I walked down the sidewalk of the shopping center mall and that was the first time I saw the white horse. She was parked next to the door of a gun store. She was pearl white with plenty of chrome on her. A man inside the store saw me admiring her. Before I knew it a firm hand with leather fingerless gloves was shaking my hand. He spoke with a country twang, and said, “Thats a Harley Davidson Pan Head young fella.” His shiny belt buckle and boots drifted back into the store. I had no idea that later on this man would introduce me to the world of Harley Davidson.

We stood there in the church where we married 12 years ago. The same priest who married us was now baptizing our second son. We were 700 miles from our home but returned here because this is where our union began. In the parking lot behind our truck was a trailer and sitting on the trailer was my first white horse. It only took 23 years to get her. There were plenty of horses before her, but this was the first white one. She was pearl white with plenty of chrome. We had just picked her up from the dealership. As we drove home, I could see her in the rearview mirror. My bride by my side, our youngest with holy water still on his forehead, our oldest who just turned two, and our German Shepherd were all together. The union was now complete.

In the years that followed that baptismal day my bride and I took a few trips on the white horse. When we considered that things go wrong out there and that children need at least one parent. My bride hung up her riding jacket and pants in the closet. I will always remember that day.

The white horse was always parked in our garage covered with a sheet and an American flag. I found the flag in a desk drawer of an office where I worked I years ago. It was not folded, but wadded up like it was being hidden from the world. When my bride stopped taking trips with me, the white horse seldom saw the outside world.

Then the day came that I received news that Billy (an old friend and mentor) took his last ride on his Harley. The white horse came out from under that flag and I started the long ride to help Billy complete his journey that had been filled with rides gone by. The ride home was not as lonely as the ride there.

Then the day came that my father’s long battle with a silent enemy was to come to an end in 6 weeks. The white horse came out from under that flag once again and the journey began. Every other week for six weeks that turned into six months. The journey was 11 hours one way. The days were hot, the days were cold, but I was never alone. Billy was right there with me on every trip until my father completed his own journey.

I never lost track of the journeys on the white horse. The one that sticks out the most is the cowboy character in front of the gun store. The day when his prized shiny belt buckle came in the mail is that reality rock being kicked up by the big truck of life. Like a rock that hits you when you are just enjoying the ride of life. The shiny belt buckle was a gift from his family to the kid who fell in love with his white horse.

The white horse rested for several years, then came a small town in a big state. The journeys there were also long, but I was never alone. A shiny belt buckle tucked away in my saddle bag and a collection of medals from the journeys she had made before. We returned to the small town on the anniversary dates that caused an even bigger reality rock to be kicked up on the ride of life. The anniversary dates built a bond between me and those who also got hit by that reality rock. I came to know one who I called the Dentist. He lived a life full of color, and he lived many lives. He had experienced and embraced every color from the rainbow of life. A smile, a smirk, calloused hands, a hardened back, and a full throttle drive for life. Once you got past the grease, the layers of life, and the sun weathered skin was a soul full of tenderness. A soul that was not perfect, but one seeking acceptance. Never outlandish but within reason to not alter or derail his magnetic compass for life. I cannot say the Dentist and I ever spoke of his soul, but I know he knew I could feel it. In many ways our full throttle approach to life was a union.

Then the day came when I stood in our backyard with my phone to my ear. A faint, distant voice from the small town in that big state. A voice recognized by my soul as not being my father, but a man who unknowingly buffered the edges of the sharp hole left behind when my father completed his journey. As he searched and struggled for the words a reality rock kicked up from the yard and punched me in the chest. The Dentist completed his journey on the side of the road helping others.

I stood in the garage with tears in my eyes and my chest hurting from that rock. Our oldest, a grown man now, who knew the Dentist and knew that small town, said “You should ride the Harley over.” I said, “It has not been out from under the flag in four years due to my shoulder injury.” Our oldest stood there and just looked at me.

I told my situation to a local Harley shop, and the white horse was brought back to life. New tires, new battery, a tune-up and she and I were reunited. Once again, I was on that sidewalk outside the gun store, a kid in love with a white horse.

Before the sun came up, the white horse and I started the journey to that big state. Though I had not ridden in four years, we completed the 900 miles in one day. It was like I had never stopped riding.

The next few days were filled with ups and downs. The smirk and constant hum of the Dentist was missed but the stories of him filled the voids. I sat in the church with a pile of reality rocks in my pockets. The Dentist’s bride held my collection of medals from the journeys before. I could see a small piece of metal sticking out between her fingers. The shiny belt buckle was pressed against my stomach as I sat there, helpless.

I filled up my saddle bags and pointed the white horse home. I honestly don’t think I directed her, but she directed me. The ride was long, but I was never alone. I reflected on all the ones who I have gone on the journey with and at times the rumble became so loud it vibrated my soul.

I washed the white horse and placed her back in the garage. I draped the flag over her and said, “thank you.” Once again, I was back on the sidewalk in front of that gun store, a kid in love with a white horse.

Months later in our shop, our oldest son took raw steel and welded a shadow box to hold the flag that draped over the Dentist’s final conveyance. Late one night I saw it sitting on the workbench after he finished it. I ran my hands across the edges of the steel he had smoothed out. A handcrafted case to protect the flag of a man who has completed his journey. It’s our job to protect our children, but it’s also our job to prepare them for the journeys of life. The best way to teach them is to show them.

It’s been 6 months since the Dentist stood on the side of the road and felt his magnetic drive for life to cause his compass to peg hard to the right, versus the easy left. I sit here in a tree, 20 feet off the ground and think about that spot on the road where he completed his journey. I was 15 years old when I first saw the white horse. I had no idea that she would become the conveyance to see others complete their journey of life. I’ve often said that it’s a rare occasion to complete your journey on your own terms. The Dentist on the side of the road helping others, with grease under his fingernails, sweat running down his hardened back, and his soul going full throttle, completed his journey his way. His last words on earth, recorded by a body camera, were “Oh shit.” To some they would prefer to have their last words be something else. But to the Dentist, his words bring a smile and a reminder of the character he was.

I sit here on this perch with my soul pouring out these words to you, and I can feel the rumble of the white horses below. They vibrate the earth and roots of the tree I am grounded to. The vibration is not enough to cause me to fall, but enough to remind my soul of the unpredictable nature of life. I don’t have to close my eyes to see those who have completed their journeys, because they ride with me. I embrace the unpredictable journey we are all on. I too can feel that magnetic drive for life and that compass that pegs hard to right. The more journeys I complete the more I realize the importance of accepting the reality rocks of life. The smiles and smirks, the punch to the chest, and the nights the road is hard to see. The characters are the sun that warms me on the cooler days. The characters are the shield that allows the rain to cleanse me but not saturate me. The characters are the kickstand to hold me up when I’m too tired to hold myself. The characters are the magnet that pulls me to accept what I do not understand and to embrace what I cannot see. The characters are hope.