An angel comes to our assistance:

While travelling around Australia by car in 1982 we were almost caught by the start of the wet season. On Tuesday 2nd November 1982, we left from Kununurra very early in the morning, filled up with petrol at Hall’s Creek and crossed the 320 km of bare desert (there was no made or marked roads there in those days) to Fitzroy Crossing. As we approached Fitzroy crossing the sky was filling with very black clouds making it so dark we had to put our headlights on in the middle of the afternoon. The rain held off until we reached the start of the made road. 50 metres after the beginning of the sealed road the rain came pouring down so that we could hardly see where we were driving.

After filling up at Fitzroy Crossing we continued on towards Derby. We had observed that the very wide and deep channels on both sides of the road had soon filled with water, and then we found that we were driving along in about 20cm of water right across the road. We were very thankful that there were guideposts along both sides of the road. As we drove, we were singing the song: “With Christ in my Vessel I can Smile at the Storm”. Those words were very comforting as the lightning flashed incessantly and the thunder cracked and rumbled very loudly and continuously.

We came to the T intersection where one could turn North to Derby or South to Broome. The only trouble was that the whole intersection was under one vast lake of water and there were no guideposts: we could not see exactly where the road went and we knew there would be deep channels at either side to swallow us up if we ran off the road. We stopped there right in the middle of the intersection, not daring to proceed any further. We looked towards Broome, no sign of any lights. We looked towards Derby, no sign of any lights. We looked behind us towards Fitzroy Crossing, no sign of any lights. We prayed and asked the Lord to help us. I looked towards Wendy and said, “We will have to stay right here until the Lord sends help.” I looked back and a Toyota utility was right beside the car and pulled in front of us and stopped. We noticed many details about the truck and that it had Perth licence plates.

The ute moved off slowly and was obviously turning in the direction of Derby, so we followed carefully behind him through the flood waters. After a few kilometres we ran out of the rain and the floodwaters. I glanced around at Wendy and said, “Wow, the Lord sent that ute along at just the right time.” I looked back at the road in front, and the Toyota, which had been 30 metres ahead of us a second earlier, had vanished without a trace. It was a straight almost level road with no side roads turning off.

The following morning we asked the locals about the Toyota ute with Perth licence plates and they were all adamant that there was no such vehicle in the district. We went back to the spot on the road where it had disappeared, and there was no sign of any laneways, gates, tracks or other places where the ute could have gone.

Gradually it dawned on us that the Lord had somehow sent an angel to rescue us in our moment of need.

This was written in answer to a query on Facebook from a specific rider, so sometimes there are references made to one specific outfit. Later I shall edit to make this article more generic.

Having the sidecar body itself level or not is purely a matter of aesthetics and does not affect the handling of the outfit. However, having said that, it does tend to “look better” if the chair can be level with the road both ways: side-to-side and fore-and-aft.
There are three adjustable measurements that can affect handling:
1. Sidecar wheel “lead”;
2. Toe-in;
3. “Lean-out” of bike away from sidecar.

*1. Sidecar wheel “lead”;*
This is usually set up when the bike is first attached to the sidecar and is usually not adjusted later. Anything from 0 cm to 500 cm can be made to work, but where both sidecar and bike have suspension as opposed to rigid frame, 15 cm to 25 cm is about the best range.
On your particular chair, a Mark 1 DJP, erring on the side of a longer lead is to be preferred to make the rig more stable in right hand turns. But if this is not easily altered, do not lose any sleep over it.

*2. Toe-in;*
This is the most easily altered and the most critical measurement of all on a sidecar outfit.
Do NOT make the mistake of laying your straight-edge so that it touches both front and rear tyres: if your tyres are not of identical cross-section, as on any modern bike, this will give you a FALSE reading of your toe-in.
Even if your tyres do have the same cross section, as in pre-WW2 bikes, if the front wheel is not perfectly aligned with the rear, you will again have a FALSE reading of your toe-in.
For a chain-drive bike t first step is to correctly adjust the chain and align the rear wheel for best chain performance before measuring toe-in. On a shaft-drive, this is not important. However, whether the front and rear tyres are lined up or not will not affect sidecar handling but will affect correct measurement of toe-in.
The toe-in is measured in relation to the alignment of the rear tyre and the sidecar tyre with NO reference to the front tyre.
A straight-edge, laser, or string line must be set up exactly parallel to the rim of the rear tyre, either by touching it or by being offset a precise distance from front and rear of the rear tyre by carefully-measured blocks or similar. Check to see that the straight-edge or string-line is not being fouled by mufflers, gearbox, front wheel, or any other part of the bike. Also check that the straight-edge or string-line is as high as possible beside the rear tyre without fouling anything on the underside of the bike. It can usually be raised by using house bricks or blocks in front of the front tyre and behind the rear tyre.

 

 

The other straight-edge or string-line is similarly set up as high as possible on the sidecar tyre without fouling mudguard, hub cap or whatever, and again it can be raised using house bricks or blocks under each end of the straight-edge.
Having gotten the straight-edges set up, the two measurements are made immediately ahead of the front of the front tyre and immediately behind the rear of the rear tyre. The measurement at the front must be less than the measurement at the rear.

I like to set my toe-in to exactly 10 mm, if at all possible. The usually accepted range for toe-in is usually given as 9 to 30 mm. However, be aware that if it is any more than about 18 or 20 mm, then you will begin to have more rapid wear on the rear tyre.

Note that although my sidecar is on the right of the bike, the exact same process is followed when the sidecar is on the left of the bike.
Now, how to adjust the toe-in?
On a DJP or similarly mounted sidecar, you must first completely disconnect the two upper mountings.
Then adjust the two lower mountings until the toe-in is correct. To decrease toe-in, screw the front lower mounting out away from the bike and/or the rear lower mounting in towards the bike. To increase the toe-in, screw the front lower mounting in towards the bike and/or the rear lower mounting out away from the bike.
After each adjustment you make, again check your straight-edges or string-lines are in correct contact with the two tyres we are dealing with and then measure the toe-in again.

*3. “Lean-out” of bike away from sidecar.*
After getting the toe-in correct, it is necessary to check the lean-out of the bike.
I have set up so many sidecars in the past forty-nine years that I always do this part “by eye” without taking any measurements, but the correct lean-out for a modern bike and sidecar is between 1° and 3° vertically away from the bike *with the weight of the rider applied to the rider’s saddle*.
Lean-in towards the chair will make the steering very heavy and the outfit will pull to the left. Bike vertical will still pull left and steering will still be heavy, but not as bad as with lean-in.
Consider whether you will mainly be on highways with almost level camber or country back roads with steep camber when deciding how much lean-out to give your bike: less (1°) for motorways and more (3°) for highly cambered roads.
However, bear in mind that the greater the angle of lean-out, the more the outfit will pull to the right when on the opposite camber (e.g. When overtaking on the “wrong” side of a country road).
My own personal preference is more lean-out rather than less, even though my own sidecar is on the “wrong” (right) side making my outfit a “left hand drive” vehicle. Using a plumb-line and protractor, I have just measured my lean-out at 3°.
The more lean-out you have, the more alarming it will feel while you are getting used to that setting.
Now, how do you adjust lean-out?
Having disconnected the upper mountings to adjust the toe-in, we now fasten them back on screwing the adjusters in or out as necessary until the mountings can be bolted up with no stress and the lean-out is correct.

*Steering matters*:
I have ridden more outfits with standard solo forks fitted than I have with sidecar-specific forks such as leading-arm, Earles, so-called “leading-link”, or rake-modified forks. The steering is heavier and makes your arm, shoulder and chest muscles stronger! Better than going to the gym!
The steering can be made lighter by buying wider handlebars, by raising the handlebars an inch or three higher, or by both. Handlebars and risers are less expensive than replacement forks!
Rake-modification by modifying the original triple clamps or buying modified triple clamps is also less expensive than replacement forks but can give a beautiful “power steering” like feel to the outfit.
Fitting replacement forks is the best and most expensive option as it makes your forks much stronger.
The slight disadvantage of staying with telescopic forks is that, as they were not designed for sidecar use, you need to bear this in mind and be more gentle about your cornering.

Do not be discouraged if all these measurements and adjustments take a long time. The work is worth it!

Sorry for the excessively long reply, but I felt since you are doing this on your own, it is better to include as much detail,as possible.

Where’s Mum?

On 8^th February 2017 a mob of us gathered at St Alban’s Anglican Church in Hamlyn Heights to celebrate the life of my Mum. My Mum was named Wenche (pronounced “Vanka”) Smith, née Abrahmsen and she was born on 19^th October 1922 and “promoted to glory” on 3^rd February 2017.

During the weekend before the funeral, my sister Karen posted on Facebook a couple of photos of the raised garden beds which several of us built for Mum’s 90^th Birthday at the back of the house in Bell Park.  As a caption to the photos, she typed only two words: “Where’s Mum?”

Hence the title of this blog.

I shall insert pages of the booklet used at the funeral service throughout this post.

 

In the service the first hymn we sang was “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” which was always one of Mum’s favourite hymns, was one of my Dad’s favourite hymns many years ago and remains one of my favourite hymns to this day.

After opening prayer there followed several eulogies from family members:

Phil Smith: Wenche’s eldest son:

Eulogy for Wenche Smith by Phil Smith 2017-02-08.

For about ten years I have been coming to this church several Sundays each year and invariably, Mum has sat at that seat near the pillar where Ben is sitting today. – Hey, Ben, what are you doing sitting in my Mum’s favourite seat?

If I come back to this church in the future, it is going to seem strange to me that Mum is not sitting in that seat. And it will seem strange that after the 10 am service she is not sitting just there at the back, enjoying her cuppa – invariably served using a cup and saucer while everyone else in the church drinks theirs from mugs.

Things will be different.

I will miss her.

All of you who are here today will miss her in the myriad of different ways in which she impacted our lives.

She’s been my Mum for more than seventy years.

If I were to go through all the wonderful memories, we would still be here next Wednesday, but I will select just a few:

Mum always told the story of “Phillip’s First Christmas” – how the family went to a great deal of trouble setting up the Christmas tree, the lights, the decorations, and the shiny colourfully-wrapped presents, and little Phillip was brought out to see what his reaction would be.

Well, little Phillip immediately turned his back on all the brightness and lights, picked up his old Cocoa tin, which had two buttons inside it to make it a rattle, and became thoroughly engrossed in making as much noise as possible with it. I do not recall the incident, but I clearly remember the Cocoa tin since, having outgrown its usefulness as a rattle, I used it to store various childhood treasures for years and years and years.

Anyone here remember Cocoa tins? (a few hands were raised in response)

Mum was a great teacher, and I reckon I was greatly privileged to be “Number One Son”, as I got the best teaching of all.  I had to share the attention when my siblings arrived.  By the time she had nine of us, Mum got kind of busy!

I can clearly remember being taught how to put the shilling into the gas meter and to turn the little gadget so the shilling would clunk down inside and the cooking of the Sunday roast could continue.

I can remember being held in Mum’s arms as we sat in a sidecar with the back wheel of the motorbike spinning around up there right beside us.  I remember the wind blowing in my face as we travelled along. To this day, I still thoroughly enjoy feeling that wind in my face as I ride my own motorbike and sidecar around Queensland. Thanks Mum for introducing me to a lifetime of enjoyment!

When Mum’s brother, my uncle Ottar, would be fixing his Calthorpe motorbike, Mum would sit me out there on the scoria in the back yard at 9 Bloomsbury Street in Chillwell so Ottar could teach me how motorbikes worked:  Wow! Ottar had incredible patience to teach a little kid like me! But Mum had him teach me stuff which I have remembered all my life.  Lots of very useful stuff.

Aside from many similar practical lessons, Mum also taught me to read and write before I ever went near school. The trouble was, she taught me the letter names “A”, “B”, “C”, etc. whereas, the teachers wanted me to always use the phonic sounds of the letters “a”, “b”, “c”, etc.  I got into trouble for that.

But ever-resourceful Mum adapted her teaching methods so that the rest of my siblings didn’t have to go through the trauma of re-learning the alphabet!

I clearly remember Mum congratulating me the first time I ever wrote a complete sentence. I still clearly remember the sentence word for word. It was: “On the third day God raised Jesus from the dead.” That sentence was later to profoundly change my life.  I wrote that sentence using chalk on a slate, entirely from memory – I had not yet started school but there on the back verandah of that little cottage in Terang, I wrote it out in full. “On the third day God raised Jesus from the dead.” How amazing that my wonderful Mum had the presence of mind to teach me to memorise one of the most important facts that ever occurred in the entire history of mankind. (several in the congregation shouted out “Amen!” at this point).

As we all grew up, the most important rule was, “you must come straight home when the street lights come on.” We could go anywhere and play with anyone, provided Mum knew where we were.

She was already grey-haired and into her fifties when I came home one day with a brand new shiny Italian motorbike.  As I arrived home Mum came out the back door, took one look at the new bike, yelled out “Woohoo!” and ran back inside. A moment later she ran out again strapping a helmet onto her head, jumped up behind me on the pillion seat and yelled out “Let’s Go!” That day, as we rode up the Omeo Highway, Mum leaned forward and yelled, “Faster!” Trouble was, I was already above the speed limit! (many in the congregation laughed at this).

Enough memories! I need to leave something for my siblings to say!

A couple of days ago, Karen posted on Facebook a couple of photos of the raised garden beds we made for Mum in the back yard with the caption that read simply “Where’s Mum?” (see the photos at the top of this post).

Talk about leaky eyes!

That house in Bell Park will never seem quite the same without Mum there.

Where’s Mum?

Only her physical remains are inside that white box just there.

Mum is now with Jesus for all eternity with perfect health, a perfect body, and absolutely no pain!

Hallelujah! (many in the congregation echoed shouts of “Hallelujah!” at this point).

Trudi Smith, Wenches youngest Daughter:

Mum was the eldest daughter of Norwegian and Swedish immigrants who were hoping to be wheat farmers As a young child she roamed the Mallee.

Mum’s earliest memory, when she was about 3 was of praying with her father.

When she was around 9 she asked her father to pray about something.

He told her she was able to talk with God herself …

and so she did …

and never stopped …

When Mum and Dad were married, They had both found a ‘keeper’.

Theirs was a great love that produced a loving family.

As the family grew and spread far and wide with grandchildren and great grandchildren Mum never missed a birthday no matter how far the message had to travel. So they all knew they were special to her.

After Dad had died I looked forward to those school holidays when I’d pack Joy and Jon into the car in Echuca and head off to Mum’s, in Gippsland, often arriving around 2am.

Mum would be waiting up for us without fail.

After a day of recovery Mum and I would load the kids back into the car and head off on a ‘relly run’ fitting in as many visits to  ‘rellies’ and friends as we could.

So many good laughs and memories!

When the kids and I were staying with Karen and Mum, after they had moved near Echuca, my bedroom was a bungalow and one night I went out to find an 8 inch spider on the wall right above my bed.

Of course I called for Mum!!   Mum!! When she spotted the spider she said to me  My!! YOU do have a problem.

Thanks Mum!!!

Mum was not perfect (she came pretty close) but definitely pure of heart and all she did and said came from a place of love.

She had a capacity for love and acceptance second to none.

Rodney Smith, Wenche’s fifth son:

Mum always believed that disagreement was like oxygen, it cannot be avoided, but being disagreeable is a choice, and a choice that she made very sparingly indeed.

I do not believe there is a single person here today who was not accepted precisely as they are, by my Mum, warts and all.

This did not mean she did not have opinions!! Those of us who knew her well knew that Mum was no pushover. She knew exactly what she believed and exactly why she believed it. She felt no need to be heard unless it was of vital importance. She felt no need to “win” an argument.

In short, she rarely felt the need to be “disagreeable”.

When we see her children here, spanning the spectrum from Christian to Pagan and various levels of agnostic in between, there is not one of us who feels any less loved or accepted by our mother.

If there is a single message to take home from my Mother’s life, it would be this : “the things about which we can agree are many, being disagreeable is a choice”.

Ann Blizzard, Wenche’s middle daughter:

Ann’s Eulogy

Mum and Dad had more house moves than years married. Always into rentals and often out of town, we roamed in paddocks and lanes, collected tadpoles, climbed trees and made cubbies in haystacks. We played in streets and ate in neighbour’s houses with no fear. Clothes were handed from family to family and giving and receiving was unmeasured and as natural as the ebb and flow of tides.

We were blessed.

With each house shift out came the sturdy, battered tea chests and collected newspapers. Possessions were wrapped and stored or shed and spread as needed. We learned not to be too attached to stuff, and that home is wherever the family is.

In each new place Mum dug a veggie patch and, if there wasn’t already one, Dad installed a septic tank. We dreaded the end of summer because Mum made homemade tomato sauce and refused to buy any ‘real’ sauce until it was finished. We sullenly watched Mum work her way through the lot.

For me Mum’s crowning quality was her masterful capacity to find ways to keep loving us all despite the myriad of ways we managed to fall short of her high moral values to which she was faithful.

Mum was good for the hard yards. Since she had nine children but had never been present at a birth I asked her to come to my first child’s birth. My ulterior motive was that while my relationship with the Almighty was estranged, Mum’s was solid and as a serial-prayer I thought we might be in with a chance. After our miracle I asked Mum what it was like to be at the other end of the table. During her thoughtful pause I imagined words like … beautiful, moving … spiritual even.  Mum replied ‘… it was messy”.

Fast forward to the last 3 days of Mum’s life. While we all imagined Mum dying peacefully in her sleep … there were aspects that were messy. How privileged we were to be able to stand with her in her troubles as she had stood with us through so many of ours

Ann’s Acknowledgement

Together with my brothers I want to acknowledge the outstanding effort of two people without whom Mum may not have lived so long or so comfortably enabling her to continue to contribute to us all right up to her passing.

Thank you Karen for sharing a home with Mum, doing all the harder work and looking out for her in the many, many ways that you have.

And to Trudi for enabling mum to stay actively involved in all her interests such as church and friend groups and for all the running around, taking Mum shopping, to appointments and for your continuous endeavour to keep all the relatives connected. Outstanding job both of you and very much appreciated by us all.

I would also like to thank our cousin for contributing to the enablement of some members of our family to be present at this special farewell.

After the Eulogies, Psalm 23 was read by Joy Travis, Wenche’s Granddaughter.

The Gospel according to John 14:1-6 was then read by Trevor Smith, Wenche’s fourth son.

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know.” Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know where You are going, and how can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.

An inspiring address was given by the Reverend Jon Taylor.

A prayer of thankfulness for Wenche’s life – was read by Karen Smith, Wenche’s eldest daughter:

We give thanks for Wenche, and the life she has lived.

We thank you for the commitment she had to her husband John, and their nine children, providing nurture, care and instruction (instruction not necessarily heeded)  through their various stages of life.

We thank you for the years she and John gave, once their own children had matured, in making a home for the homeless, becoming houseparents to many young people who had no hope, who were then nurtured, cared for and taught how to live, some of whom are here with us today.

We thank you for the love with which she has she has welcomed her children’s life partners, and her grandchildren into her family, and received them into her home for holidays or other celebrations.

We thank you the gift she has used very specifically in making a crocheted rug for each of her great grandchildren as they have come along, so that they would have ‘something’ from their great grandmother. Along with that came a commitment to remember each and every great grandchild’s birthday (with the help of her calendar and list on the fridge). This commitment was still with her on her last day in hospital.

We thank you for the time she gave in caring for her husband, over the last years of his life, as his health deteriorated and she had to take on full responsibility as carer and provider.

We thank you Lord for her contribution to church life over so many years, always there, always faithful, and always with words of wisdom for those who sought her advice.

We thank you for her faithfulness and commitment to you, Lord, over the years, regardless of whether life was comfortable, or demanding beyond any reasonable expectations.

We thanks you for her life, and that we have been privileged to be part of it.

Amen

Rev John Taylor then said a prayer for Wenche’s family and friends

This was followed by the congregation joining in the Lord’s Prayer – Matthew 6:9-13

Our Father in heaven,
Hallowed be Your name.
Your kingdom come.
Your will be done
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
As we forgive our debtors.
And do not lead us into temptation,
But deliver us from the evil one.
For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.

Following the prayers, an excellent PowerPoint presentation made up of photos of Wenche and her family and spanning the whole of her life was screened while her youngest son, David Smith sang ‘Amazing Grace’

1. Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
   That saved a wretch like me!
   I once was lost, but now am found;
   Was blind, but now I see.
2. ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
   And grace my fears relieved;
   How precious did that grace appear
   The hour I first believed.
3. Through many dangers, toils and snares,
   I have already come;
   ’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
   And grace will lead me home.
4. The Lord has promised good to me,
   His Word my hope secures;
   He will my Shield and Portion be,
   As long as life endures.
5. Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
   And mortal life shall cease,
   I shall possess, within the veil,
   A life of joy and peace.
6. The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
   The sun forbear to shine;
   But God, who called me here below,
   Will be forever mine.
7. When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
   Bright shining as the sun,
   We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
   Than when we’d first begun.

[Words by John Newton, 1779; verse 7, author unknown, 1829]

 

 

On Sunday 25th September 2016, many old motorbikes headed out for a 125 km ride through the hinterland for the annual “Mostly Ariel Rally”. This rally is always open to other club eligible bikes as well as to Ariels.

We all gathered at the Pine Rivers Area club house for a 9:00am cuppa before hitting the road at about 09:30.  From the Club House we travelled in a WSW direction along Stanley Street and turned North on Old North Road.  We turned left onto Samsonvale Road which became Winn Road and then right onto Mount Samson Road.

Via Kobble Creek Road and Watson Road to Dayboro where we turned left onto Mount Mee Road which we followed for about 25km to the Damonga Lookout just past Horne Road where we stopped for coffee and a re-group.

After our break we went a few hundred metres North to turn right onto Pedwell Road and then right onto Tidwell Road and then left onto Campbell’s Pocket Road.

At Wamuran, we turned right onto Old North Road which we followed South through Bellmere and Rocksburg, crossing the Caboolture River at Zillman’s Crossing Causeway.

We turned left onto Caboolture River Road and right onto Moorina Road which became Haywood Road. We turned left onto Forest Hills Drive and right onto Oakey Flat Road which we followed into Narangba,

From Main Street Narangba, we turned right onto Mumford Road which became Browns Road. We turned left onto Moore Road which became Margaret Road and then Scout Road. We turned left onto Dayboro Road and right onto Young’s Crossing Road which became Old North Road.

Lastly, we turned left onto Stanley Street where we returned to the club house for a beautiful barbecue lunch.

Seventy years ago, I was so young that my Mum received my birthday cards and other birthday gifts on my behalf.  If all the birthday cards sent to me since then had been hoarded up, they would probably have filled suitcases by now.

Thirty years ago now, I began receiving Birthday Blessings via e-mail. Very slowly at first, the trickle of e-mail birthday greetings slowly began to grow.  At first, when our modems raced at the then phenomenal speed of 300 bits per second, these were text only greetings. By the end of the 1980s, the first picture greetings were being attached to greeting e-mails and, provided I had the matching software programs, I actually got to see those pictures on the (usually) monochrome screen of my computer.

As email greetings grew in volume, so “snail-mailed” physical Birthday cards began to decline.  It was a kind of inverse proportional relationship. But the increase in e-mailed greetings was not destined to keep growing forever.  This year I received zero e-mail greetings for my seventieth birthday. You see, e-mail is rapidly being replaced by newer technologies.

So this year I received several hundred greetings on Facebook originating in around fifty different countries and written in many languages, of which I can only fluently read less than a dozen.  Google Translate is a great boon these days! I received nearly a dozen through FB Messenger and a handful by iMessage, one through Apple Messenger and one by way of a telephone call.

But all is not lost!

This year I still received four actual, real, physical birthday cards: three through the mail and one handed to me in person.

Let’s look at the physical cards:

My last alcoholic drink was consumed on the evening of Thursday 3rd August 1967, when I was thoroughly drunk and a young colleague said to me, “Phil Smith, you are an alcoholic!” That night, the Twelve Steps I had read about finally made sense, I admitted that I was an alcoholic, and I decided to never have another alcoholic drink.

Mary had no way of knowing what had happened to me 49 years earlier, and I really appreciate the humour in her choice of card. My family, who all know about my past, had a great laugh when I showed them the card.

For some reason, I had not thought I would receive both a card and a gift from my church which is called MyChurch. Wendy and I went out for a coffee together to celebrate my birthday and spent a while together just having a face to face talk. We both decided we do not do this often enough and we intend to do this much more frequently in the future. It is far too easy for us to neglect each other and take each other for granted with the weak excuse that we have three adult children with disabilities to look after every day. If we take more time to enjoy each other, the Lord will enable us to more competently parent our kids.

It was great to receive a card from Karen and Mum. Karen had applied a motorbike theme as she carefully hand made this card. As everybody who gets to know me knows already, I thoroughly enjoy riding my rather elderly motorbike.  I really appreciate the time and thought that has been invested in this card. I am afraid that it is many years since I last sent a physical birthday card to any of my relatives or friends. I usually send a greeting electronically, if I remember, and I am sad to say that my memory is nowhere near as good as it was fifty or sixty years ago.

Misti must have spent hours making this card. Like Karen, she applied a motorbike theme to it. It is hard to see in the photos, but this card has a very three-dimensional attribute and I am quite sure I would have no idea at all how to achieve such a great work of art. I am blessed to have such an artistically competent family!

So, on Facebook, I have no idea how often I clicked on “Like” or how many times I answered the greetings I received. To all who sent greetings and didn’t receive an individual note of thanks, I apologise. On the other electronic media, I think I managed to answer them all.

But it is the real physical cards that have inspired me to sit down and think about the meaning of the cards. To really think. So now I thank those who took the time to send/give to me real, fair dinkum, birthday cards. Blessings back to all of you!

Since my heart attack earlier this year I have been regularly attending the gym in an effort to get my body fit and healthy again.

Twice a week I have a session with a Personal Trainer who carefully assesses the improvements I am making and sets out exercises I can do to further improve my fitness.

I also attended a twelve-session rehabilitation course at the Chermside Community Health Centre in Hamilton Road, Chermside at the The Prince Charles Hospital. This gave me insights into other sets of exercises which could help me.

I have tried to make sure I get to the Gym at least five or six days per week. My “Home” gym is the Active Life Fitness Centre in Chinook Street, Everton Hills.  (See http://www.activelifefitness.com.au/evertonhills/ and https://www.facebook.com/activelifefitnessevertonhills/ ) There Olivia and Kim the managers and the other staff all cheerfully greet me by name every time I come in; it really makes me feel at home being greeted like this.  The whole reception staff at the gym are worth their weight in gold!

However, as I type this post, I find myself 1,729 km away from home by the shortest practical driving route (or so my Maps program tells me) and I have been here since 9th June – thirteen days.  What could I do about my gym work while I was away from home?

Before I left Brisbane, I researched a few gyms around Geelong on the Internet and tried ringing a few of them on the phone. Most didn’t even answer their phones! Of the two gyms that did bother answering their phones, I was very impressed by a lady named Tamara Vella, who patiently answered all my hesitant questions and encouraged me to come and see the gym as soon as I could when I got to Geelong. This gym was Anytime Fitness located in the Westfield Shopping Centre in Malop Street, Geelong. (See https://www.facebook.com/AnytimeFitnessGeelong and http://anytimefitness.com.au/gyms/AU-1193/gym-Geelong-Victoria-fitness-center  ). I also spoke on the phone to the staff of another gym located in West Geelong.

The gym in West Geelong was much closer to my Mother’s home in Bell Park, so I went there first. I knew I was in trouble the moment I got off the bus: I had to wait for absolute ages before I could cross Pakington Street, because the traffic was too heavy and there were no traffic lights anywhere near the gym to cause breaks in the traffic, and me being in my seventieth year am not quite as quick and nimble as I used to be when I was younger. When I eventually got across the road I discovered that the gym was all locked up and that no staff would be in attendance for another couple of hours.  I crossed the road again and caught the next bus in to the CBD. I walked to the gym in Malop Street where I was cheerfully greeted by Tamara.  She remembered my phone call from two days earlier and we sat down and worked out the details of a temporary membership. Tamara took me around the gym to show me all of its amenities and equipment.

Thereafter, each day when I went in, Tamara cheerfully greeted me by name. It makes me feel good when somebody remembers my name. It somehow helps me to feel welcome.  I observed that she also similarly greeted all of the other members as they came in.  This young lady is truly a tremendous asset to her employers.

During my workouts I could feel my body becoming stronger: my performance on the exercise bike was measurably better and my inclined push-ups on the Smith Machine improved every day.

Today was my last day at the gym in Malop street and it seemed almost sad to be saying goodbye to Tamara this afternoon. During my last workout there I spoke with some of the other customers who were also very encouraging to me.

I suppose I had begun my journey somewhat apprehensive of going to a strange gym where nobody would know me. As it turned out, I need not have worried at all. As the Bible says in Romans 8:28, “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”
‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:28‬ ‭NKJV‬‬
http://bible.com/114/rom.8.28.nkjv

Years ago, my wife Wendy and I lived for a couple of years in a flat in Kernick House, Queen’s College, Parkville, just north of Melbourne’s CBD, while I studied Theology to earn my degree. The flat adjacent to ours was occupied from time to time by visiting professors, so we usually got to meet them face to face.

One such visitor was Professor Ernst Kasemann, born 12 July 1906, died 17 February 1998, who spent about a term as our next door neighbour. I read some of his books and sat in many of his lectures, the content of most of which I have totally forgotten during the intervening decades. But what is totally unforgettable to me are a couple of the things he said to me in person.

One day, Professor Eric Osborn knocked on my door and asked if I could assist in carrying some of prof. Kasemann’s luggage across to the car park. As we commenced our long walk across the beautiful green lawns of Queen’s College,  prof. Osborn said, “Just think, Phil, when you are old and grey and your grand children are sitting around your feet, you will be able to say to them, ‘I once carried the luggage for professor Kasemann from the University of Tubingen!'” Kasemann instantly replied, “If Phil’s grandchildren have any sense at all, they will respond,’Kasemann? Who is Kasemann? Please Grandpa, tell us the stories about Jesus!'”

Shortly thereafter, Eric asked, “Professor Kasemann, in all your studies, considering all the books you have read, and considering all the Theological truths you have learned throughout your life, what do you consider to be the most important theological fact a man can possibly learn throughout his life?” Instantly, without a moment’s hesitation, the response was: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so!” At this, I leapt up, punched the air and enthusiastically yelled out, “Yes!” Kasemann said, “Phil already knows this fact.” He then went on to say that no matter how many books one could read or how many lectures one could audit, there was nothing more important a man could ever learn but that Jesus loves him.

I still reckon this is a true statement to this day.

Recently someone asked me about modern-day miracles and it reminded me of this report I first wrote more than forty years ago and published on a website at http://www.drdisk.com.hk/motorbikes/default.htm#miracle almost twenty years ago. So today I decided it was worthwhile to copy the story here and add a couple of photos of the same motorbike.

Miracle on the road to Morwell

One Sunday at evening service at St Luke’s Methodist Church in Morwell a visiting preacher spoke on Hebrews 13:8 “Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.” and made the claim that there was no miracle recorded in the Bible anywhere between Genesis 1:1 and Revelation 22:20 that God could not do again today if the occasion called for it.
Next day I read Acts 8:39-40, “And when they were come up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord caught away Philip, that the eunuch saw him no more: and he went on his way rejoicing.   But Philip was found at Azotus: and passing through he preached in all the cities, till he came to Cæsarea.”
I thought to myself that miraculous transportation from one physical location to another was one miracle I had never ever heard of happening in the twentieth century, so I prayed about it and asked the Lord to lead me to a book in which I could read about such a modern day miracle.

I did not for even one moment suspect that he would make me the subject of that book.
Now at that time, my daily transport was a single cylinder 250cc Yamaha motorbike and sidecar which was painted in a bright day-glo orange-red colour (which, according to the Taubman’s paint company, was officially known as “Boeing Red”) and was so eye-catching that everybody in my country district knew that machine and knew who rode it.  It was capable of just 35 mph (60 km/h) or perhaps 40 mph (70 km/h) if I had a tail wind.  Having a very small fuel tank that held only about a gallon (3 or 4 litres), it was necessary to stop every forty miles (70 km) or so for petrol.  At that same time I was a member of Christ’s Crusaders Motorcycle Club and had become well known for attempting to preach the gospel to other motorbike riders such as the members of Hell’s Angels and Satan’s Cavalry.  At that time also I was a Lay Pastor in the St Luke’s Methodist parish at Morwell.
The following Sunday I was not scheduled to do any preaching in the parish, but I was scheduled to lead the opening worship at the 7pm (19:00) evening service.  I decided to visit my parents who lived in Bairnsdale, about 80 miles (130 km) away.  I had figured that if I left my parents’ home soon after lunch on the Sunday, I would have plenty of time to make the 2½ or 3 hour journey back to Morwell, have some dinner, go to the pre-service prayer meeting and then lead the opening worship.  “No worries!” I thought to myself.
About 3pm (15:00), I pulled on my motorbike outer clothing and went out to the front of my parents’ house where my bike was parked at the side of the road on Main Street.  I checked my tyres, brakes, lights, oil level, and petrol and, satisfied that all was in order for a safe trip to Morwell, I kick-started the motor.  I had already pulled in the clutch and, just as I was about to push the hand gear-shift lever to the right of the petrol tank forward to engage first gear, seven or eight Harleys and Triumph motorbikes arrived and pulled up all around me.  I was receiving a surprise visit from several members of Satan’s Cavalry.  I stopped the motor and started talking right there on the street.  They had lots of questions for me: “If the God you preach is a God of love, how could He let all those innocent people die in the train crash last week?”  “If God is really all powerful, how come he didn’t stop that gang from raping the pastor’s daughter in Melbourne last month?” and so on.
I patiently answered their questions as well as I could, yet was also aware that time was ticking away.  “I don’t need dinner when I get to Morwell,” I reasoned with myself;  and a little later, “If I don’t make the prayer meeting, it will be all right, I can pray while I am riding along the road.”  All this time, I had never seen these outlaw bikers, who would normally make themselves scarce pretty soon after we started preaching to them, so interested in asking and listening intently to the answers to so many questions.  “I am really getting through to these guys at last,” I thought to myself.
Eventually, the questions ran out, and one of the guys announced, “Let’s all go to the pub for an hour or two.”
I excused myself and said I needed to get back to Morwell and started on my way.  I looked at my watch as I pulled on my gloves … it was 17:45 (5:45pm).  I had only an hour and a quarter to do a trip that would normally take at least two and a half hours!

The above photo of my bike was taken a few months before the incident described in this report.
As I drove up the road, I prayed that Richard or Pepe would realise that I wasn’t at the pre-service prayer time and step in and lead worship.  I was soon cruising along the highway at about 35 mph and felt strangely peaceful about missing the evening church service.  When I was about seven or eight miles out of town I was on a nice straight stretch of road with State Forests on both sides and was thinking to myself how beautiful all the trees appeared in the evening sunlight.  Suddenly, almost without being aware of it, I realised that I was approaching the railway crossing to the East of Traralgon.   I thought to myself, “I’ve been day-dreaming while I was riding.”   “I can’t remember any details of any of the towns I went through along the way.”  ” I can’t remember passing through Stratford.”  “Did I cross the Avon River Bridge?”  “Did I travel via Sale or via Maffra?”   “I have no recollection of passing through Rosedale.”  “How come it’s still daylight … it ought to be quite dark by now.”  “I cannot even remember filling up with petrol.”
I felt down to the petrol tap, it was in the “Normal” position; I had not yet switched to reserve.  I thought to myself, “I must have miss-read my watch when I was about to leave Bairnsdale.”  I sang and prayed as I drove through Traralgon, up the hill past the Hospital, and along the Prince’s Highway to Morwell.   As I approached the traffic lights, I made the right turn into the St Luke’s Church car-park.  I had missed the pre-service prayer time, but was just in time to walk straight in and start the service, still wearing all my motorbike gear.  I put my helmet and gloves in the lectern and started leading worship.  As I led worship, I noticed that a guy from Satan’s Cavalry was in the service, not one of the guys I had talked to in Bairnsdale, but a different fellow.
After the service, he asked me, “How did you get here?”
I responded, “What do you mean, how did I get here … by motorbike of course.”
He continued, “Our guys planned to foul up your day and make you real mad by missing church tonight; they planned to hold you up in Bairnsdale.”
I ran to my bike and got out my petrol book (I was in the habit of writing down in a Shell Driver’s Log Book, every petrol stop I made: the date and time, odometer reading, the amount of petrol I purchased and how much it cost were all faithfully recorded.)  The last entry in my petrol book showed that I had filled it up at Bairnsdale and I compared the odometer reading I had recorded with that on my motorbike now:  I had travelled only something like twenty miles instead of eighty!
It was only then that I suddenly realised that I had not miss-read my watch at Bairnsdale after all.  The Lord had worked a miracle of the transportation kind.  He had somehow moved my motorbike and sidecar and me from somewhere West of Bairnsdale to somewhere East of Traralgon in just a moment.  Even saved me a tank full of petrol!   I have no explanation of how it was done.  Mileage-wise, one could say I had loaded my bike onto a trailer and carried it from one place to the other.  But that is not what happened.  That week I was stopped several times by members of Satan’s Cavalry, “How did you get to church on Sunday?”  When I told them that the Lord had worked a miracle, they just said I was nuts.  A lot of people said I was nuts, but I can only report what happened to me.  You just have to take it or leave it.

The above picture shows me on the same motorbike I was riding when God worked the miracle, but the photo had been taken a few months earlier by my brother Mick.

Tuesday 2nd February was the first day I have been permitted to drive since I had my heart attack.
For the preceding fortnight Wendy or others had to drive me to everywhere I wanted or needed to go.

During this time I was very grateful that I had those around me who were able to be my chauffeurs. I was able to go to the HMCCQ event at Samford thanks to Richard Napier and to attend church each Sunday thanks to Natalie.
But simply driving my daughter Rosie to the gym on Tuesday morning, several other excursions during the day, and a trip to the HMCCQ meeting at Kallangur Tuesday night all brought back into focus what a marvellous freedom in life is gained by having a driver’s licence!
And it felt so good not to feel like I was overworking Wendy through all this experience.
I haven’t taken out my motorbike yet, but I know I can if I want to!
It all feels good!

I suppose it’s not only a joy to drive on the roads, it’s a joy indeed to be alive!

In my previous post I discussed my recent heart attack.
What I did not mention was my experience of “watching it all happen” as a stent was placed within my coronary artery.

I arrived at the hospital at 01:08:00 on 19th January 2016. The stent was placed in position at 03:07:00 on 19th January 2016.

So in just under two hours, my life was saved. Here’s how I saw it all taking place:

I walked up to the Emergency reception window and sat in the chair. The moment I mentioned chest pain, within only moments of arrival, everything shifted into high gear. They were able to locate my previous medical records in an amazingly short time and I was sat in a wheelchair and brought into a consultation room where the leads of an ECG (electrocardiagraph) machine were fastened to my chest.

Within moments the doctor was in there looking at the ECG and after what seemed to me to be only a few seconds, he said to me, “The indications I see on the screen are consistent with you currently having a heart attack.”

My immediate thoughts included: “Is this the end moment of my life?”, “Am I now about to go to heaven to be with the Lord? … If so, I am ready for that.”, “What about Wendy and my children? … I would like to be with them for many more years yet!”, “Now, just calm down and pray!” So I prayed there quietly under my breath and immediately felt very much at peace.

I heard the doctor asking other staff questions like: “Is the lab ready?”, “Is there a cardiac team ready?” and receiving affirmative answers to everything.

Before long, I was moved to “the lab” as the staff referred to it.

In the lab I was transferred to the table and fitted with an awesome number of electrodes which connected me to the most detailed ECG machine I have ever seen. A huge array of large television style monitors was placed over me and large x-ray-like equipment was placed around me.  The doctor warned me that the table I was on would suddenly move, and not to be alarmed when it did so.

An X-ray like real-time movie of my upper body appeared on the nearest enormous screen and it was fascinating to watch on the screen as a catheter was inserted into an artery in my right wrist. Next a long narrow tube was inserted through the catheter and I watched on screen as the doctor expertly guided it through the blood vessels all the way up my arm through my shoulder and across my chest and into the blood vessels that surround my heart. The doctor squirted some contrast dye through the tube and the blood vessels surrounding the heart instantly “lit up” in black so they could be clearly seen. It was immediately obvious where blood vessels had been narrowed by the build-up of plaque and the doctor pointed these places out to me.

Next a metal cage called a stent was inserted through the tube and along the artery to the worst area of restriction. A balloon inside the stent was then inflated, and while I could not see the stent itself on the screen, I could see the effect it had as the narrow section of my artery expanded out until it was the same diameter as the sections of artery on either side of the blockage.

the doctor then withdrew all the equipment from inside my arteries, removed the catheter, and it was all finished.

I was moved back to the ER and then to the CCU, where I had plenty of time to reflect on the show I had just been watching.

The scripture immediately came into my mind: “I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.” – Psalms‬ ‭139:14‬ ‭KJV [http://bible.com/1/psa.139.14.kjv] Having looked on the screen at all my insides all I could think was how wonderfully made I was. I also marvelled at how God has enabled man to learn how to fit replacement parts within the body without even needing any anaesthetics or having to suspend operation of any parts of the body. This would be equivalent to me replacing the oil pump in my motorbike engine without even turning the engine off! Utterly impossible! And yet nothing is impossible with God: “But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.” ‭‭Matthew‬ ‭19:26‬ ‭KJV [http://bible.com/1/mat.19.26.kjv]

I feel I am truly blessed to have lived through this heart attack and to have been privileged to be able to watch in full detail as the doctor worked what seemed almost like a miracle by fixing that blocked artery.

Thanks are due to the doctor, to all the hospital staff, and especially, to God.