A Quest for Contemporary Revival, Preparing for the Return of Jesus Christ

DESTINED TO PEDAL

THOMAS THWING

BICYCLING HEAVEN’S HIGHWAYS

Book One

Published by Morning Star Revival Mission

To my father, Hal Thwing

You were the one who taught me how to ride a bike. You taught me by your life how to live for God.

To my father-in law, Bob Mears

You always said I should write a book about my journeys. On the day you slipped into eternity I finished the manuscript of this, my first book, to fulfill your will.

To Sandra, my beloved wife, special pal, and helper from God

If a man had all the wealth in the world it would not compare to the treasure of loving you and sharing this journey together. This book is really yours because without your encouragement, your sacrifice, and your tremendous heart I would never have been able to undertake this mission.

To my mother, Margaret Thwing

Your wisdom in affirming Sandra as a woman who was too good to lose was the best advice anyone could ever have given me. Thank you for teaching me to love and respect beauty. I hereby grant you an honorary degree in spiritual wisdom and prayer from the Morning Star Revival Mission.

To Dan Wright

I promised you this book. I love you brother. I remember the dreams and hopes you shared with me and pray that God will fulfill the good plans he has for your life. I treasure the journey we shared together, over 1,000 miles. Rejoice in the Lord, always.

To Cassie Bernall

When you died in the shooting at Columbine High School with a courageous witness for Christ on your lips, you started a ripple of revival in your generation that I have vowed to carry on however I can. I love you and share in your parents’ loss as if you were my daughter.

Contents

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Chapter 1 1

Seeds of Destiny

Chapter 2 7

Crash Course in Bicycle Touring

Chapter 3 12

Racing Across America

Chapter 4 18

Experimenting

Chapter 5 34

Beginning an Ordained Pilgrimage

Chapter 6 46

Ignition Mission: On Eagle’s Wings

Chapter 1

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Seeds of Destiny

Early Spring in Seattle is usually rainy, but on a rare sunny day the blue sky radiates with promise. The mountains emerge from a shroud of recent snowstorms, plastered white, highlighting the blue sky with irresistible brilliance. The day I bought my bicycle in 1971 was such a day. Sunshine sparkled in the fresh morning dew as I walked to a bicycle store near Green Lake. I was in the springtime of my youth and anything seemed possible.

My first ride was on the three mile bike path around Green Lake. After I got comfortable with the gear shift levers, my legs were soon whirling rhythmically. Fresh air rushed past as I swiftly glided along. As birds soared into flight above the lake, I flew on my bicycle along the bike path. I coasted along in effortless tranquility for a few moments. Then, since I was barely converted from Saturday morning cartoons, I trounced on the pedals, singing, "Roadrunner, Coyote's after you."

My racing instinct soon got me into trouble. I was staring into my mirror, watching the car behind me that I was trying to race to a stop light. With a burst of energy I suddenly rammed smack into something solid. The next thing I knew I was lying on the grass with the wind knocked out of me. I had crashed right into a parked truck. Consequently, my guardian angel must have filed a work order on our TV set. The tube burned out and my father left it that way. He said it was fixed as far as he was concerned. Well, that meant no more Roadrunner cartoons for me.

So I quit watching cartoons and began riding my bicycle every week to a church youth group meeting about five miles away. Then one day my long distance bicycling career launched itself unintentionally. What began as a typical short ride to the church turned into an all day affair when I arrived too late to catch the bus that was taking the youth group for a day of water skiing. Instead of bicycling back home I decided to try to bicycle to wherever they had gone. I found out they were headed to Lake Roesiger, about forty miles away. So I took off again, more on guts than on brains. I did not have a map so I would ask people for directions along the way. I spent most of the day wandering around on back roads until I finally reached Monroe after riding about 40 miles. Then I found a sign pointing north to Lake Roesiger. So I continued on with renewed vigor. Ten miles later, however, I began to realize I might miss the bus for the return trip too.

"How far is this lake anyway?" I muttered. Perhaps I had missed the turnoff somewhere. Not long after that, I came to where the road divided, circling the lake. First I turned right but did not see the bus anywhere, though I still saw water-skiers on the lake. So I backtracked quickly over to the opposite shore where I finally reached the bus, shortly before departure. As the bus headed home into the setting sun I was greatly relieved to be on board. The thought of ever doing another long bike ride never entered my mind.

My father taught my junior high age Bible class. He often asked questions to initiate class discussions. One day he told us about his nightmare of helplessly watching someone falling off a cliff who was just beyond the reach of his outstretched hands. He asked us to help him interpret his nightmare. I do not remember if anyone could give him an answer but I had a feeling the interpretation had something to do with me. The most unforgettable question, however, was when he asked us, "Could any of you survive now without your parents?"

I wondered if Dad expected me to answer. I had never thought much about leaving home. I liked my home. It was old but roomy. I could see the Cascade mountains from my upstairs bedroom window. With my ski posters, bookshelves, an old army surplus desk, and a bed as hard as the floor-often I just slept on the floor-I was at home. Also, I enjoyed keeping our lawn and about twelve other lawns mowed. My father's challenge, however, grabbed my attention. My heart was pounding as I neared the edge of a relational precipice. Then I took the leap, raised my hand and looked around the classroom. No one else had raised their hands!

Then Dad said, "Well fella, tell us how."

After a moments’ hesitation, a folksong flashed through my mind:

"Dominica, Dominica, over the land he trods along, and sings a little song. Never asking for reward, he just talks about the Lord, he just talks about the Lord."

That was my answer. I said that I would travel from town to town and tell others about Jesus. I would find jobs along the way…. Nevertheless, if this was my destiny; I had little idea of how it would ever come true.

When Sandra was sixteen she learned why one of her shoulders protruded and her back curved. She had scoliosis and needed surgery. A steel rod would be inserted in her spine. She would be wrapped in a body cast. Finally, she would wear a body brace until the start of her senior year in high school.

She was someone people might not notice right away. Even with the body cast she probably did not weigh 100 pounds. She was not especially charming, or graceful, or unusually beautiful, but she attracted friends. Perhaps it was her delight in humble joys of life. For her, a walk with her older brother and sister was not just a walk; it was a time to skip. For her, a bedroom was not really for cleaning up; it was a place to read every pile of books she could haul home from the library. For her, church was not just for strict religious instruction; it was a place to sing and be happy, even though she had trouble carrying a tune. Sometimes during church she would lean her head on her father's shoulder and dream.

Sandra dreamed about who she would marry. She had known him from childhood when the five years between them was unthinkable. But when she was sixteen, as he hugged everyone goodbye at the end of his youth ministry in her church, she knew she loved him. From then on she dreamed he would return and marry her. As much as she wanted him to stay, she had to let him go and wait. And she waited for fifteen months while she battled scoliosis without any reason to believe he would ever even return. But if you could ever pry out of her who she believed she would marry someday, she would answer with conviction it was him, even though she had heard he had gone to work in California, after graduating from college.

Then one day, a Sunday, late in the summer, as her church service came to a conclusion, with the customary song, "God be with you 'til we meet again," she was anxious for the service to let out. After church she was going to the Space Needle, the restaurant with the best view in Seattle. She was looking forward to a collective birthday party for her dad, her mom, her sister, and a friend of her brother.

…I was lost, circling around on a dirt road, in a sea of foothills, headed nowhere. I came to a ramshackle house. Belongings cluttered the yard. Laundry hung out front where a goat was staked near clumps of tall grass. A muddy walk led to a dilapidated porch. The forlorn house had never been painted. About then I finally realized I was lost. I turned around and found a different road to Mt Rainier. Then I drove up a long, winding road to the 5,000 foot level of this 14,000 foot mountain to a place called Paradise. I had never felt so desolate. I longed to see someone I knew.

When I got home from California I attended a large church where my parents had met and been sent overseas as missionaries. Afterwards, I decided to rush over to another church where I knew some friends who might like to go play football.

Standing outside with her family on the lawn, Sandra wondered how long it would take to assemble everyone going with them to the Space Needle. She would soon be graduating half a year early from high school. Her friends wanted her to wait. They said she would miss out on all the fun. Sandra just wanted to get on with life and get a job. Some of her classmates talked about being friends forever. But she knew most of them would be scattered for the rest of their lives.

Then just as everyone arrived she turned and saw a familiar face, smiling, and asking if anyone wanted to go play football. Sandra's heart skipped a beat. She thought, “If only someone would invite him to come along.” Her brother, Ray, came through for her when he asked me,

"Well, how would you like to come with us to the Space Needle?"

So I went with them to the Space Needle. I found out their church needed a youth group for 5th-8th graders. So I contacted the church pastor and presented some plans. He suggested that I ask Sandra Mears to help me. Although Sandra hardly knew what to say when I asked her to help, she said, “Yes.“ Then she decided to hide her love to see if I loved her first.

Later that spring I began to realize Sandra had come a long way from the days when she was a squeaky, 11 year old. On May 6, 1979, I invited Sandra out on our first date. She accepted my invitation. We went out for dessert after the family night potluck dinner at church. I thought about beginning a romance with her but I wasn't sure she was ready for that. I knew that she had slapped a boy across the face and broke up with him because he was too fresh. I did not want to lose Sandra by saying something stupid. So we just started talking about foreign languages. Suddenly, I had an idea. I asked Sandra if she would like to learn a new language. She wondered what language I had in mind.

I said, "Our language."

Tears began to glisten like diamonds in her eyes. But before anything else happened our thoughts were disrupted by someone coming into the restaurant.

"Oh no, it's Tony," Sandra gasped.

Tony was the boy she had slapped across the face. He was the only one she had ever dated besides me.

"Would you like to leave now," I asked.

Sandra quickly nodded. She looked like she was about to burst into tears. I held her hand as we walked to the car.

Once inside Sandra said, "There's something I've got to tell you." I was silent. "I've loved you a lot for years. I've been trying to hide it. I had to know if you loved me first. Ever since you left our church I was waiting for you to return."

I was astounded by her words. I asked her if she wanted to cry on my shoulder. She quickly nestled her head there. I was filled with a new tenderness. I wanted to protect the treasure of this girl snuggled up next to me. For a few precious moments before we had to go I tried to fathom what she had just revealed.

That summer, as we shared our dreams, one pleasant evening, I asked Sandra if she would marry me. After dining out and going canoeing, when the sun had set over the lake and we were watching for shooting stars, I knelt down before her and proposed. She said, “Yes.” We reflected on the meaning of our life together and said that if our lives were like the shooting stars, we would like some other young couple, or some young child, to see the glory of God in us, like we could see it on a night like this.

That winter I got mono. Sandra came over everyday after her work to see me. My mother was so impressed with Sandra that she said, "This girl's too good to lose. I really think you should get married next summer and go to school together."

I said, "Mother, you're not practical. Here I've got mono, I'm losing money not being able to work, and you think I should move the wedding date forward when I'm even less able to afford it than before?"

A few days later, however, Sandra and I discussed getting married that summer and going to school together. We decided we would get married in August if we were both accepted for school that Fall. We found a college and seminary in a small Kentucky town, where we applied to attend, and both got accepted with scholarships to cover many of our expenses.

After our wedding and honeymoon in Alaska we packed up to go to Kentucky. My father convinced us to trade cars with him. We were able to fit all our belongings in his station wagon. We took a southern route so we could stop at the Grand Canyon. We settled into apartment #9, Alumni Manor, in Wilmore and began our life together as husband and wife.

Wilmore, Kentucky, 1981

In February, six months after Sandra and I got married, the car broke down. Since we were both students we had little time or extra money to fix the car right away. We were close enough to walk to our classes except for one class I had every Monday about twenty miles away in Lexington. I tried car pooling at first but got carsick on the winding, hilly roads. So for the next ten weeks I bicycled north of Lexington and back, about forty miles, every Monday. I had no idea how bicycling was about to change my life.

Then, in late-March, as I bicycled into Lexington, as Spring was beginning to burst into full color, I dreamed of bicycling home to Seattle for summer vacation. I hadn't been able to fix the car yet. Sandra and I had already talked about taking a Greyhound bus back to Seattle for the summer. I wondered if I could bicycle to Seattle on the amount I would have to pay for a bus ticket. When I asked Sandra what she thought about this idea she asked how long it would take. I told her twenty days. She said that might work since her classes lasted two weeks longer than mine. She could take the bus and meet me in Seattle about the time I arrived by bicycle. With my wife's support, I began to seriously pursue my dream.

My hopes suddenly were dashed. One Thursday, early in May, as I was leaving for class, I glanced over to where I had left my bicycle. What I saw left me in shock. The bicycle was gone! I made a futile search of town before giving up after searching for a couple of days. The previous Monday I had purchased a back rack and some blue panniers-saddlebags. All these had been on the bike and were lost too. I felt awful. I had planned to start the trip in three weeks but now I could not go forward.

My father had already expressed his opposition. After I wrote to say I had fixed the car but was planning to bicycle to Seattle, he said I must drive his car back to Seattle so my brother Ron could use it for the summer on his return from mission work in Africa. Dad’s car was a 1968 Rambler station wagon. Ironically, the model name was actually, "Cross Country Rebel."