Of Hondas, Harleys and Heaven
Gene Owens - Apr 16, 2010

I dubbed James Lutzweiler "the Jamestown Jackass" because he is constantly braying at me from his home in Jamestown. He has recently begun styling himself "St. Jimbow" in his e-mails, but I think Jamestown Jackass fits him better, even though he is the archivist and rare book collector at Southeastern Baptist Seminary in Wake Forest (Do Baptists have saints these days?).

However, to humor his sensitive soul, I shall give him a hybrid nickname, St. Jackass, and for public consumption shall clean it up to "St. Jack."

St. Jack has a peculiar habit of traveling the interstates in his vinyl-roofed Lincoln and occasionally dropping by my hometown for lunch, at which point we see which of us can mooch a meal off the other. Sometimes, to make sure his arrival coincides with the lunch hour, he will stop off at a state park on the Georgia side of Lake Hartwell and entertain himself by picking and singing. I can imagine the bikers firing up their hogs when they hear his baritone singing, "She's Riding Her Honda in Heaven. 

As every motorcycle enthusiast knows, Harley bikers affectionately call their rides "hogs," and the only kind of heaven a biker understands is Hog Heaven. It's where Hell's Angels go after they've roared their last on earthy highways.

It's also where Jimmy Carter's sister Gloria expected to go when she rode her Harley into the sunset.

St. Jack discovered Gloria's tombstone while searching for the grave of his hero, Billy Carter. I figured only a jackass would pick Billy Carter for a hero, but St. Jack quoted from a letter he received from the former president: "Billy was the smartest, best-read and most interesting member of our family."

"I had gone to Plains to go to Jimmy's Sunday School class," St. Jack told me. "After class, I headed out to the local cemetery, where Jimmy's parents are buried. I had forgotten that he had two sisters, and was specifically looking for his brother Billy's marker. ... While looking for it, I came across the marker for Jimmy's sister Gloria. Her epitaph read, 'She's riding in Harley Heaven.'"

A few weeks later, St. Jack was in Texas visiting his sister Esther, who is also a biker. She told him her biker chums were planning a campout and she asked him to bring his guitar and sing some songs. He promised not only to sing a donkey serenade, but also to write one especially for the occasion. 

"Most of these people ride Hondas," Esther protested. "Could you put her on a Honda instead"

Now, in all honesty, I must tell you that a Honda is not redneck transportation. If you're into four-wheelers, you're going to drive an F-150, a Silverado, a GMC or a Dodge Ram. If you're a biker, you're going to ride a Harley or, if you're into nostalgia, the newly resuscitated Indian, now entering the warpath from Kings Mountain.

Wishing to win the favor of his doting sister, St. Jack edited Gloria's epitaph, swapped the Harley Road King for the Honda Gold Wing, and came out with "She's Riding Her Honda in Heaven." 

But he's anything but dogmatic about it. If you put him in with a bunch of Harley riders in the process of draining a keg of Bud, he'll gladly switch back to "She's Riding Her Harley in Heaven," though he won't drink from the keg. St. Jack prefers Baptist beer, which others refer to as lemonade, or maybe he drinks Baptist wine, otherwise known as sweet tea.

No amount of prose magic can convey via newsprint the full experience of the Jackass' braying out his redneck song. But for the record, here's how the chorus goes: 

"He's no mediocre Messiah; and if someone says Jesus rides Harleys, you know he's a devil-damned liah."

I'll let my friend deal with the ire of Harley enthusiasts and deal with the cries of "blasphemy!" from the choir loft. The question is, "What does the 39th president think about it?"

The prez from Plains laid down his Habitat for Humanity hammer long enough to dash off a note to St. Jack after the jackass had sent him a copy of his lyric.

"Thanks for the poem and lyrics," he said. "My sister may have preferred a Harley in hell than to be seen sitting on a Honda anywhere else."

After Lutz sent him a recording of the song, Carter softened just a little.

"Jimmy L, it's a great song," he wrote. "I played it low so Gloria wouldn't hear it out in the cemetery. I don't want her to envision Jesus on a Japanese motorcycle."

As I recall, Jesus, while on earth, preferred to ride into town on a humble ass.

Gene Owens can be reached at Swampscum2@aol.com