When God rode a Harley

April 3, 2006

By Richard Rilea

It was a sunny California Saturday the first of May 2004, when my wife, Melba, and I joined several members of our local Christian Motorcyclist Association for our annual “Run for the Son” ride.

We enjoyed a picnic at a lake, and then our 30-motorcycle party broke up into smaller groups, said our goodbyes, and headed for home. Due to the warm weather, most of us removed our leathers to ride in our shirtsleeves. Two friends, Bertie and Bob, each on their own motorcycles, rode ahead of Melba and me.

Highway 128 from Calistoga toward Geyserville is scenic and winding. Melba and I were riding along without a care in the world when something went terribly wrong. Our rear tire lost traction. I could see several cars heading toward us in the oncoming lane. I knew we would slide directly into their path.

Melba’s helmet had a face shield that could be flipped up to let the air flow in. She had been riding with the shield up. Just a second before we hit the pavement, she flipped the shield down in front of her face. As we slid across the centerline toward an oncoming Chrysler, Melba’s face shield ground heavily on the asphalt creating deep furrows in the thick plastic.

On impact with the front end of the Chrysler, we were tossed like rag dolls. I found myself lying on my back in the middle of the highway. Melba lay just within reach to my left. I began assessing our condition. I asked Melba how she was.

“I’m OK,” she said.

I felt pain and a large lump on my left thigh.

“My left leg is badly broken,” I said, “but I think I’m OK.”

Bertie pulled her Yamaha to the side of the road and ran back to see how badly we were hurt. She grabbed her cell phone and called 911 for an ambulance. We lay on asphalt heated by the afternoon sun, looking up at the trees that line the highway. Traffic was completely stopped in both directions. One young woman, a nurse, took charge, barking orders like an army sergeant.

Another young woman walked up and asked if she could pray for us. “Please do!” I responded. She knelt in the middle of the hot highway, laid her hands on us and prayed. God was there.

An older gentleman introduced himself as a medical doctor from another state. He asked permission to examine me. It was evident that my left femur was badly broken. He assured me he would stay right beside me until the paramedics arrived. He said he didn’t want them to further damage the leg by mishandling it.

After what seemed like an eternity, I saw a helicopter circling above the trees. I was told it was a Highway Patrol copter. I was loaded onto the helicopter for a short ride to the Napa hospital. Melba was placed in an ambulance and transported to the same hospital.

X-rays revealed I had broken one of the two small bones below the left knee, cracked the kneecap, and virtually exploded a section of the femur about three to four inches in length above the knee. My leg was terribly swollen. Surgery was eminent.

I was transported to another hospital for surgery. The break in the lower leg was relatively insignificant. The cracked kneecap required a screw or two to pull it back together. But the surgeon discovered more than 100 pieces of femur scattered in my leg. He anchored a 9-inch piece of stainless steel alongside the femur.

Melba’s X-rays and examination revealed no broken bones. She had sustained a concussion as well as ligament damage to her right knee. She, too, was transported to the other hospital, where she spent one night in the bed adjacent to mine.

I was sent home after a week. But I still needed round-the-clock care. Our three grown children, Rick, Lynda and Lauri, stepped up to the challenge. Preaching was out of the question for several weeks. Thank God for our wonderful youth/associate pastor affectionately called Pastor “K.”

Since the accident I have returned to the hospital for a bone graft. When able to return to preaching, my first sermons were preached from a wheelchair. I graduated to a stationary chair, and became quite capable on crutches.

Melba and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was with us that fateful day. He had Christians surrounding us there on the highway, as well as an abundance of medical personnel. Clearly, God had set the stage.

No one will ever convince me that God did not know the accident would happen. While we were at District Council in Sacramento about two weeks prior to the accident, our youngest daughter, Lauri (a pastor’s wife), felt strongly compelled of the Holy Spirit to pray that God would “preserve our lives.” She communicated this to Rick and Lynda who joined her in prayer.

On that day just before the accident, our daughter-in-law, Nicole, felt compelled to pray for us in the Spirit. Rick had gone for a walk, and he felt led to pray in the Spirit for our safety.

I have a greater appreciation for life than ever before. I have a greater appreciation for those parts of my body that still work effortlessly. I believe I have a stronger anointing upon my ministry today than I had prior to the accident.

I also believe that I have learned some things through this painful experience that I may not have learned any other way.

Friends come in all shapes, sizes and religious backgrounds. (Some are even unbelievers.) God is far more faithful to us than we ever imagine He could be. Romans 8:28 is more than a wonderful verse to quote to others in difficult times. At least once, Almighty God chose to ride a metallic green Harley Davidson with two of His beloved children.

Richard E. Rilea pastors Parkside Christian Chapel (AG) in Cloverdale, Calif.