To Catch a Motorcycle Thief

Back in the early 1990s, I went with a group of Canaan Land students and a few other guys to Daytona Bike Week, which is one of the largest gatherings of bikers in the country. I rode down on my favorite Harley. While we were there, I let one of the friends who had come down with us borrow my bike, and I used another one.
At these kinds of events, there are thousands of bikes, and there are also groups of thieves that ride around in vans, looking for people who don’t lock up their motorcycles. They take the unlocked bikes and put them in the van. Then the van goes up the interstate about 60 or 70 miles, to a spot where there is a big tractor trailer waiting. They load the bikes into it, take them apart, and sell the parts at swap meets. Sometimes they’ll take a bike up north, put new VIN numbers on the frame and engine, and either use it themselves or sell it up there. Generally, once the bike is taken, it’s gone, and you don’t ever hear about it again.
Well, we went in to eat dinner one night, and those people rolled up in a van while we were eating and not paying attention. Too Tall, the guy I had let borrow my bike, hadn’t locked it, and it got stolen while we were inside.
We came back to Alabama, and I pretty well knew what had happened to that bike. Anyone else who knew anything about the biker world knew what had happened to it, too, and was laughing, saying, “That bike is gone forever.” But then . . . the favor of God entered the picture.
When you know that God loves you, and you have found His favor by serving Him with all your heart, amazing things happen. Eight months after our trip, I got a call from a detective down in Daytona Beach, Florida. He asked if I owned such and such a motorcycle and had reported it stolen eight months earlier.
I told him, “Yes sir.”
He said, “Well, we have your motorcycle.” My jaw dropped open, and you can imagine the surprise on my face. I realized that the favor of God had once again come in my life in a huge way.
The detective said they had pulled over a man riding my bike out on the interstate. Florida is a helmet law state, and he wasn’t wearing a helmet. When they pulled him over and went through the motorcycle, they found a helmet in the saddle bag. Because he wasn’t wearing it, they ran the VIN number, and it matched my bike.
The detective told me I was free to come get it anytime I wanted to. So I went back to Daytona Beach with my son, Joshua, and a Canaan Land student we called “Bull,” and sure enough, there was my motorcycle—my Harley Davidson, one of my favorite bikes in the entire world—and it was basically untouched. The guy had left it sitting outside, and some rust was getting on it, but it didn’t take much to knock the rust off—and then there it was, good as new. Once again, the favor of God showed up and showed out in Mac Gober’s life.

-Autaugaville, Alabama

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