the Atonement”
“Jesus came to the base of the Mount of Olives to effect the first component of the Atonement. This He did at the Garden of Gethsemane. The word Gethsemane comes from two Hebrew roots: gath, meaning “press,” and shemen, meaning “oil,” especially that of the olive.
“There olives had been pressed under the weight of great stone wheels to squeeze precious oil from the olives. So the Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane was literally pressed under the weight of the sins of the world. He sweated great drops of blood—his life’s “oil”—which issued from every pore. (See Luke 22:44; D&C 19:18.)
“Jesus was accorded titles of unique significance. One was the Messiah, which in Hebrew means “anointed.” The other was the Christ, which in the Greek language means “anointed” as well. In our day, as it was in His day, the ordinance of administration to the sick includes anointing with the consecrated oil of the olive. So the next time you witness consecrated oil being anointed on the head of one to be blessed, and these sacred words are said, “I anoint you with this consecrated oil,” remember what that original consecration cost. Remember what it meant to all who had ever lived and who ever would yet live. Remember the redemptive power of healing, soothing, and ministering to those in need. Remember, just as the body of the olive, which was pressed for the oil that gave light, so the Savior was pressed. From every pore oozed the lifeblood of our Redeemer. Throughout the joyous days of your mission, when your cup of gladness runs over, remember His cup of bitterness which made it possible. And when sore trials come upon you, remember Gethsemane.”
So the next time you administer or are administered to, think on the symbolism that the oil represents the atoning blood of Jesus Christ and the power to heal the spiritually sick and dead through God’s priesthood – the authority to act in His name for the good of His children – and the faith that must be exercised both in that power and in Christ’s atonement for it to be effective, in this life or in the next.
When Christ walked the earth he gave the blind their sight, the deaf were made to hear, the lame and halt were given their strength to move and function, the sick were cured of disease, the leprous made clean and whole, devils were cast out, and even the dead brought back to life. When Christ was criticized for telling a palsied man that his sins were forgiven he asked the critics “Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise and take up thy bed, and walk? But that ye may know that the Son of Man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (he saith to the sick of the palsy,) I say unto thee, arise and take up thy bed, and go thy way unto thy house. And immediately he arose, took up the bed, and went forth before them all…” This was an example of Christ showing that his power to heal physically was proof of His power to heal spiritually.
The effects of sin makes us blind and deaf to the truth, lame and halt in our capacity to do good, sick and afflicted with the loss of the comfort of the spirit, and dead as to the things of God. The spiritually sick are healed through the atoning blood of Christ by faith in Him and repentance. As we exercise that faith we lose the blindness and deafness, we gain power to make things happen for good and we become alive in Christ.
When we administer to the sick we anoint with consecrated olive oil. For some time I have had the notion that there was a direct correlation between olive oil and the atonement, but I could never find an authoritative reference. I reasoned that the atonement was wrought in the Garden of Gethsemane where olives are pressed to squeeze the oil out. When Christ was in that garden the night he bore the weight of the sins of the world Luke says he “sweat as it were great drops of blood”. I felt the comparison was obvious, but I needed to know if it was true.
I mentioned this to one of the brothers I work with who has a reputation for being very well read and asked if he had any thoughts about it or references I could read. Without a second’s hesitation he told me to look up “The Olive Press” by Truman G. Madsen, May 1989, and Russell M. Nelson, “Why This Holy Land?,” Ensign, Dec 1989. Both address the topic, but Elder Nelson’s hits the point directly. I quote:
“Sites and Symbols of the Atonement”
“Jesus came to the base of the Mount of Olives to effect the first component of the Atonement. This He did at the Garden of Gethsemane. The word Gethsemane comes from two Hebrew roots: gath, meaning “press,” and shemen, meaning “oil,” especially that of the olive.
“There olives had been pressed under the weight of great stone wheels to squeeze precious oil from the olives. So the Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane was literally pressed under the weight of the sins of the world. He sweated great drops of blood—his life’s “oil”—which issued from every pore. (See Luke 22:44; D&C 19:18.)
“Jesus was accorded titles of unique significance. One was the Messiah, which in Hebrew means “anointed.” The other was the Christ, which in the Greek language means “anointed” as well. In our day, as it was in His day, the ordinance of administration to the sick includes anointing with the consecrated oil of the olive. So the next time you witness consecrated oil being anointed on the head of one to be blessed, and these sacred words are said, “I anoint you with this consecrated oil,” remember what that original consecration cost. Remember what it meant to all who had ever lived and who ever would yet live. Remember the redemptive power of healing, soothing, and ministering to those in need. Remember, just as the body of the olive, which was pressed for the oil that gave light, so the Savior was pressed. From every pore oozed the lifeblood of our Redeemer. Throughout the joyous days of your mission, when your cup of gladness runs over, remember His cup of bitterness which made it possible. And when sore trials come upon you, remember Gethsemane.”
So the next time you administer or are administered to, think on the symbolism that the oil represents the atoning blood of Jesus Christ and the power to heal the spiritually sick and dead through God’s priesthood – the authority to act in His name for the good of His children – and the faith that must be exercised both in that power and in Christ’s atonement for it to be effective, in this life or in the next.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Temple experience
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Since the demonstrations this last week at the temple has been very interesting to say the least. While working at the recommend desk the night before last I learned that there must be two men at the desk from now on. I was told that earlier in the week there was a long line at the desk and two people who weren’t members tried to get in by going around the line. I also heard that Brother Atkinson of the Canyon Country1st Ward was working the desk that day and was the one who stopped them. I was told that he had “tackled” one of them, so I guess they were possibly protesters trying to get in.
A week ago on Friday, the day after the letter incident, it seemed to me that there were more patrons at the temple than usual. The sessions were large and we hardly seemed to have enough workers for initiatory work. This last Friday it seemed at least as crowded as before. The endowment sessions had large groups, more so than usual and we were stretched at the initiatories again. I want to ask President Murphy next week if I was right. In the meantime I ran into Bonnie Petrovitch who works there full-time with her husband Don, and she told me the attendance is much higher than usual. It would seem that the demonstrations have awakened the members to the importance of the temple and the work being done there.
Yesterday was Stake Temple Day. I had signed up for the 6:30 and 8:30 AM sessions, so I was hoping to get off a little early on Friday so I could get some sleep before going back. It didn’t work out that way. I was assigned to close at the recommend desk so I was there till about 10:30. I only got about 5 hours sleep and was back at 6 AM. I was really worried that I wouldn’t be able to stay awake. Whenever I get a chance to slow down, and especially when it’s quiet and peaceful, I fall asleep before I even know it. I really wanted to do the work justice, so I said an earnest prayer asking for help to stay awake and alert.
The session was in Tongan so I had to wear a translator for the first time. I had never worn one before so I didn’t know how to turn it on right away, and when I finally did I had it on the channel for Chinese I think, so I started to flip through the channels looking for English when I hit the one for German. Out of curiosity I stayed there for a second to see how well I could remember it after 36 years and to my surprise I found that as long as I paid attention I could understand it. I was trying to decide if I should keep it on German or turn to English. I didn’t want to keep it on German just to test my language skills; it seemed a little like a mockery to do that, when suddenly I was hit with a wave of emotion and started to cry. I’ve never had that happen before and I was certain it had something to do with the language. I felt sure I could keep it there and it was alright to do so. Except for the very end where the Tongan brothers wouldn’t understand me I did everything in German. I was able to not only stay awake; I felt I had several new insights into the work.
I looked at the name of the person I was doing the work for. He was one of Bonnie Petrovitch’s family names. It sounded a little German, and he was from Pennsylvania, 1877, but I wasn't certain. As I was leaving later that morning I saw Don Petrovitch at the recommend desk and asked him if the man was German. He said he thought so and that Bonnie had done a lot of work for her family back east and in Germany too. Today I saw Bonnie at church and asked her about him. She said he was born in Darmstadt Germany.
I firmly believe that man was there waiting for his work to be done and I was given the opportunity to do it in his native language. Was it necessary that it be done in German? No, but I believe the Lord grants us those kinds of privileges every now and then. I don’t think this was coincidence. Not in the temple anyway.
Since the demonstrations this last week at the temple has been very interesting to say the least. While working at the recommend desk the night before last I learned that there must be two men at the desk from now on. I was told that earlier in the week there was a long line at the desk and two people who weren’t members tried to get in by going around the line. I also heard that Brother Atkinson of the Canyon Country1st Ward was working the desk that day and was the one who stopped them. I was told that he had “tackled” one of them, so I guess they were possibly protesters trying to get in.
A week ago on Friday, the day after the letter incident, it seemed to me that there were more patrons at the temple than usual. The sessions were large and we hardly seemed to have enough workers for initiatory work. This last Friday it seemed at least as crowded as before. The endowment sessions had large groups, more so than usual and we were stretched at the initiatories again. I want to ask President Murphy next week if I was right. In the meantime I ran into Bonnie Petrovitch who works there full-time with her husband Don, and she told me the attendance is much higher than usual. It would seem that the demonstrations have awakened the members to the importance of the temple and the work being done there.
Yesterday was Stake Temple Day. I had signed up for the 6:30 and 8:30 AM sessions, so I was hoping to get off a little early on Friday so I could get some sleep before going back. It didn’t work out that way. I was assigned to close at the recommend desk so I was there till about 10:30. I only got about 5 hours sleep and was back at 6 AM. I was really worried that I wouldn’t be able to stay awake. Whenever I get a chance to slow down, and especially when it’s quiet and peaceful, I fall asleep before I even know it. I really wanted to do the work justice, so I said an earnest prayer asking for help to stay awake and alert.
The session was in Tongan so I had to wear a translator for the first time. I had never worn one before so I didn’t know how to turn it on right away, and when I finally did I had it on the channel for Chinese I think, so I started to flip through the channels looking for English when I hit the one for German. Out of curiosity I stayed there for a second to see how well I could remember it after 36 years and to my surprise I found that as long as I paid attention I could understand it. I was trying to decide if I should keep it on German or turn to English. I didn’t want to keep it on German just to test my language skills; it seemed a little like a mockery to do that, when suddenly I was hit with a wave of emotion and started to cry. I’ve never had that happen before and I was certain it had something to do with the language. I felt sure I could keep it there and it was alright to do so. Except for the very end where the Tongan brothers wouldn’t understand me I did everything in German. I was able to not only stay awake; I felt I had several new insights into the work.
I looked at the name of the person I was doing the work for. He was one of Bonnie Petrovitch’s family names. It sounded a little German, and he was from Pennsylvania, 1877, but I wasn't certain. As I was leaving later that morning I saw Don Petrovitch at the recommend desk and asked him if the man was German. He said he thought so and that Bonnie had done a lot of work for her family back east and in Germany too. Today I saw Bonnie at church and asked her about him. She said he was born in Darmstadt Germany.
I firmly believe that man was there waiting for his work to be done and I was given the opportunity to do it in his native language. Was it necessary that it be done in German? No, but I believe the Lord grants us those kinds of privileges every now and then. I don’t think this was coincidence. Not in the temple anyway.
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