Miraculous serendipity is the best way I can describe my first encounter with Bone Jesus. Does that sounds blasphemous? Remain calm, read on.

Thanks to Mother Mary Catherine and her frequent, ruler-to-the-knuckles education, I survived catechism long enough to be “confirmed.” I have a clear understanding of the history of Christianity and occasionally refer back to biblical tales, as a comparison to the world we now live in. In the past two thousand and twenty-four years, a lot has changed, but certain things remain the same.

Short of Moses and his two tablets, there was no form of mass communication two centuries ago. Everything was “word of mouth.” Nothing was widely known unless it was of huge significance to the general population. Given the long distances between inhabitants and different languages, it is amazing that Jesus Christ ever became widely known. The only rational explanation is that he and his teachings were so life-changing that people felt compelled to share their stories with others.

Such is the case of my first encounter with “Bone Jesus.” I refer to it as an encounter because that is what you call it when you come into contact with something that is so alien that you can’t wrap your mind around it. After almost seven decades on this planet, there are a few things I consider “constants”. The things you accept will always remain as they have always been. Sunrises, sunsets, good times, bad times, love of family, love of country and in my case, nagging back pain. I was diagnosed with a spinal condition called spondylolisthesis when I was 13. My L5 vertebrae (very low back) was not where it should be. It slid forward on my sacrum (upper hip area) and that was not how the spine was designed to fit together. The misalignment caused me a considerable amount of pain. The kind of pain that never really goes away, so you just learn to manage it and live with it. I have sucked it up most of my life and just been thankful that I could still ride and race motorcycles. Mowing the lawn, putting up Christmas decorations, and going to the mall with the Mrs. were much more excruciating than a 20-minute moto… or at least that was my story. That’s life… or so I thought.

I had been trying to schedule an interview with Barry Van Dyke for over a year and we finally we set a time and location. We were going to meet on Friday at a famous motorcycle destination near LA called the Rock Store. It is a historic haunt that is frequented by Jay Leno, Keanu Reeves, Ewan McGregor and many more Hollywood A-list riders. It is a casual environment with a cool vibe, not to mention a great place for photographs, so we were all set.

That was until the Sunday before. I woke up with a weird backache. I was fine when I went to bed but no bueno when I woke up. Sometimes that’s just the way temperamental backs can be. I pressed on with the day and the endless honey-do list left next to the coffee maker. The pain was tolerable but ever-present.

Monday came and it was substantially worse. I was racking my brain on what I could have done to cause it, but nothing came to mind.

Tuesday was off the chart pain. Both my lats (those are back muscles by the way) would spasm every time I would even raise my arm. Standing up after sitting for any appreciable amount of time would induce animalistic-sounding profanity that was heard two blocks away. I tried desperately to get a chiropractor appointment, to no avail.

Wednesday was more of the same, but I finally got a “Back Cracker” appointment. “Thank God”, I thought. I couldn’t take much more of this. The Doctor requested X rays from my last hospital visit which I thought would helpful. It wasn’t. He took one look at the images and said he had never seen an L5 that displaced and refused to treat me. He said, “The best I can do is give you some electromagnetic therapy that will cost $90 for 9 minutes.” I was ready for anything that would help with the pain. They hooked me up to the machine and asked how it felt. They assured me that it was set at the level that worked for most patients. I asked them if they had a 220-volt version. They chuckled. I didn’t. Tingle therapy was not for me.

Thursday, I got lucky to see a Chiro Doc who actually rode dirt bikes. So, I was sure this nightmare would be over soon. I get to the office, climb painfully onto the table, where he breaks the news that he is a trials rider. A trials rider! Those are the guys that Bruce Brown called “the violin players of the motorcycle world”. I needed a lead guitarist from a big hair band, not a fiddle player! He didn’t like the look of my scans either, so he gave me a back brace that looked more like a hospital-issued kidney belt. It did little for my back pain but did wonders for my hour-glass figure.

Friday rolled around and I could barely get out of bed. There was no way in hell I was going to miss this opportunity to sit down with Barry Van Dyke, the actor, racer and patriot. I strapped on my “guy girdle” and headed down the highway to pick up photo-journalist David Dewhurst. Off to the Rock Store we went. I swear I felt every expansion joint of the 15 freeway as we struggled through morning rush hour traffic. I was cursing the whole idea of it being “rush hour” when we were only averaging 3.2 miles per hour. LA traffic is dreadful around the clock but this day it was severely testing my pain and patience threshold.

What seemed like a re-enactment of The Bataan Death March from WWII, finally ended with our arrival at the famed Rock Store. In uncharacteristic Hollywood style, Barry Van Dyke was early, not late. What was supposed to be an hour-and-a-half interview quickly grew to over four hours. The stories and laughter were rolling and there was no reason to cut it short. The Rock Store had a steady stream of riders rolling in, hanging out and leaving. It was a great vibe. All was good until I went from sitting to standing. It was a MF-er moment… I had no way to hide.

I had brought along a vintage Triumph to ride with Barry for photos but quickly decided that wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t think I could kick start it, much less ride it, so it was going to stay in the truck.

In the process of saying our goodbyes, I heard someone on the periphery say, “ You look pretty stiff.” I pulled up my shirt and showed him my “gut girdle” and nodded my head. He said, “Do you want me to take a look at you?” I had heard Barry call him Doc Bob earlier in the day, so I said, “Sure, thanks.”

He told me to take off that back brace and sit down on the picnic table. I did. He asked me to describe the areas of pain and the level of pain. I did that too. He had me cross my right hand to my left shoulder and then hold my left hand straight out. He instructed me to resist him pushing my left hand down. I did. He took his index finger and prodded areas on my chest until he found a spot that caused weakness in my outstretched arm. He did the same thing with my right arm, after which he asked me to arch my back and lean forward. I did. He then proceeded to give me about 30 seconds of very small karate chops up and down my upper spine. When I say small, I mean like a midget Bruce Lee. So light that I was skeptical the treatment would have any benefit. I was used to the snap, crackle, pop approach. This was the opposite in every sense.

He asked me to stand up and I did, without thinking about it. He asked me how it felt. For a brief second I had forgotten how much simply standing up caused me pain. I forgot because I had no pain. No residual aching. No nothing! I was amazed, confused, in disbelief, but most importantly, I was in complete relief. All in a matter of a couple minutes. I said, “What did you just do?” He replied, “We aren’t done.” Let’s check your neck pain and range of motion. I sat back down, and he had me close my eyes and lean my head back. He prodded various areas on my neck and upper shoulders for maybe 30 seconds, then said, “See how that feels.” Pain was gone and full range of motion restored. I wasn’t sure I could be more impressed, but I was.

He said we need to address your leg pain and stiffness as well. He had me put my right foot on the picnic table bench and take a deep breath. He then prodded areas under my rib cage on the same side. He asked me to walk and tell him what I felt. I took a few steps and said, “It feels like my leg is five pounds lighter.” Unsurprised, he said, Now we need to do the left side.” Same drill, same result. Five pounds off my left leg. I was wondering if he could work that Voodoo on my gut but was too overwhelmed to be a smart ass.

All I could think to say was “Who the hell are you and what did you just do to me? I have been in pain for almost a week and in less than 5 minutes you removed the pain. It is literally gone. I have never experienced anything like that. I am so glad there are witnesses.”

He smiled a smile of satisfaction. The kind that only comes from being amazingly good at your craft and good with people. He said “I was a Doctor (unofficially) for AMA Pro racing for many years, so I know how motorcycle guys can hurt themselves. My name is…

Stay tuned for Bone Jesus Part 2.