In aviation terms, the phrase "point of no return" refers to the situation in which a pilot has flown past the point where they no longer have the fuel to turn back around and return to their point of origin.  They have committed to their "flight plan" and therefore must proceed on their course.

I recently had the (mis)fortune of running out of fuel on my journey back home to spend Easter Sunday with my family.  This year, I decided to attend the sunrise Easter service in Austin before heading back to Dallas.  I normally make plans to include scheduled stops along the 200 mile stretch of highway in order to combat fatigue and re-fuel my motorcycle; however, this time I decided to push my luck as I raced home to see my loved ones.  In my haste, I chose the allure of exhilarating speed and agility over the prudence of heeding my fuel gauge (which I dismissed as unreliable).  In the past, I was able to average more miles per tank than my odometer currently read, which convinced me that I could easily coast to my intended rest stop.  Having traversed this highway many times, I somehow neglected to include the reduced fuel efficiency into my calculations when accelerating at higher speeds.  This translated into me running out of fuel nearly 2 miles from the closest gas station.

At first I noticed a slight sputter in my acceleration as I gunned the throttle through one of the twists in the road.  Then I thought it wiser for me to move over to the slower lane in order to access the safe harbor of the highway's shoulder.  Sure enough, the engine cut off as I had just enough residual speed to coast into a crook in the highway before my motorcycle came to a complete stop.  After a few attempts to turn the engine over, I accepted that I was out of fuel and was stranded by the side of the road.

I parked the bike as far from the speeding traffic as I could move it, and began walking along the frontage road towards what I hoped was a nearby gas station.  It was here that an older couple in a pick-up truck spotted me walking in full riding attire (my helmet in hand) and offered me a lift to the nearest station.  The driver was an older man proudly wearing a war veterans hat, his co-pilot was his wife, both of whom must have been in their 70's.  I gratefully accepted their gracious invitation and within 5 minutes was delivered to the fuel station that I was hoping to reach on my bike.  I thanked them for their compassion, shook the driver's hand and watched them carry on their way.

At the gas station the clerk guided me to a ridiculously over priced fuel can that struck me as a potential deal breaker in that it was too bulky to ride with (or discard appropriately) after I used it to re-fuel my bike.  Instead, I noticed a gallon jug of water for sale made of "high density polyurethane", which after a quick investigation on my smart phone determined that it could be used to transport gasoline.  I opted for the much smaller, more cost effective, and most reasonable solution by purchasing the gallon, pouring out the water, and filling the empty container with fuel.  I decided to walk back to my abandoned bike, which I sometimes refer to as "The Grey Ghost" [a Batman reference].  I watched as the endless parade of highway traffic whizzed by me and thought how foolish I was to speed through it before as if I were losing precious time.  The irony of having to walk through fields of grass, glass, and trash strewn about served to imbue me with humility.  I felt like the rabbit who lost the race against the tortoise.

I was a man who chased the thrill of speed and took great pleasure in cheating death, but it was only after having to slow down that I could appreciate the moment, which allowed Grace to be present in my life, so that I was able to see the beauty all around me.

I returned back to my faithful riding companion and poured the precious "life-giving" fuel into the tank and like that, "the Ghost" was resurrected on Easter Sunday.

Amazing Grace

Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved.
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares
I have already come,
'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

When we've been there ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we've first begun.

The smell of burning rubber always makes me a little nervous while riding.  I've changed flat tires on a car many times.  A flat tire on a bike is a completely different story.  When you ride, there are basic safety checks one learns to take before heading out on the road and tire pressure is one of them.

After pulling into Dallas from my 200 mile ride, I noticed the center of the tire had worn down to the steel belt.  I remember smelling burnt tire while aggressively accelerating to get on the highway in Waco, TX.  The previous owner had only 3400 miles of tire wear on the bike in 3 years until I put another 3400 miles in 3 months.  These tires were being truly ridden for the first time and needed attention.

When I called a few dealerships to inquire about the replacement costs, I was quoted high prices and long wait times (no surprises there).  I decided to call a few local Motorcycle Gear shops and ask for mechanic referrals.  I was referred to a mobile tire (all service) mechanic who was polite, less expensive, and showed up the next day before noon.  I was amazed at how professional he was.  I learned how to work on my bike and gained new insight into the passion of riding motorcycles.