Revisiting Hope On Wheels

The FRONT RANGE FREEDOM TOUR is forever linked to the story of RICH’S RIDE.

Four years ago, Becky, Monte, and I were in New Orleans celebrating the end of our original 1500-mile journey. We thought that ride was a one-time deal. We had no idea what God had in mind, but the “trip-of-a-lifetime” turned out to be the first chapter in a remarkable story that took us on bike rides all over the country and finally birthed the notion of a community of cyclists in our own state.

The last day of the Mississippi River ride brought one of many unanticipated, God-ordained appointments that we’ve come to expect on our rides. This one’s worth re-visiting.

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Epic accomplishments don’t preclude mundane daily necessities.

On the final day of the ride, after the celebrations and high-fives, we stopped at a small community hospital so I could use the accessible restroom. While Becky waited in the lobby, a group called her over and asked her to tell them about “Hope On Wheels.” Apparently they’d seen the trailer as we rolled into the parking lot.

So Becky told the story, and I approached in time for them to express admiration and astonishment. Then Becky’s phone rang and she stepped outside. They looked exhausted, and I asked what was happening.

This burly man and his two sisters came here eighteen days earlier when “Momma” suffered a stroke. After eighty-five strong, healthy years as matriarch, Momma lay incapacitated and weak. They wept as they verbalized the emerging reality that Momma might never be the same again.

They asked me to tell them about hope.

That’s the sort of situation in which platitudes and easy answers just don’t work. We talked about love and faith in the midst of this pain and the big guy whispered, “What can we believe when the docs say Momma probably won’t get better?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but we know this—God’s taking care of her, right?”

He smiled. “You’re right, and she knows that. She knows Jesus is with her.”

He and his sisters were laughing through tears. “How many times did she sing about the ‘glory of heaven’?”

Then things suddenly got quiet again. They remembered where they were.

The man said, “So that’s hope?”

“Maybe that’s part of it, knowing God keeps His promises, knowing He’ll care for her no matter what. And knowing that He’ll care for you folks as well.’

I showed them the back of my bike jersey. They read it quietly: HOPE changes what’s possible.