That's what Cats mom used to say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So we decided to take a walk. Down to the post office, on down the street to the corner. Crossed the road, went into the bank. Back up the road into the "bling" store and as we started to enter another shop and do some more local yakking....I saw him. A solitary soul standing under the canopy, behind the hearse, holding a flag. ?????
I told him I checked the web often and had seen nothing, but "you see the backend of that silver sporttrac there? I just live right there, be right back." And that's what I did. Went and got the bike and a few other things, sunblock, bottle of water and back to the funeral home. A PGR ride in my own town and I knew nothing of it.
He says his wife had gone back to their house to pick up a few things and would be back soon. It was a last minute posting and he was a new ride captain and wished for some others to show and for a little experience to show and things would be fine.
Never happened, oh his wife did come back.
So it was us three. So be it. Airman First Class James Leo Stowers would get the sendoff his family desired.
It was a little different, as usual. Three bikes followed by a hearse. Heading through the Oklahoma countryside out toward the National Cemetery on Mr. Stowers' last ride. Four ways flashing. No law enforcement, no long procession, just us. It's just what the family ordered. New ride captain up front with that big flag whipping in the wind, might as well been a hundred of us.
We did what we do at the cemetery. Stood quietly in our short flag line as our hero was honored for his service both in and out of the military. Our new captain went about the business of making the presentation in the behalf of the Patriot Guard Riders and did a fine job, especially for a first time.
Once it was all said and done, the preacher said it was concluded and all could visit with the family, we were about to excuse ourselves when this little girl, hair of gold and small bottom lip protruded, walked up to that beautiful spray of eye-popping red roses and plucked one and walked over to reach high up and lay it on top of that casket, thus truly concluding the service with her last goodbye to her paw paw.
We walked away from the family and went over to the bikes to chat a bit before we went our separate ways. The hero's daughter walked up and took my hand and told us how much he would have appreciated what we had done and while she was talking, that little girl walked up behind my motorcycle. She never said anything, just stood there with her mom and looked up with those sad little eyes wrapped with that sweet cherubic face. Made me realize that I will continue to do this as long as I can.
As I was looking at that adorable child, her mom mentioned that she needed a ride to Rush Springs. The moment was broken when I told mom, "I'll drop her off at the post office." And that little girl threw up her hands and made a sound that told me it WAS NOT GONNA HAPPEN !
Always different, always the same.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Mom's Memorial, 2011, part 2
The destination...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As I said, I was set to head toward Canada, then with the weather staying cool, hmm, maybe Tuscan, Az. But then, once again I was hit with the images. The ones of SSgt. Tim Chambers. Standing at attention, for hours. Saluting almost a half million bikes, veterans, adoring associates. It was time, it IS the year.
As usual, no money for such a trip. This time there would be motels involved. Before there was only gas and of course a bit of TLC for the bike pre-trip. I have slept in the iron butt motel, last year. Quaint, but not somewhere you'd want to spend a week or so. I ended up with 70 hours overtime in a two week period. Not that much money after taxes, but lets go.
A few items of note. I was at the corner of 23rd Street and Constitution Avenue at a place called Thunder Alley. I was talking to a gentleman and mentioned that I had heard that as many as 4,000 bikes were expected to show for the 24th Annual Rolling Thunder Demonstration supporting our many POW/MIA soldiers. He laughed and said, "that is 400,000 give or take."
The next morning at five am, I got up and headed for the pre-staging area I was told I could meet some others at by 6 am. I rode in closer to 6:30 and as I rode in I was going to mention that maybe I would need to gas up before the big show and before I could say a word, this guys shouts, "two minutes!" man...
We started up and I have no idea how many there were of us, in that parking lot across from the Holiday Inn, 1,000 or so maybe.
We followed the motions through streets onto the highway and back through the streets, of those road captains. Parked alongside the roadway, waving us on. Several places there were Law Officers, standing and saluting as we rode by. Before seven am on a Sunday morning and there were people in groups here and there, waving flags and saluting and cheering as we were joined along the way by others, headed to our official staging area. When the road opened up, in we rode into the largest parking lot I had ever seen. I didn't know it at the time, but it is the parking lot for the Pentagon, the biggest building I have ever seen. From the ground, you couldn't tell what it was, just a huge, huge building.
Again, following the motions of the road captains, we streamed in. When the bike in front of you stopped, so did you and at once there were bikes moving in line next to you. If you needed gas, you had an issue. Within minutes I was buried in motorcycles. Row after row, a multitude of bikes, people and still they came.
I did manage to talk to someone about my issue, there were people that kept us going. A few bikes back, they almost tore down this man's bike. Had pieces on the asphalt all around. Never saw them, when I looked back, the bike was together and running. Well...cross your fingers.
I did walk up onto a hill and when I looked back....it was a sea of motorcycles. Bikes, trikes. Some with trailers behind, some with sidecars, all with people. All these people, here for one reason and one reason only. I was told that the estimate this year was 430,000. I was also told that the most violent city in the country had a distinct drop in crime while all those people were there.
It was almost noon, we had been there about 4 to 5 hours, drinking our water, eating, buying, taking pics, getting to know each other, when those four jets came over. Flying low in formation, fast, loud and cool. Someone yelled, "5 minutes!" When the first rows started, we could only get anxious and watch as they rolled out. Row by row, as they came in they went out. Recently affixed flags furling against the wind. The sound as more and more bikes came to life and moved out of the staging area into the streets of our beloved nations capital. As we went out, the shouts went up. The spectators also came to life. Waving flags and slapping hands and whistling and shouting and saluting. We crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge and the Potomac River, wound around to Constitution Avenue, pass the Lincoln Memorial and there he is. The Lone Marine, a big reason for coming, Marine Staff Sargent Tim Chambers. Full dress, in the heat, saluting every bike that comes by. Standing at attention, holding that salute for up to 4 hours.
They asked how it feels to ride by this man, honoring those who show up to spend their time and money to help search for those forgotten, those left behind in our wars. Those that didn't make it home.
Well...the way I see it.... I'm thinking...maybe it's like going to Vatican Square. Twenty-third and Constitution. There are people crying, some are shouting, some are speachless. They salute back, they rev those loud engines, blow their horns. It's not just a man, the Pope, the Marine. It is what he represents. Sure he takes his time and spends it on us. But in honoring us with his blessing, salute, even though I feel very undeserving of it, he also is providing a monumental lesson in humility. Thus producing an extremely spiritual and emotional moment that I can't wait to experience again.
Once passed, we turn right and move along beyond thousands of others, there to honor and support...us... as we support those who can't speak for themselves.
I was glad I could share that moment with my mom and with those whose names are sewn onto the back of my denim jacket and I hope they somehow realized that we had done this together.
Oh and by the way, somehow, I made that entire route with that gas light shining. Hmm... I wonder?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As I said, I was set to head toward Canada, then with the weather staying cool, hmm, maybe Tuscan, Az. But then, once again I was hit with the images. The ones of SSgt. Tim Chambers. Standing at attention, for hours. Saluting almost a half million bikes, veterans, adoring associates. It was time, it IS the year.
As usual, no money for such a trip. This time there would be motels involved. Before there was only gas and of course a bit of TLC for the bike pre-trip. I have slept in the iron butt motel, last year. Quaint, but not somewhere you'd want to spend a week or so. I ended up with 70 hours overtime in a two week period. Not that much money after taxes, but lets go.
A few items of note. I was at the corner of 23rd Street and Constitution Avenue at a place called Thunder Alley. I was talking to a gentleman and mentioned that I had heard that as many as 4,000 bikes were expected to show for the 24th Annual Rolling Thunder Demonstration supporting our many POW/MIA soldiers. He laughed and said, "that is 400,000 give or take."
The next morning at five am, I got up and headed for the pre-staging area I was told I could meet some others at by 6 am. I rode in closer to 6:30 and as I rode in I was going to mention that maybe I would need to gas up before the big show and before I could say a word, this guys shouts, "two minutes!" man...
We started up and I have no idea how many there were of us, in that parking lot across from the Holiday Inn, 1,000 or so maybe.
We followed the motions through streets onto the highway and back through the streets, of those road captains. Parked alongside the roadway, waving us on. Several places there were Law Officers, standing and saluting as we rode by. Before seven am on a Sunday morning and there were people in groups here and there, waving flags and saluting and cheering as we were joined along the way by others, headed to our official staging area. When the road opened up, in we rode into the largest parking lot I had ever seen. I didn't know it at the time, but it is the parking lot for the Pentagon, the biggest building I have ever seen. From the ground, you couldn't tell what it was, just a huge, huge building.
Again, following the motions of the road captains, we streamed in. When the bike in front of you stopped, so did you and at once there were bikes moving in line next to you. If you needed gas, you had an issue. Within minutes I was buried in motorcycles. Row after row, a multitude of bikes, people and still they came.
I did manage to talk to someone about my issue, there were people that kept us going. A few bikes back, they almost tore down this man's bike. Had pieces on the asphalt all around. Never saw them, when I looked back, the bike was together and running. Well...cross your fingers.
I did walk up onto a hill and when I looked back....it was a sea of motorcycles. Bikes, trikes. Some with trailers behind, some with sidecars, all with people. All these people, here for one reason and one reason only. I was told that the estimate this year was 430,000. I was also told that the most violent city in the country had a distinct drop in crime while all those people were there.
It was almost noon, we had been there about 4 to 5 hours, drinking our water, eating, buying, taking pics, getting to know each other, when those four jets came over. Flying low in formation, fast, loud and cool. Someone yelled, "5 minutes!" When the first rows started, we could only get anxious and watch as they rolled out. Row by row, as they came in they went out. Recently affixed flags furling against the wind. The sound as more and more bikes came to life and moved out of the staging area into the streets of our beloved nations capital. As we went out, the shouts went up. The spectators also came to life. Waving flags and slapping hands and whistling and shouting and saluting. We crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge and the Potomac River, wound around to Constitution Avenue, pass the Lincoln Memorial and there he is. The Lone Marine, a big reason for coming, Marine Staff Sargent Tim Chambers. Full dress, in the heat, saluting every bike that comes by. Standing at attention, holding that salute for up to 4 hours.
They asked how it feels to ride by this man, honoring those who show up to spend their time and money to help search for those forgotten, those left behind in our wars. Those that didn't make it home.
Well...the way I see it.... I'm thinking...maybe it's like going to Vatican Square. Twenty-third and Constitution. There are people crying, some are shouting, some are speachless. They salute back, they rev those loud engines, blow their horns. It's not just a man, the Pope, the Marine. It is what he represents. Sure he takes his time and spends it on us. But in honoring us with his blessing, salute, even though I feel very undeserving of it, he also is providing a monumental lesson in humility. Thus producing an extremely spiritual and emotional moment that I can't wait to experience again.
Once passed, we turn right and move along beyond thousands of others, there to honor and support...us... as we support those who can't speak for themselves.
I was glad I could share that moment with my mom and with those whose names are sewn onto the back of my denim jacket and I hope they somehow realized that we had done this together.
Oh and by the way, somehow, I made that entire route with that gas light shining. Hmm... I wonder?
Mom's Memorial Ride, 2011
Different....this time...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
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