Mom's Memorial Ride, 2011

Different....this time...
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I will have to do this in two parts I think. The first part will about the ride itself.

As you know, it's not the destination but the journey that people tend to agree as the important part of life. I also believe.

This journey, different than the past three, did have quite the destination. But that will come later.

Riding along, leaving out as usual before daylight, barely, the usual. Watching the sun come up from anywhere I've been in Oklahoma has almost always been fabulous. It had been cool, cool enough to stop me from my desire to go to Canada this year. I had made my mind up to head south and west. To Tuscan, Arizona.

But then my mind was changed again and I ended up heading due east toward Washington, D.C. Anyway, it is always a pleasure riding out through eastern Oklahoma. The cool morning air with the sun inching up almost seems routine after living here for seven years. Typical spring morning.

Once again cruising through Arkansas, still with the rolling hills and the cool air. Seems like I say the same things over and over, but really, this is a great part of the country to ride a motorcycle. The scenery and the people, as long as you miss the spring and summer storms which had recently been deadly. Almost to the point where I cancelled my trip. Deadly storms that barely missed us, that destroyed lives all to the south and to the north of us. Then continuing east across the country, you bet, I was close to taking a pass on the whole thing.

Then I find that at my destination, it was said there would be storms each day for the weekend I would be there. I was urged to forgo the trip and hang with the guys, work the weekend, go...next...time.

There was the issue of my beloved Patriot Guard Riders. There were no less than three funerals coming up, local, VietNam Vets. Special to me.

I was distracted. Some would say, "Someone is trying to tell you not to go." But then others, "Someone is testing your resolve."

But I did go and as I rode up on the second leg of my journey through those hills leaving Nashville and continued up, up from Crossville towards Knoxville. And pushed further up into eastern Tennessee and into Virginia, I realized how long it had been since I had been here. I found myself looking ahead and saying to myself, if I was in Oklahoma I would be noticing that it was raining up there and moving closer. Then it hit me that what I was looking at, the reason for these hills being named as such, was the morning fog, mist....smoke. After last evenings rain, the heavy morning mist was rising ever so slowly up those hills. There were points where the ever loyal sun seemed to be trying to get under the fog, trying to get those clouds to rise up from their slumber. They lay sleepily atop those old pines and oaks and rocks and were in no hurry to wake up just now. These hills are old and slow to wake. There were spots where the sun was winning, actually getting in between the hills and the clouds, shining and pushing, get up, get up, it's time for a new day. I too felt the lack of ambition, even though I had had a long day yesterday and was in for a long day today, I was soaking in all those Smoky Mountains and their splendor. It is there where man had come, with machine and explosives to brutally carve a path for others to pass smoothly. And it was there that nature had been slowly, almost imperceptibly, been making a comeback. Where those rocks had been blown away, in a fashion making large steps, back into the mountain, the tops of those steps had caught small trees and other foliage. Taking back what was lost. Everyone should make that trip some time. See the old man, see, hear, smell, feel, taste all he has to offer. I'm feeling mom liked it here too.

The trip back was just as fine. Riding highway 50 from Washington, D.C. west into Virginia, you pass through many small villages, not towns, villages. Old, colonial villages. With the huge houses and golf course looking lawns stretching across the acres. The old trees, standing guard since before the British were escorted to the shore. Once again, everyone should do this, see this.

One of those side glance situations, I did get the glimpse of a roadside cross, our mother taking over. With no one to keep it clear, some type of vine was covering it up. Like she had taken over care, wrapping green arms around it.

This years journey was different. No time constraint here, but still, me and the elements and a long trip. Plenty of us time. Me and mom and the 17 names on my back.