Day 4 Part 1

We awake to the sun streaming into our hotel room.  It is already a good day.  The sun rises over the Golan Heights and streams to the western shore of the Sea of Galilee.  Tiberias is radiant in the sun.  After a good night of rest it is not hard to get ready and down to breakfast. 

Breakfast is busy.  Must have had a new batch of pilgrims in last night as there are lines everywhere.  I have found among all the vegetables and salads offered for breakfast a large bowl of a granola/oatmeal mix that I assume is supposed to be sprinkled on some of the salad offerings as a topping.  I fetch a bowl quickly and fill it.  Ah!  I have my oatmeal for breakfast now.  Not to say that Mediterranean style olives and salads aren't great for breakfast, they're just not familiar, I'm all in for comfort food.

I take a "yogurt" in the familiar little plastic container with the foil top and a few berries to top it with.  I go over to the hot water and stir up a little Nescafe to pretend I am having my morning coffee.  The granola/oatmeal is great.  I will survive.  I open the yogurt and get a spoonful.  My mind is telling me to slowdown and look at what is going into my mouth, but not soon enough.  It is buttermilk masquerading as yogurt.  Thick, only slightly runny buttermilk.  I smile and look around to see if anyone is watching and discreetly deposit the mouthful in my napkin.  I look at the label.  It is all in Hebrew.  

The first floor of the hotel where we eat is beautifully situated at the shore of the Sea of Galilee.  There are large picture windows to look out on to the Sea. It is a beautiful scene.  Indiana Jolie joins me as does a couple of people we have not met before.  It is fun getting to compare notes about all the adventures so far.  

Today we are going to the Chapel of the Beattitudes, an overlook of the area where 95% of Jesus' ministry took place, Chorazim, Magdala, Capernaum and "The House of the Boat."  It looks like another full day.  And then there is the "surprise" whatever that is going to be.

We are anxious to get going, we assume there will be many rocks to take pictures of today and we are ready.  We board our bus.  Dr. George Wood, the General Superintendent of the Assemblies of God is riding with us today.  

If that doesn't mean anything to you, he is my highest boss, the Pope if you will of the Assemblies of God.  He is a very kind man and fun to have along. It is not very often that I have this kind of access to a man like Dr. Wood.  

The bus ride is not too long, maybe an hour to the north end of the Sea of Galilee, not too far from the north shore.  We do gain some altitude and there are cattle everywhere.  There is lush grass but only growing between the innumerable stones. 

It would be impossible to farm this land for all the stones.  Short spindly trees grow here and offer the cows some shade.  The buses wind up a small dirt road and the bus drivers do their rodeo magic and shoehorn these immense buses into small parking spaces.  

We debus and walk up into some beautifully manicured gardens with grass lawns and towering trees.  Up ahead is a white and gray stone Catholic Chapel that is round and beautiful.  You can use the restrooms here but it will cost you 1 Euro, about a buck and a half.  I assume that includes TP.  Long lines form.  

There are beautiful small amphitheaters that I suppose are first-come-first-served and they tell us to find seating in one of them.  This one overlooks the hillside we are perched on top of and out over the Sea of Galilee.  Tiberias is in the background to the west and we settle in for a teaching on the Beattitudes.

There is no definitive site identified as the place of the Sermon on the Mount, but this place would have served admirably.  

Matthew 5:1-3 (NKJV)  
    And seeing the multitudes, He went up on a mountain, and when He was seated His disciples came to Him. [2] Then He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:

    [3] "Blessed are the poor in spirit,
        For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 

You kind of look around and wonder if Jesus was somewhere near where you are sitting.  The place sure "looks" right.  Intriguing.  Our tour organizer and guide, Dr. Marc Turnage says the area we are overlooking is probably where Jesus experienced his temptation in the wilderness and his baptism by John.  

This comes as somewhat of a shock to me.  It is lush and beautiful in the valley below.  There is heavy vegetation and the clear beautiful waters of the upper Jordan river flow through it.  It looks nothing like the Sunday School flannel graph pictures of barren wasteland in my mind.  Dr. Turnage explains that "wilderness" in Hebrew is not necessarily the hot and dry places we usually think of, but more as "unsettled" or "wild" lands.  I think about it. Jesus' first temptation had to do with making stones into bread, there are certainly plenty of them here.

Matthew 4:3 (NKJV)  
    Now when the tempter came to Him, he said, "If You are the Son of God, command that these stones become bread."  

Jesus also told the parable of the "stony soil" which is what this place is all about.  

Dr. Turnage also said that in contrast to the traditional site of Jesus' baptism, this upper Jordan area from a scholarship point of view is much more likely. Having to do with the more pure, "living" water of the upper Jordan and the fact that Jesus lived here in this area.  It doesn't make much sense that he would travel many miles south of Galilee be baptized and return.  It was likely that John the Baptist lived in this same wilderness and ministered here as well.  Dr. Turnage also believes that John was beheaded in Tiberias as well and not at a site on the Dead Sea as tradition teaches.  

It is interesting to ponder these debates of scholarship, archaeology and traditions.  Sometimes they all line up and satisfy everyone and sometimes they don't and everyone disagrees.  Sometimes it is true that traditional sites were established out of convenience and not fact.  Such is the case with the Mount of Transfiguration.  It was just easier for pilgrims to get to Mt. Tabor in central Israel as opposed to Mt. Hermon in the north.  Sometimes the traditional sites have been established because that's the real deal and pilgrims have been coming there since the third and fourth centuries.   It's wonderful stuff to try to sort out.

After our devotional, we are given a little time to wander around.  I am surprised that I have absolutely no interest in the Catholic Chapel.  I wander the grounds and enjoy the beautiful flowers and pathways.  This would be a wonderful place for a personal spiritual retreat.  

We are bid to get on the bus again.  We are still in archaeologist mode and there were no rocks at all to take pictures of at the Chapel of the Beattitudes so we are ready to see some, cameras at the ready.

Day 3 Part 5

On our way back to Tiberas we have one more stop.  Still high in the ridges of Mt. Hermon we follow the switchbacks of the highway to a place I think is a tourist lookout spot.  The buses are parked and we unload.  It is still cool but tolerable. 

We soon find out that this is an old Israeli military outpost.  There are still a couple of soldiers here camped out in tents, but you get the feeling it is not as "active" as it once was.  It is true.  This outpost was one of many with bunkers during Israel's many fights for their existence.  Old machine gun mounts line the trail to the top.  Looking over the side, there is still rusting barbed wire clinging to steel posts in the underbrush.  

At the bottom of the valley below I count, one, two, three burned out hulks of Russian T-55 tanks busted by Israeli rockets.  

It's hard to believe a hot war once raged where we are walking.  In contrast the the detritus of war are serene, pastoral scenes of little farms and vineyards in the valleys below.  

We walk up and down the trenches of the bunkers trying to imagine what it might feel like to be ducking real mortar fire and artillery barrages.  

The view from the top of the bunker is amazing.  Clearly in the distance, 60 kilometers away is the city of Damascus on the flat plain of Syria.  

Makes me wonder if Paul might have been struck down from his donkey in a place like this when he met the Lord.  Not quite what I imagined but this is reality.  

We are as far north in Israel as you can possibly go.  Literally one step over the side of this high ridge and you are in Syria.  This is a place of high tension.  This location is not always open for tourists like us to walk around.

In kind of a weird contrast to the theme of war and conflict in this place, there is of all things a large building with large picture windows all around.  

It is a neat espresso shop much like you might find in the USA.  It has a "Starbucks" vibe.  There are not many of these kinds of shops in the places we have visited so it is kind of strange to find one in such a remote and isolated spot.  Maybe the two soldiers stationed here drink a lot of espresso.  Most of the 160 people in our group crowd the inside of this shop out of the wind, waiting for their chosen fix of coffee.  I decline.  

The seriousness of the problems of this part of the world really impact me at this point.  It's not just news stories about other places and other people.  It is real, it is here.  This is the first time I have felt this tension since being in Israel but it will not be the last time.  Up here in the northern part of Israel the competing factions of cultures are more separated for the most part and the Israelis are in the majority for sure.  So it is more peaceful and calm feeling, different from the every day tension we will feel as we move toward Jerusalem.   

Someone has tried to lighten the mood here by creating odd, whimsical characters out of the rusting bits of war machinery laying about.  They are welded together and stuck into the ground along the path to the bunker.  Artistic I suppose.

Finally we are urged to our buses.  I think jet lag is still nagging me.  I am tired.  Maybe it was the terrific wind that pummeled us all day or the stairs we ascended and the uphill terrain.  Maybe it was taking pictures of all those rocks.  I don't know.  I doze in the back seat of the bus as we almost silently glide down the mountain highway to the Sea of Galilee.  On the way we ponder the terraced hillsides we have observed all over Israel.  It must have taken generations of shepherds to construct these terraces.  All stone, all laid by hand.  There is no shortage of building material.  The northern region of Israel seems like it is all made of rocks.  The land of Israel amazes.

We are back to our hotel, the Tiberias Caesar a little earlier than anticipated. We go up to our room and change our clothes out to something fresh and go down to the streets and water front.  

Indiana Jolie and I walk the full length of the water front enjoying the little harbor and the shoreline shops.  It is a refreshing break after all the stairs and climbing today.  

On one end of the water front we are invited in to taste the fine seafood cuisine by the restaurant's owner.  No, really, we must come in and have a fine dinner.  We decline.  No, really, we must come in.  We decline.  No, you will taste no better food anywhere than what is available here.  You must come in.  We decline a little more strongly.  Tell you what, you go get all your friends and bring them here, we will have a feast you will never forget.  You must eat here.  We don't commit but walk off a little more determined to put space between us.  Maybe we should have eaten there.  The hotel we are staying at does put on a really good feed and we have already paid for that.  Our conservative nature wins out.  

We wander down one of the main streets near our hotel.  

We pass many street side vendors.  Rams horns - in the $200-$300 range (much more than I was expecting), the deep fried scent of falafala boiling away wafts through the air.  Racks of dresses blow in the gentle breeze. Scooters buzz by like so many bees heading who knows where.  Lots of people walking about.  It feels fun, a relaxing way to end the day as we converse about all we have seen and done. Exploring Dan seems like so long ago. 

We cross the street and walk uphill a block and turn in the direction of our hotel.  More of the same with little restaurants and young people walking by. Most people are dressed up for what I would expect at a shoreline area.  Not many cargo shorts and flip flops but slacks, dress shoes and button shirts.  

It's getting close to dinner time.  We turn down hill to the nearest street to our hotel.  A feast awaits.  We take more modest amounts of food as we have tried most of the offerings by now.  We eat to the point of satisfaction and are content. 

The sun descends on the Golan Heights above the Sea of Galilee.  It is beautiful.  I linger on the little balcony in our room.  

It is dark, the lights of the city bounce off the hills behind the city.  The warm air is breezy around me.  I am certain that if I were to live in Israel it would be here.  And maybe I would go try that man's restaurant.

We have heard rumors that tomorrow holds a special "surprise".  We wonder what this could be.  Grateful for clean sheets and a decent mattress, we quickly descend into a deep sleep on the shores of the Sea of Galilee.

Doing the Loop Part 4

I apologize for no pictures in this post.  I am not a great photographer and my cell phone camera takes less than wonderful pictures.  Sometimes I should be snapping away and I just space doing it.  The unfortunate part of biking is that it is very difficult to take pictures while trying to steer your bike, it hazardous really.  So, you get a lot of pictures of gas stations.  They don't really tell the story but its what I've got.  For some reason on this part of our trip I totally forgot to get my camera out.

We arrive back at the Grizzly Bear.  Having not had a shower yet, I get in and let the warm water do its magic.  I feel great.

More members of the Harley Owners Group (HOG) continue to arrive.  There are Ultra Glides, Heritage Soft Tails, Wide Glides, Street Glides,  a single V-Rod, fancy, basic, new, old, custom paint, factory colors.  I like it.  I wander around looking at all the different ways people ride on long trips.  I think to myself, "I need to visit the Harley Store again."  

Most of these people obviously know each other already.  I am neither a HOG or a Black Sheep so I am sort of an outsider.  I am somewhat surprised that no one tries to evangelize me into joining their group, yet I think about doing so anyway.  I sit observing and listening to the conversations.  Everyone is in a great mood.  I have small conversations with several.  I am amazed at the doors a Harley Davidson will open.  Here I am, an ordained Assembly of God preacher in the middle of a biker rally.  I don't mention this of course as it will appear as if I suddenly have a contagious disease.  As it is, I am just a part of the crowd which is fine with me.  We'll see if any doors open to share Jesus. 

Everyone is anxious to see if the pig is "done."  They haul it out and begin to carve it up.  They pull the head off and parade it around.  It reminds me of the "Lord of the Flies" but I quickly try to forget that thought.  Conversations get animated and loud as people anticipate dinner.  Men pull out thick cigars and the blue smoke swirls around in the breeze.  A little alcohol begins to show up and I hope things don't get out of hand.  

A line begins to form of people with paper plates in their hands.  I decide I will join them.  Someone shouts for the president of the Black Sheep to pray over the feast.  Awkward silence allows the man to offer thanks.  The feast is on. There are desserts, chips, some great bbq beans and the pig.  I look at the pig close for the first time.  He looks sort of small for what I estimate to be around 70 bikers.  I don't take as much as I feel like taking.  I grab a can of Pepsi and sit down.  Before long a short bundle of personality sits next to me.  She is the legendary "Peppermint Patti" of HOG fame.  Patti looks like a "65-ish" grandmother who wouldn't top 5' 1".  She has short spiky white hair and hawkish blue eyes.  She looks a lot like the boss lady in the Pierce Brosnan "007 James Bond" series. She is a hoot to talk to.  Feisty.  Every other person who walks by asks the same question, "how many miles have you logged, Patti?"  She nonchalantly answers, "500,000".  

Let me explain.  Miles are a big deal to bikers.  Such a big deal that there is a HOG website that you can begin to log and verify how many miles you ride in a given year.  Some people have 20,000, some 12,000.  Bragging goes along the lines of how many back tires you can wear out in a season.  But it is really all about the miles.  These are documented miles mind you, not just round numbers and guesstimations.  500,000 documented miles is amazing. 

Patti shrugs and says to me, "I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't have any kids and I don't have a husband (she does have a "significant person" I am informed later) so what am I going to do with my money?"  Apparently she has some of that.  I have several suggestion for her in my mind having to do with missions projects but I let her talk.  She gets a new Ultra Glide every other year, the one on this trip is bright yellow with black pinstripes named "the Bumblebee".  It is one of the biggest bikes I have ever seen.  How does she ride this?  She tells me she owns way too many Harley Davidson leather jackets, only two does she wear riding, the others?  Just for going out to special occasions.  

I have finished my plate and notice there is still quite a bit of pig left.  I get up and take a little more.  It isn't amazing, but still fairly good especially smothered in Sweet Baby Ray's bbq sauce.  I was hoping for fall apart goodness but this is still kind of firm but looks fully cooked.  Someone else has taken my seat so I sit at another table.  A very tall lady, close to 6' with a bottle of Jack Daniels whisky in her hand sits down.  She isn't the bundle of personality Patti is, but she is apparently Patti's favorite ridding buddy.  She has a few hundred thousand miles to her credit.  Apparently they will take off on a long trip at the drop of a hat, no other interests for them but riding their Harley Davidsons.  They make a real Mutt and Jeff pair.  

I like the exposure to a group of really nice people I would normally not have any access to before owning a Harley Davidson.  I think of how lonely some of these people must be when they are not on a ride like this.  You feel that some of these folks live for this.  The riding is the mechanism for the belonging.  

Some begin to drift off to their rooms.  Since not sleeping well the night before, I am feeling the sag and am also thinking about calling it a day.  There is no bad behavior or loud voices.  No one appears drunk as I feared earlier.  As the sun goes down, it is genuinely chill and I feel marginal.  I decide that the room is a good place to be.  I leave the group and go to the room to organize my stuff for the next day and go to bed.  I go to the sliding glass door and walk out on the balcony.  The river below is rushing madly down the grade and makes a great sleeping aide.  I notice the sky is turning grey.  Who knows?

I turn in to go to sleep for the night.

Doing the Loop Part 3

We awake to a strange sky in the morning.  Ash has fallen and it is all over our bikes.  We smell smoke.  The Funny River fire smoke has changed directions and is drifting north.  It looks dark enough to rain, but it is just smoke.  

We pack up our bikes.  We decide on breakfast at the Windbreak Cafe in Wasilla.  I haven't been there in 25 years or more, but I remember the last time I was there I had a great breakfast.  

We warm up our bikes and head out of Anchorage.  The morning traffic is light on this Saturday and we get out of town quickly.  We stretch out on the Glenn Highway and make great time. We cross the Knik Flats.  Soon we turn on to the Parks Highway.  We are in Wasilla before we know it.  The Windbreak is still there...

We pull off the highway and take a seat at a table near the door.  We make an unintentional scene with all our leather riding gear and helmets in our hands.  The place hasn't changed a bit.  Large stuffed rainbow trout line the walls.  Fading color pictures of men with long sideburns and children holding large fish by the gills are hung in every booth.  Everything looks like it was decorated in the 70's.  I like it.  It feels familiar.  

We order omelets and hash browns, sourdough toast.  It comes out just the way you like to see it.  Good choice coming to the Windbreak.  I drink too much coffee.  We pay our bills and head back on to the highway.  

I haven't been through Wasilla in years.  The place is growing.  New roads, more traffic, lots of new shopping stores.  Hardly recognize what used to be the center of town.  It's moved closer to the Glenn Highway and the old strip malls just look, well, older.  Home Depot, Wal-Mart and other anchor stores have created a new "center".  

As we pull through the far end of Wasilla, I get the idea that maybe all that coffee I drank is beginning to become a need.  I think, nah.  We pass the Big Lake turn off.  The road ahead is just road, no more town or stores or gas stations.  The smoke overhead begins to clear.  Sun beats down on us.  It is warm and the sky is blue.  It is a wonderful day except that I have really got to "go."  

I realize since I am in the back, if I turn off to take of business Greg and Mark will just keep going.  How do I tell them about my situation?  I think, "we should have worked out some hand signals or something."  Things are getting to the urgent stage.  I've got to make a move here.  I race up to Greg on wing.  I think, how do I tell him I've got to go?  Since I can't let go of the throttle with my right hand, I pat my chest with my left hand.  He looks at me like, "what?!"  He's not getting it and the needle on the meter is leaving urgent and going towards "burst."  I do the same thing with Mark and he lets me take the lead.  I have no idea where I'm going to pull off but we are barreling down the road at 65 mph to wherever the next place is.  This goes on for about 10 minutes.  To my great relief, a gas station appears just ahead.  I turn in and walk straight to get rid of the coffee.  I am happy.

I get ribbed about my hand motions.  I think, "ya, just wait until it's you." We get back on the Parks Highway and just get up to speed when we pull over again.  We have reached Trapper Creek.  This is where they want to get gas.  Really?  Trapper Creek is bustling.  For being not much more than a gas station, everybody seems to want to stop here.  There is one set of pumps.  You can get gas on the right side or the left side.  Both sides are full with cars behind them.  The guy who is finished filling his truck puts the pump away and leaves his truck right there as he saunters into the little store.  On the other side, the guy puts up the pump as his wife gets out and lowers the tailgate on their SUV.  She begins to change her baby's diaper right on the spot.  The lines are lengthening.  The man who went inside is nowhere to be seen.  The lady is taking quite awhile to change the diaper.  We are all WAITING to put fuel in our tanks.  The man and wife seem to be having a discussion.  It seems to never occur to them that people are waiting for a turn at the pumps.  The man from the other side is still inside somewhere.

I don't need gas so I am just watching the most incredible case study of inconsiderate behavior ever I think.  What is really amazing is that no one seems to be upset.  All at once the man who I was going to report as a missing person appears, gets in his truck and drives away.  The discussion has ended on the other side of the gas pumps, the baby is bundled up and they do take another 5 minutes to put it in the baby seat and then they pull forward about 20 feet to let others use the pump.  Amazing.  I suppose this little vignette I am relating reveals more about me than others.  It is my sense of efficiency that is more offended than my lack of patience.  

We get back on the Parks Highway again after FOREVER.  It's OK as we don't have a timetable and the day is nice.  We should be able to see Mt. McKinley it is so nice, which is fairly rare.  The mountain is only visible from the road about 100 days a year.  We begin to enter Denali Park.  I notice that there really isn't any scenery.  The smoke from the Funny River fire has drifted against the mountains and it is all white.  At the south view pull off only the faint outline of a mountain is visible, it is impossible to tell if it is McKinley.  We power on.  The road is in pretty good condition, not too many road snakes, frost heaves or potholes.  It is a good day to ride.  

We gain elevation and it gets kind of chilly.  Spring is just beginning to arrive here.  There is still lots of snow and not all the lakes are thawed out yet, the rotting ice still covering most.  It looks a little desolate with no leaves on the willows.  I am wondering if I need to stop and add another layer or so.  We power on.

The high tundra landscape is beautiful even if we can only see little due to the smoke.  Hurricane Gulch is as breath taking as ever with its close up yawning chasm that makes one dizzy looking down into it.  We are getting close to our destination for the day, Denali Park.  We are going to be staying at the Grizzly Bear Campground.  The big V-Twin motors of our Harley Davidson motorcycles are putting out that sweet rumble that only Harleys put out.  It is great riding today.  

We come down a steep grade towards a silty river.  The flight lead has his left turn signal on.  We are here.  We pull in to the camp ground.  It looks like an interesting place, except I was ready to ride twice as far as this before we hung it up for the day.  We are here. 

The ride is done for now.  We are here to take part of a biker rally.  We wait outside the main office as Greg gets our room keys.  While we wait, a man in a wheel chair with only one leg bursts through the door at what might be considered high speed for a man with one leg in a wheel chair.  With incredible dexterity he twirls around backwards and down the wheelchair ramp only slowing slightly.  He has some use of his arms/hands and soon he disappears around the end of the building.  He is back almost immediately and powers up the ramp backwards as fast as he went down.  At the top he does the same twirl around except backwards, opens the door and goes in in a flash.  I am impressed.  He has obviously done this before.  Later I see him come out in identical fashion, get himself into a van, driving off to take a foreign client up to the park headquarters.  No handicap here.

Greg appears with our room keys and we ride up the hill to some very nice rooms.  We unload our stuff and look around.  The Black Sheep are cooking a whole pig in layers of coals for tonight's feast.  I snicker thinking how appropriate it is to feed a whole pig to a HOG group.  It does give off an aroma that makes me instantly hungry.  We satisfy ourselves with some chips and cookies and pay our $20 for the dinner that will be served later.  

They don't need any help getting ready so we look for something to do.  A ride up to the main Denali area sounds great.  I think to myself I have always wanted to ride up to a place where I am anonymous with no helmet and sporting a "do-rag".  I happen to have one with me from the Harley themed birthday party with suspicious looking root beer bottles my wife threw for me a month ago.  

I don it with my shades and feel ridiculous, but hey, who's going to know?  

We start the bikes and power on to the highway.  It feels crazy to ride with no helmet and the wind pummeling my head as we race up to the park.  Ha ha!  I am a true biker now!  Well I will be after I get a HD tatoo or something.  I just can't decide where it would go.  For now I'll just be a poser.

I feel entertained by myself as we arrive at the park.  It is busy for this early in the season.  We spot the Harley apparel store.  They have spaces reserved in front for only Harleys.  We take our rightful spots.  I still feel ridiculous so I pull the do-rag off and don a conservative cap instead.  

We visit the Harley apparel store.  It is run by a really nice Louisiana woman with a cajan drawl.  I buy an overpriced Harley long sleeve t-shirt.  Probably the only chance to get one from Mt. McKinley.  Who could resist?

I step outside with my riding friends and we walk up and down the board walk.  We get a coffee.  The guy behind the counter making our selections is from Alabama but up for the summer to make some money he tells us.  I think this is a prompt for a good tip.  We are the last people to be served so he follows us outside and we continue our conversation.  I try only partially successfully to turn the conversation to what he thinks of Jesus.  Other customers show up, he ducks inside to take care of them.

While enjoying sitting outside sipping the hot brew a fellow Assembly of God minister walks by with his wife.  He is the one I prayed over as he was ordained just a month ago.  I am SO GLAD I am not wearing my do-rag as I probably look rather rouge-ish with my leathers on anyway.  He would probably want a do-over with someone else on the ordination prayer if he saw me in a do-rag.  Alaska is a small place.

For now we have exhausted the possibilities here.  We mount our bikes and I don my helmet which I stashed in the trunk of my Electra Glide and with the appropriate revs and thundering exhaust we head back to the camp.

Day 3 Part 4

We feast sumptuously on our schnitzel and falafala but feel a little chilled.  Has the sun gone behind a cloud?  Nope.  It doesn't take much coaxing to get us back on the bus.  For the first time since coming to Israel, we are not warm. Not freezing mind you, well Indiana Jolie is freezing, but it's just not warm / almost hot like it has been for the three days we have been here.

Our buses continue up the steep mountain road we are on, the diesels straining as they carry the 45 occupants of the "red bus" up Mt. Hermon.  

The sights are interesting, it looks like a resort, a ski area possibly.  It is. There are little alpine type buildings, kitschy cutouts of snowmen and candy canes adorn the sides of the road and entrances to the resorts.  I think to myself, they actually ski up here.  We are in a ski area.  Of course they did not tell us it would be colder here, but we did by chance bring our windbreakers with us.  

Then catch glimpse of what looks like a castle...it actually is a castle.  

We are not in Europe, what could this be?  It looks old as part of the walls have tumbled down and it just has that "old" look to our highly trained archaeological eyes.  "Old" is very relative here.  A castle dating to the 13th century?  Nothing near old when you compare with where we were this morning at Dan.  Dan was ancient when Jesus was walking around Galilee.  This castle was built 13 centuries after Jesus.  I am hoping we will get to see this castle up close.

We do.  That actually is our destination.  We step off the bus into a hurricane of wind!  On goes the windbreaker which is kind of funny to think about when you are nearly blown off the ground by the force of the wind.  With this on, it is barely tolerable temperature wise with the wind chill making things challenging to be outside dressed as we are.  

We have a teaching here.  Without our little listening receivers that we are wearing around our necks, it would be impossible to have any idea of what is being said.  We are packed tight together to try to hear a little better and using the person behind us as additional windbreak.  I am on the back row.  Hmmm...is everyone using me as a windbreak?  Maybe I shouldn't eat so much schnitzel.

Anyway, back to the castle.  

The castle was built in the 13th century by the Muslim leader Saladim.  He was the one who put the kabosh on the Crusaders at the mountain with two peaks.  There are amazing peaked arches, the huge stones that fit together so perfectly in the walls, "slits" in the walls for the archers to defend the castle from attackers, it all amazes.  

Just how they would build on the steep mountain sides in a place like this is beyond comprehension.  Water?  

Food?  How would they sustain themselves? There is a very interesting archway with a steep staircase that goes downward.  

We are told that this passage way follows the ridge in front of the castle 9 miles underground and ends up at the Temple of Pan where we just were before lunch!  It was all chiseled out of stone!  I am beginning to think these ancient people were supermen.  How do they do this stuff?  How would they know where they were headed?  How do you chisel 9 miles of stone?  All before the internal combustion engine and electricity mind you.  The Temple of Pan is so directly below us, that if you were to roll a stone down the ridge for 9 miles, it would end up exactly there.  

The teaching is over.  Indiana Jolie and I eagerly ascend the hill up to the actual castle.  

We take pictures as there are lots of rocks here.  Must take pictures of rocks. There is a fascinating wall with Arabic writing that was also chiseled out of stone that explains who built the castle and for what reasons (to defeat the infidels) and what year it was.  

We begin to wander around. 

It is obvious that earthquakes and other natural forces are not kind to castles over the centuries.  The great stones that fit so flawlessly slip, tumble and

fall down into jumbled masses.  

I find a round tower at the corner and enter it.  Inside is so much different from the outside!  Inside the stone is smooth as if it has been polished, not weathered and rough like the outside.  It is beautiful. In the center of the small room is a hole down which descends a perfect spiral stone staircase.  I cannot resist.  I go down into the darkness.  My eyes adjust.  The only light that comes in is from the little archers slits.  I stand where an archer must have stood to defend the castle.  He must have been a lot shorter than I am because I am stooped over in the niche for the archer to stand.  

There is another spiral stone staircase in the middle of the floor.  I am on to something here.  It is even darker...hallways go in several directions.  I choose one and go. I am lost.  I have no idea how to get out.  I keep walking.  I faintly hear a strange noise.  They are honking the horn of the bus!  

I get the feeling it is all about me at this moment.  I choose another hallway and see daylight.  I enter the stable for the horses that was pointed out earlier.  I now know where I am, but have no idea how to get out.  

I walk faster.  I keep choosing arched doorways and walk down corridors. I see stairs, regular ones. I go up about three flights.  I break into the light of the day again.  I walk down the hill to the bus which is nearly full.  I am not the last one, almost, but not the last.

Once again we leave to return to Tiberas feeling like we did not have enough time to explore.  There were two areas of the castle and we had no time to even walk over to the further area. 

 It would have been amazing, but there is more yet to see.

Doing the Loop Part 2

We throttle our bikes onto the Sterling Highway.  There is a little adrenaline flowing in my veins.  It feels exhilarating to finally be underway.  I am putting the smoke out of my thoughts.  We don't get very far.  We stop at...the Harley Store.  30 minutes of looking a stuff I just looked at and whatever errand that needed to be done is finished.  Now...we are really on our way.

Once again we throttle out on to the Sterling Highway.  It is Memorial Day weekend and there is a fair amount of traffic.  All motorcycle riders ride on "high alert", especially at times of increased traffic.  One technique that a group of riders use to be see easier by other vehicles is the formation in which they ride.  

The "flight lead" rides on the left side of the lane, near the center line.  He tries to stay in the rear view mirror of the driver in front of him.  This way he can scout further up ahead for slow downs, road debris, turning vehicles and other surprises.  The "wing man" rides on the right side of the lane and tries to stay in the rear view mirror of the car in front of the flight lead.  This also gives him an "out" if he needs to avoid a collision or road debris by turning on to the shoulder of the road.  This formation is basically repeated the more riders you have, it is just staggered left and right for as many as are in the group.  We have three so I am "tail end Charlie".  I tend to ride the center line but wander back and forth from left to right and back somewhat in order to be in again, the vehicle in front of us' rear view mirror.  

All goes smoothly and we pass through Sterling and head up toward Cooper Landing.  Once we are up off the Sterling flats, we enjoy curves in the road and the beautiful scenery, the leaves are fully out in late spring.  Except that we have to stop.  They are fixing the road.  It is true, there are two seasons in Alaska, winter and road construction.  It really does need fixing in this area, for some reason the road really gets hammered in this area.  This year's beautiful new smooth blacktop will be next year's crumbling and cracked, pothole filled, "road snake infested" mine field.  There is so much more that a motorcycle rider must pay attention to when he rides.  "Road snakes" are those long, wide, running cracks in the asphalt that can swallow a biker's front tire and dump him on the road.  Alaska has a lot of "road snakes".

We pass through the Russian River area and on through Cooper Landing.  As we make our way down the winding road next to Kenai Lake and just prior to Sunrise, I am anticipating getting back on the wide open road and listening to my Electra Glide's 80 cubic inches rumble.  Except that our wing man needs to stop at Sunrise for gas.  

He has the smallest gas tank at 3.5 gallons.  He also has the highest performance motor of the group.  This translates into a lot of stops for gas. My slow boat Electra Glide has a big tank and can easily make it from Kenai to Anchorage without problem.  We are informed that we will be stopping at the Girdwood gas station as well.

The tank is filled and once again we are off.  Now the road is really good through the "Pass" portion of the Sterling Highway.  The mountains rise up all around, there are passing lanes and curves.  It's pretty much everything a rider could want.  The sun is shining, the motor of my Electra Glide has found a "sweet spot" and throbs with reassuring regularity that all is well in the crankcase.  

Honestly, I have anxiety about being "the weak link" in the group.  My 1992 is by far the oldest bike, it even has a carburetor, a real dinosaur.  I do not want to be the liability, the guy whose ancient equipment holds everyone else up and becomes burdensome.  That guy.  

It takes about forty minutes of unhurried riding until we begin the long descent down Turnagain Pass on the Turnagain side.  I can throttle back, the bike loves this miles long downhill stretch.  It lives up to its name and feels like I am truly gliding down the highway.  We get to the Turnagain flats and again feel all the feelings of why people ride these bikes.  The sights are more intimate, you are in them, not just observing through a windshield.  The smells of wild flowers (probably dandelions) and the waters make it feel like the world is coming alive again after the winter months.  It is everything I have anticipated.  I love it.

We pull into Girdwood station.  It is a mob house!  Giant pick up trucks with trailers overflowing with Rangers, Razors, four wheelers, campers, trailers, canoes, outboard motor boats, tents, every sort of thing that burns fossil fuel, you name it, it is there.  I still don't need gas so I pull over to the side to avoid the cacophony.  

I enter the store to use the restrooms.  I feel like a hulking giant clad in my riding leather coat and chaps.  People scurry to get out of my way, I smile hoping I don't look like a malevolent presence.  The place is crowded.  The clerks are harried.  People in shorts and flip flops wait in line with handfuls of ice cream bars, hot dogs and beverages.  It is noisy and bustling with activity. We Americans love our Memorial Day weekends!  

Not soon enough, we are on our way up Turnagain Arm.  The "twisties", are dry and clean.  We lean into the curves, hoping to observing motorists behind us that we look like we are scraping the road.  Crowds are out looking a belugas, there are crowds of "hooligan" dipnetters, there are rock climbers rappelling down the rock faces.  The sun is reflecting warmth off the mountains and we are loving life.  

We enter Anchorage and the traffic which hasn't been too bad to this point. We decide to go and dump our stuff off at our place for the night.  We join the stop and go traffic.  Clutch in, clutch out.  Shift up, shift down.  Start, stop.  I don't like being in the Anchorage traffic, it isn't what you call riding. I does mimic the day in a symbolic way. 

We get to our destination.  After waiting around for awhile, we are let into the place where we are staying for the night.  Free.  Free is good.  We unpack our bikes.  In contrast they look smaller and lighter, which they are.    

We are hungry.  Where shall we go?  The usual process of deciding where to eat in traveling groups plays out.  Shall we go here?  Shall we go there?  I love to go to this place.  I always eat there when I go to Anchorage.  The lottery stops on Olive Garden.  We have lightened our bikes considerably and the traffic has died down a little bit.  Olive Garden in north of our location on the other side of the Glenn Highway from Muldoon.  We start our bikes.  We leave in formation and head out.  

We indulge ourselves with the unending salad and bread sticks.  The main course arrives and we are almost too full to eat it but we manage anyway.  While we are eating, the idea of checking out the new Cabelas store pops up.  We decide that is the thing to do.  We pay our bills, I do with my credit card.  We helmet up and leave for south Anchorage and the new Cabelas.

We stay until closing which is about 9 o'clock.  We are feeling played out and still too full.  We decide to go back and hit the hay for the evening.  Once we are near, we stop for fuel so we can hit the road without any more stops in the morning.  I dismount and reach for my wallet.  I open it and realize my credit card is not there.  I must have left it at Olive Garden when I paid my bill.  

I race to the other end of town with thoughts of my credit card being sold to some cyber thief and my future ruined.  I am hoping Olive Garden is still open late on this Friday Memorial Day weekend.  I arrive trying not to look too paniced.  I explain myself to the nice hostess girls at the front as I stand there in my riding leathers head to toe.  The notify the manager.  I wait.

The nice man appears after 5 minutes of long waiting with my card in his hand.  I identify myself and it is placed in my wallet once again.  I decide I have had enough drama for the day and once I am finally fueled up, I head in for the night, looking forward to the ride ahead.

Doing the Loop Part 1

One of the ideas that quickly come to a new Harley Davidson owner is the idea of taking the motorcycle on an extended trip.  More than just a cruise around town or a day trip.  Three or more days of long, extended, butt numbing, shoulder aching riding.

A friend whose Harley ownership predates my own has joined the Black Sheep Christian biker club.  Every year over Memorial Day weekend they promote their first "rally" of the season at Denali Park.  They invite the HOG (Harley Owners Group) to attend as an "outreach" to the members of this Harley club they would like to evangelize.  The feature of the rally is a big feed sponsored by members of the Black Sheep.  

My friend invited me to go with him this spring.  I was delighted to commit and experience my first extended motorcycle trip.  

Along with the ride to the rally, we were going to head further north to Fairbanks and then out to Tok, Alaska before coming back hope to the Kenai Peninsula.  This is what we called, "The Loop".  There is a loop in the Alaska Highway system that begins at Wasilla, Alaska, goes to Fairbanks and out to Tok before coming back by way of Palmer Alaska where the "loop" is closed and then you return to the Peninsula by way of Anchorage.  By the clock on my Electra Glide, it was about 1350 miles.

As the departure date approached, I got rather nervous.  A million things to worry about kept my mind occupied.  "Will the Electra Glide break down?"  "Will I bring the right equipment?"  "What if we get into rain?"  "Can I pack enough stuff on my bike?"  And more.  

The Electra Glide is known as a "bagger."  That means I have saddle bags and a trunk on my bike.  For trips like this, it is the ONLY way to go.  I was able to pack everything I needed with a minimum of external lashing of stuff on the outside of my bike.  Since space is limited, you have to choose carefully what you need to take.  How many pairs of underwear and socks?  Tools?  Oil?  Sleeping pad?  Sleeping bag?  Snacks?  Hat? On and on.  Even if you decide not to take as much of something as you might like or decide to leave something behind, you can really get quite a bit in those bags if you are careful.  

The other thing you need to pack is cash.  It always comes in handy.  As Solomon said, it is the answer for everything. 

So, the night before departure, I park my vehicle outside and haul the Electra Glide in.  One side of the saddle bags is for messy stuff like oil, gas and tools.  The other side is for my clothes and shaving kit.  The trunk holds my sleeping pad and gloves and sunglasses, stuff I need to get in and out of during the day.  On my back seat I lash my sleeping bag and pillow in a waterproof bag with another smaller waterproof bag on top of that, that holds my rain jacket and leather vest for layering.  

I check the oil.  I should have checked the air pressure in the tires but forgot.  Fortunately it must have been OK.  I wash the bike, hate to start a trip with a dirty bike.  I clean the shield on my helmet with Windex.  I pace.  I think about what I packed and did not pack.  I decide I need to go to bed and get a good night's sleep so I don't continue to obsess over details.  

I'm up early and double check everything.  I wait.  We aren't supposed to meet until noon at Fred Meyer's in Soldotna but I am a chronically early person.  I can't help it.  I begin to obsess.  I decide to ride to the Harley Store way past Fred Meyer's in Soldotna.  This wasn't all about obsession, I had ordered some minor parts for my bike and I got a call that they were in.  I ask if they might be able to install them that morning.  OK.  While I am there I decide I need some "highway pegs" for the trip.  On long stretches of highway these allow you to extend your legs for a change of position.  And since I have quite a bit in the leg department, this sounds like a good idea to me. 

Oh yes, a Soldotna Harley Davidson overpriced T-shirt.  I must have one of those, long sleeved.  I don't want to show up at my first "rally" and not be flying the home colors!  That would be a major faux pax!  I buy the shirt.

My bike is done and I figure that I better get out of the Harley store before any more good ideas occur to me and I spend more money.  Honestly, it's like kryptonite, a fatal attraction. I must get away.  I text my friend and tell him that if he is early I am at the Harley store and will be at Fred Meyers shortly.  He texts back and says they haven't left home yet, but will soon.  Oh.  So I have at least an hour and a half to wait.  I decide to go home.  I do and I pace.  I am ready to ride!  I think maybe he'll be early because he must be as anxious as I am.

I go to Fred Meyers a half hour early.  I wait for 40 minutes.  My friend arrives.  Ah!  Finally we will be hitting the road.  First though he has to go get some snacks inside Fred Meyer.  Oh yes, and another rider will be joining us too, we have to wait until he gets here.  While I wait watching over the bikes while snacks are purchased and riders arrive, I notice the smoke from the Funny River fire is filling the sky.  I wonder if I should even be leaving town.  I have second thoughts.  What if?  What if?  I decide that if things go bad I will just turn around and come home.  

My friend comes back we snap a couple of pictures.

We wait.  Our rider friend arrives.  He is getting married the very next weekend and this is his "bachelor party."  I'm OK with that.  Some story that will make.  A young guy spending his bachelor party with a couple of old guy preachers.  Wild times ahead.

So, we are all here, we are snacked up.  We start our bikes and we are finally on the road.

Day 3, Part 3

We are encouraged to load ourselves onto the buses.  We have more to see.  We are ascending "Mt. Hermon" in the "range of mountains" sense.  We travel further to the north and a little higher in elevation.  We don't travel far.  We debus in a large parking lot which seems pretty full of cars and other tourist buses.  This is a popular place to visit.  There are people from several different nations here.  There are school children on a field trip acting as obnoxiously as I would expect American school children to act, loud, borderline unruly and unconcerned that they are not the only ones here.  

We are beginning to get the drill about the restrooms.  Because they keep us moving all the time, you begin to scout out the location of the restrooms as soon as you get off the bus.  Call it self preservation.  In my case I am scouting for Indiana Jolie more than myself.  We see a restroom sign with an arrow.  I alert Indiana Jolie and we head in the direction of the arrow.  We walk and walk and walk and walk and begin to doubt we are on the right path.  But yes, for some reason, the restrooms are about as far away from the rest of the place as possible and we feel better about our situation.  

We join the rest of the group.  So this is Caesarea Philippi.  Wow. I am finding out there are a lot of places with the name, or title, "Caesar".  It was a way that the lesser kings who ruled in Israel could suck up to the big boss.  Name a really nice place after the head dude!  The other name for this place is the "Temple of Pan".  In fact this is an extremely pagan place.  Not only is there a temple to Pan here but about 8 other gods, including Caesar.  These temples were built right next to each other, some on top of each other as the centuries went by.  

They have largely excavated these temples and from different vantage points next to the mountain, you can see the layouts quite well.  The walls have long disintegrated, but the foundations and the niches in the mountain wall are still quite well defined.  

Pan was a frightful deity.  Pan is the root word in "panic."  He incited terror in people and they sought to appease him by building a temple to him in this beautiful place.  He was also a fertility figure (most of these gods seemed to be) because the water that flowed out from under his temple was considered the source of life.  How panic and fertility blend together I'll never know. Walking around these temple ruins gives the place a sinister feel.  The ruins are fascinating nonetheless and we take lots of pictures.  

Some dispute whether or not this is the place where Peter spoke the revelation that Jesus was the Christ (Matt. 16:16, Mark 8:29).  Our main guide, Dr. Marc Turnage is quite certain that Jesus, a rabbi, would never be in such a pagan place of worship like this.  He points out that the gospels say that Jesus was "in the region of Caesarea of Philippi."  I don't know what to think.  The place is beautiful and if I were on a retreat this place would be high on my list.

If Dan is on the headwaters of the Jordan River, Caesarea Philippi is the spigot.  Literally.  We are at the foot of Mt. Hermon.  The beautiful, clear, streams of water that flow here come literally out of the bedrock of the mountain.  I have never seen anything like it.  You see the stream and it comes right out of the rock.  Go any further and you are walking on the bedrock of Mt. Hermon.  The snows and rain that fall on Mt. Hermon must flow down inside the mountain, not down the outside like I have seen all my life.  How this is accomplished I have no idea, but there are no rivulets, or waterfalls or cascading streams splashing down the mountainside.  The water flows directly out of the rock at the foot of the mountain.  

Over the years the stream has been made into a series of pools that are wide and somewhat shallow, but host schools of fish.  I so wished for my fly rod.  This would be such an idyllic spot for making some epic casts and fooling some fish.  

Once again, we wish to linger here in the shade of the trees next to the water.  Sitting on a stone walkway near the stream, I see little groups of people in semi-circles with their leader speaking to them in languages I do not understand.  I am guessing Koreans, Nigerians, Italians, middle eastern people and obnoxious school kids.

Another thing we are told is that it is likely that here or near here is the location of the Transfiguration (Matt. 17:2, Mark 9:2).  Tradition places the Transfiguration much further south on Mt. Tabor which we saw from Mt. Carmel.  We are told that this is unlikely because the Transfiguration took place only 6 days following Peter's confession here at Ceasarea Philippi.  It is very unlikely that a journey on foot that far south could have taken place in such a short time.  Both gospels that mention the transfiguration also specifiy it was a high mountain.  You don't get any higher than Mt. Hermon in Israel. Mt. Tabor doesn't impress as a high mountain.  More of a "big bump."  It is surmised that in Byzantine times, it was much closer to direct holy land pilgrims who came to Jerusalem to Mt. Tabor than to Mt. Hermon.  So the Byzantines built a chapel, the Church of the Transfiguration at Mt. Tabor to cash in on the easier tourism dollars.  

It's time to go get lunch.  We wind further up steep mountain roads to another Druze village.  You guessed it, our choices are falafala or schnitzel.   Let's just say "its the same song, just another verse, sounds a lot like the first." The air temperature is not exactly warm here.  It is curiously chill.  Not what I expected.