Providence

*POW!*

As soon as we hit the beach, my bike tire exploded. Or rather, the inner tube did, and it sounded like a gunshot. Everyone around made a big hubbub about it, whether "that was awesome!" or "dang!" or whatever. Before we embarked on this journey i had inflated my tires (obviously to a pressure point that was a smidge too high) on my recently-stolen-back-stolen beach cruiser (also a good story, if you haven't heard it).


Beatus and i began riding at about 7:15 am from our departure point in front of Memorial. Earlier i had eaten a small breakfast consisting of one peach, and i offered another one to my Tanzanian friend, which he enjoyed before we really got going.. We cruised up Chapman Avenue, me in the lead and Beatus trailing not too far behind. Our heading: The Santa Ana River Trail.
Beatus was aiming north, but i wanted to ride south, which we soon did after a slight delay. Somehow i still managed to let him choose the wrong side of the river, and after a mile or so we were faced with a dead end and no easy way to get to the other side of the river. We sat on our steeds for a while contemplating what we ought to do, after which i decided we were going to carry our bike across the dry aqueduct and ride on. 'Twas a beautiful morning and great to be out. To my surprise, i didn't even feel tired after a late bedtime the night prior. The morning air, the relative quiet, and the path beneath my tires felt right as rain.

Since Beatus is a locally infamous marathon runner, i actually was slightly concerned that he was going to smoke me on the bike ride and i'd be struggling to catch up even though i be out of energy and also breath. (This i did during the Chapman 5k, which he graciously ran with me on for a stretch, encouraging me and generally being the excellent gent that he is.) Well, all my traversing of trail and town paid off and i was able to keep up really well and even lead a few times. Both of us had things to do later, which was one reason we chose the early departure time--that and we wanted to beat the heat which was sure to flair up later in the day. Perhaps partially because of this and partially because he had never done it before or was unaware that it was very possible, Beatus was skeptical at first of my big plans. We passed a few mile markers, which i declared immediately, trying to subtly show him how far we'd already come and how easy the journey would be. Ever since i found out about this trail i'd wanted to ride all the way down to the beach, and now i thought i wasn't going to be able before the move. After another mile and a half or so, it was clear we'd gone far to turn back now. We were going to the beach!

Along the way we chatted, i found out more about his many siblings in Tanzania, a little more about what he's studying at Chapman, what he plans to do, etc. and shared similarly about myself. Upon learning that Beatus grew up speaking Swahili, i endeavored to share with him the little Swahili that i knew:

Wange, wange, Yesu wange Wange, wange, Yesu wange Wange, wange, Yesu wange Yesu mwana wa katonda

Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Jesus is the Son of God

We crossed this bridge.
Apparently may song was very similar to the Swahili he grew up with, but not the same. He informed me that it should be "wangu" and indicated the other corrections once i told him what it meant in English. This was a song i had picked up, the tune of which some of my plenteous readers may recognize, and the dialect must be a combination of Swahili and a local Ugandan language. Much like India, i learned, Africa has hundreds, if not thousands of regional dialects, even varying from village to village, though often sharing a common bond with some language of greater influence (Swahili, French, Dutch, Afrikaans, German, English, Arabic, etc.) Beatus then proceeded to inform me that i knew more Swahili than i realized:
"Hakuna Matata is perfect Swahili" he crooned.
"Does it really mean 'No worries'?" i asked.
Yes it does! He added that Rafiki means friend and Simba means lion. Pumbaa means chaff, as in when threshing grain.
We kept riding along, passed some folks and got passed by other folks (the speedy, spandex-clad serious cyclist kind). Overjoyed i spotted a flock of Canadian geese in the sky. The ride was phenomenal! After taking it all in and thinking on it and breathing it deeply, i let out a huge "woooohoooo!"
"Man! I though we were at the beach or something!" my friend offered back to me.
"The cool thing about riding on the trail" i said, "is that there are so many parks and pleasant little hidden places you never would see from the road, and there are no stop signs. Further north there's a lot more water, and so a lot of cranes or herons or whatever end up congregating up there. The water brings a lot more wildlife. Right here it's kind of boring."

There i go being melodramatic again.

12, 11.5, 11, 10.5, 10, 9.5, 9, 8.5, 8, 7.5, 7, 6.5, 6, 5.5, 5, 4.5, 4, 3.5, 3, 2.5, 2, 1.5, 1, .5, 0.0, BEACH!

*POW!*

The joy was already bursting forth from my face from the exhilaration from the ride and i had no inclination whatsoever to be even slightly annoyed. Again, i was overjoyed! As my front tire wobbled awkward from the blast, i laughed and laughed, leaned back in the seat and guided the bike to a stop between smiles and guffaws. Letting the bike slip to the ground i continued to hoot and holler and then looked back at Beatus which just made us both laugh even more.

My first rational thought was "Hey, i've got my wallet and cell phone, so at least i can call someone to pick me up, or maybe find a bike shop close by and get the tire fixed." This information is what i share with Beatus as we head toward the beach to enjoy the fresh air and a little relaxation after our ride and before trying to take care of the tire. A few surfers with fresh sunscreen still white on their faces walk by and say, "Wow, dude, that tire blast sounded like a gunshot!"
"Yeah, it was pretty loud."
"Did you just pump it up or something?"
"Yeah when we started our ride back in Orange."
"You guys came from Orange?!?!" (look of disbelief bordering on shock).
"Yep. Do you guys know if there's a bike shop near here?"
"Yeah, there's one just up PCH on the left at the light, they should be able to fix you up there."
"Sweet, thanks a lot."
We continue and i proceed to lock up our bikes and go over the plan in my head. It vaguely occurs to me that i ought to cover the situation in prayer, though i'm still forming this thought and haven't quite locked up the bikes when a guy in a helmet and biking attire walks up and asks, "Hey, are you the one whose tire just exploded?"
"Yeah, that was me."
"Because I have an extra tube if you want it."
"Well yes!"
"What size is it, do you know?"
"Not sure. Standard size?"
"Alright we'll give it a try."
He inspects the front tire only to find no quickrelease axle. "Oh, I'm not sure if I have a wrench for that. Do you?"
"No, i don't have anything, sorry."
"Alright let's have a look."

Turns out this guy had one wrench in his pouch, which happened to be the exact size we needed to remove my front wheel! Within minutes he had the old tube out, the new tube on, and was vigorously pumping my tire up again with his portable hand pump. His wife, and their son and daughter looked on. "Yeah, this happened to us once. All I ask is that you return the favor to someone else sometime. We used to bike all the time before the kids got too big for the trailer."
"And now it's a family outing!" i happily observe.
"Just a little blessing for you from the Lord this morning," his wife tells me.

Finally locking up the bikes and going to breathe in the fresh ocean air and look out into the crisp morning, i ask Beatus if he believes in God. "Yes, I believe in God." His lack of further response and general body language indicate that he might be uncomfortable about the subject. Instead of press the issue i ask, "Does 'Nala' mean anything in Swahili?"
"No."
"Serabi?"
"No."
"Any of the others?"
"No, they're just names. Like what does 'Michael' mean? They're just names."
"Actually, Michael mean something, but i get your point." (thanks to the internet I find that Michael means "Who is like God?").

He asks me what my name means.
"i'm not sure," i respond, which is true since i'd forgotten. "At home i have a magnet which says what it means, but i forget. It's Hebrew anyway. You know Moses in the Bible?"
"Yeah."
"Well after the burning bush and all that, God appointed Aaron, Moses' brother, to speak for him, since Moses was afraid to speak in public on God's behalf."
He remembered.
"What does 'Beatus' mean?"
"If you read the Gospel of...John? No. Luke, Matthew, and Mark, you read about the beatitudes. It means 'blessed one.' "
"Oh yeah, blessed be..."

On the way home we saw large blue heron perched on a chainlink fence. At nearly every mile or half-mile marker Beatus declares in his Tanzanian accent, partially in jest too, "We are kicking ass!" It was true, at least 26 miles and about 3 hours later we arrived back in Orange. With ample time for me to eat breakfast and get to rehearsal at 11:00.
Yet again i see proof upon proof that God is faithful.