We need heroes
Three years ago, I rode out to Macon for my first time to join the escort as the Miracle Riders came home. I didn’t know any of them, and as they pulled in – weather-beaten, windburnt, and a bit grimy from the road – they seemed larger than life. The cheering crowd and police escort certainly reinforced the “Heroes returning home” vibe of the event.
Just a few days ago, I pulled into Macon with 14 amazing guys. Still weather-beaten and a bit grimy, we were greeted by the same kind of cheering crowd. But now I understand that it’s not the Riders who are heroes.
Here’s a tip: if you’re going to walk to dinner with a bunch of guys and there’s a severe thunderstorm watch in effect, wear the duster. 10 of us went across the street to the Fifth Quarter for dinner, and the rain started while we were inside. We had no option but to run for it. Cody wouldn’t lend me his hat, so I got wetter walking a half block that I got riding three hours in the rain!
I may have mentioned this before … the days and blogs are starting to blur together a bit.
Someone asked me recently what my favorite part of the ride has been. I replied, “You may as well ask a parent who their favorite child is, or an author what their favorite book is.” The ride (little “r”) has been nothing short of amazing – canyons, desert, 106 degrees one day, 34 a week later, mountains, prairies, farms… we live in a great big beautiful country.
So how does May 2 – May 23 work out to be 21 days? Do we not count Day 1 when we leave?
Day 18 – Are electric gloves waterproof?
Like Brian, Billy and Scott, I’m one of the unplugged.Today, I think I was grateful for that.
You’ve already read some of the toll booth tales. I was the first, but not the last, to drop my little EZ-Pass doodad. Fortunately, no one was in line behind me, and I knew the guys wouldn’t run off and leave me, so I hopped off the bike and ran back to get it. But that may have been yesterday … the toll booths all look alike, just like all the interstates.
KSU at 7 this morning, as Sheriff, Billy, Rick, Ronnie and I headed out to South Bend early to hit the Harley shop for various services. The ride was typical interstate, especially since we used the bypass to skip going through Chicago.
We pulled into the dealership, though, and there was Nelson. 20-something years old, I’m guessing. With a mohawk at least eight inches high. We pulled into the parking lot and he waved us right into the service bay. Paperwork was done while the mechanics started working on the bikes.