Ed Youngblood, the former President of the American Motorcyclist Association (AMA), was asked to talk to his church congregation about, “motorcycling as his own spiritual experience.” He was hesitant at first, but then thought that this would be a wonderful opportunity to tell people about motorcycling, and from a pulpit. This is the basis of his sermon:

“Good morning. I’ve been riding a motorcycle for thirty-six years. When I was asked to describe motorcycling as a spiritual experience, it forced me to step back and consider why I ride. Here are some of the conclusions.

First, my motorcycle makes me feel better at many things that I don’t do well or with ease. For instance, I’m not a very outgoing person, but I find that I’m repeatedly approached by total strangers who want to talk to me about my motorcycle. It happens at service stations, rest stops, and restaurants. The questions they ask are often about the bike I ride, but I think what they are really asking me to describe are freedom, joy, and the excitement riding a motorcycle gives me.

Sometimes I try to do that, and we share something really important for a couple of minutes. We’re able to share those feelings, in part, because we know that we will never see each other again. Those can be some of life’s best relationships. So, in a way, my motorcycle creates community.

I’ve spent a lot of my life protecting humanity from my singing voice. But, when I’m riding along at 60 miles per hour, my face is totally hidden inside my full-coverage helmet, I can sing as long and as loud as I like. Usually I sing stuff about the road like, “This land is your land” or “Look down that long lonesome road.” Sometimes I sing, “Born to be wild.” I’ve sung until my ears hurt. I once sang across a whole state.

I’m not a good dancer, either. I’ve been told that when I dance, I look like a tippy toy with a flat spot. But on my bike, I can swing and sway and achieve beautiful movement limited only by gravity, inertia, and the friction of the road.

I have friends that often remind me of the terrible things that riding a motorcycle might do to my body. I’m not blind to this, but I weigh it against the amazing healing it can bring to my mind. Motorcycling keeps me sane for the same reason that it frightens others.

I firmly believe that our spirits will shrivel up, like old raisins, unless we willingly face risks in our lives. Each person must decide what their acceptable level of risk is. For some, it is riding motorcycles. For others, it is pushing a bid in a game of cards. But for each of us, it is terribly important and necessary to do things that will make life worth living.

I guess the main reason I love motorcycling, though, is I believe it puts me more directly in touch with miracles. I believe that we confront miracles every day, but we usually ignore them. For example, there is a mile long tunnel on Interstate 77 that is right on the Virginia/West Virginia state line. Once while traveling south, I entered this tunnel on a gray, cold and drizzly day in West Virginia. It was the kind of damp cold that soaks right through your skin and settles somewhere near the base of your spine. I took refuge in the warmth of the tunnel as I listened to my motor rumble against the walls. I focused on the spot of light ahead that marked my dreaded re-entry into the cold and damp world. When I burst out, the sun was shining. It was springtime in Virginia. If I had been in a car, I would have thought, “Oh, how nice, the sun is shining.” But I was on a motorcycle. I could FEEL the sunlight. I inhaled the perceptively warmer and drier air. I could smell a fresh aroma arising from the earth. At that moment, I learned what springtime FEELS like. It FELT like a miracle.

In closing my sermonette, I want to encourage those of you who drive cars to have compassion for us. Please don’t judge our insides by our outsides. We’re seeking the same things that you are: joy, satisfaction, discovery, serenity, salvation, peace and mindfulness. Some choose to seek it in places of worship, like this. Some of us also choose to seek it on the highway.

I don’t know if I could have said this any better, but for me, this is a part of my heart and my life. It sounds like this story came from the heart. It’s like the phrase I’ve seen and heard so many times before; ‘if you have to explain to those that don’t ride, no explanation is possible. If they have experienced the thrill of riding, no explanation is necessary.”

American Motorcyclist Magazine article.