It’s a Mission, Not a Ride

This is the writeup of a ride that my brother and I did a few years ago. I hope you enjoy and understand that, often, it is not the destination but the journey that is most important.

They say it is a mission. They say it is a life changing experience. That, once you go, you will never look at anything the same. Since I had first talked about it, I was encouraged to make the Run by my wife, who seemed to know better than I, that I needed this. I asked my brother John, also a Vietnam era vet, to go with me on the 19th Annual Run For The Wall. Like no other honor or award, this tribute is made each year by and for veterans and those who love them to honor friends, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, who never returned. It’s not about politics. It’s not about philosophy. It’s about healing and coming to terms with our past. As the Ride coordinator says every morning, “no attitudes”.

Day 1 – May 16, 2007 Ontario
On This Date in 1968: ABRAHAM KAALELE AHUNA, SFC – E7 – Army – Regular, 11th Light Infantry Brigade, was KIA in South Vietnam; his home was Honolulu, HI. Ahuna’s body was recovered; his name is located on Panel 61E – Line 21.

4:30 in the morning doesn’t come all that early when you are used to getting up before the cock crows. Even though I had been up late preparing the bike and making sure I had everything I would need, I was wide awake before the alarm rang. Even though the Run for the Wall wasn’t scheduled to depart until around 8:00 am, I wanted to be there with plenty of time to eat and get registered. My buddy John Chizmar was right on time and met me out front of the house. He volunteered to see me off on the RFTW. Mostly, I think he wanted to go with me. But, like so many times for me, it was just not the right time. He would go someday. And, I might even go with him.
We pulled into the TA Truck Stop at around 6:15 am. Already, there were more than 300 motorcycles ready to ride to the other side of the Country. The RFTW runs two routes to the Wall. My brother and I would take the Central route which goes through Arizona, New Mexico and up into Colorado. That would be as far as we could go, given our limited time and circumstances. But, we heard that, if you could only make part of the ride, this was the part to be on.
I got registered and, passing up the free goodies, John and I elected to eat breakfast at the restaurant instead. After a full breakfast, it was time to go listen to the first of what would be a daily lecture on daily riding responsibilities and issues that might come up on the ride. Later, I found, it would be a necessity when you are herding more than 600 bikes to their final destination.
A curious thing about the RFTW, they make sure the FNGs (the F@#%$&g New Guys for the uninitiated), were properly welcomed. All the FNGs are required to wear a pin that says…… FNG. The site coordinator, Mil Thornton, asked everyone to turn around, find someone with an FNG pin and give them a welcome home. All of a sudden, I was hoisted into the air by some huge bear that grabbed me and hugged the breath out of me while saying, “Welcome home, brother”. Just as quickly, another and another came to me, all welcoming me home. I cried. I had never been thanked or welcomed home when I was discharged. And, although these were brothers in arms, it still made me feel good about being here. This became the daily ritual and part of the healing that comes with riding this special ride.
A little after eight, I said my goodbyes to John and I was off with the group. At this point, there were 286 bikes riding in the same direction at the same time. The Southern route had departed about 15 minutes before and I would not see them again, although they would rejoin the Central route in Virginia. As we climbed the on-ramp of I-15 toward our first gas stop in Barstow, we had the first of several close calls when an idiot in a semi-truck decided he couldn’t wait for all the bikes to get up to speed and decided to whiz by us on the shoulder of the on-ramp. Guess what? There was one of our CHP Escorts waiting for him. As we passed the officer issuing a citation, we all honked our appreciation for his looking out for our safety.
In Barstow, we pulled into the fuel stop and a waiting pit crew. Now, you may be wondering how to refuel 300 motorcycles in less than 15 minutes. Think in-flight refueling. The pit crew had taken over the gas pumps at the Valero gas station. All riders are required to pay in cash and round up to the nearest dollar with the excess going to fuel the SAG and chase vehicles for the Run. As you pull into the pump you are paired off with another rider and you ride tandem to the pump. As one rider is fueling the next rider pulls up and then, without stopping the pump, the hose is passed to him or her and they continue pumping. In the meantime, the next rider pulls up to the side and…… well, you get the picture. In the case of the first stop, gas was courtesy of Fordyce Harley for all bikes. What a wonderful sendoff. All of the local merchants seemed to enjoy the riders coming in. I decided to get a cup of coffee at the Starbucks. When I went to pay, the girl said, “Oh no. Our compliments”. And a smile. As we left Barstow, we picked up a Sheriff’s helicopter escort out of town. Does it get any better than this? (it does)
The ride was easy and reasonably cool across the desert to Needles, where we stopped for lunch. A street in front of a large park near the old railroad station was cordoned off and the bikes were parked 10 across. Music played, hamburgers sizzled and even the mayor of Needles came out to greet us. We were honored by the presence of several members of the Ex-POWs Association Arizona Chapter as well.
Before I knew it, we were saddled up and on our way to the state line. Crossing over and into Kingman, the weather began to cool off some as we made our way toward our first stopover for the night at Williams. On the way, the State Troopers stationed at the Cattle Inspection Station honored us with a salute, lights and sirens.
Now, I had seen these two motorcycles with large flagpoles on them riding in the front of the crowd. Apparently, sometime before we got to Williams, they had gone ahead to unfurl and post the American Flag and the POW/MIA flag. As we pulled off the highway, they took up positions in the front and, led by
the Williams Police, we made our way into town. People waved and cheered as we drove from one end of town to the other and then back up toward the American Legion Post 13, who hosted a free barbeque and party in our honor. As I was heading up the street towards the post, I saw my brother’s bike on the side of the road. I pulled off quickly, got my camera out and took pics and flics of the onslaught of riders coming in (I was in the first group so I got some good shots). Afterward, I walked around the corner to the post and met my brother, John, WB2MKI. We had been in contact by ham radio since I was about 5 miles from Williams and it was he who told me not to park with the group. This was so we could make a clean getaway when we wanted. As it turned out, we had a few beers at the post canteen and then headed to a favorite steak joint of ours in town for dinner.
I had travelled 405 miles the first day. That may not seem long until you realize that you are riding in close proximity (there is no such thing as a two –second rule in RFTW) with 60 other bikes in your platoon, with the road guards on you all the time to stay on the wheel of the bike in front of you, while trying not to run over the bike in front of you….. It is like no other riding you will ever do. But, it is also, believe it or not, part of that healing process. My brother and I drifted off to our hotel after dinner with no thought of a nightcap. At the Best Western where we were staying, we trudged in with our packs. I had made the reservation too late to get the good rate and was happy just to get a room. When the clerk realized that I had not gotten the RFTW rate, though, she redid my reservation on the spot and gave us the discount, all without asking. Another thanks and welcome home, another humbling experience.

Day 2 May 17, 2008 Williams, Arizona
On this day in 1971, Timothy John Jacobson, E4/US ARMY A COMPANY, 101ST AVIATION BATTALION 101ST AIRBORNE DIVISION was listed as KIA, body not recovered. Sgt. Johnson was from Oakland, CA, and was 21 years old at time of death.

What a day. 52 degrees and clear skies. RFTW had picked up a few more rider and we now stood at 552 with about 165 FNGs. This was the first full riders briefing where hand signals, rider etiquette and our daily chewing out for not following the road guards directions was had. It was 45 minutes long including the daily 50/50 raffle and prayer. Before the end of the ride, I would be referring to the road guard as the road nazis. My brother would later make me understand just how difficult their job was and what an awesome responsibility getting over 500 riders across 2700 miles of road was. Again with the hugs, welcome homes to the FNGs and the tears. The best part was watching my brother get the hugs for the first time. He was shocked, to say the least.
The departure was held up by 10 minutes at the request of the Williams Police who wanted to clear some school traffic. I have to say that the police in each town we visited were there for us. They did a tremendous job in making sure we made our journey safely. John and I headed out together in the third platoon. Due to the number of bikes on the Run, RFTW officials had begun using a platoon system, where bikes are grouped into 50-60 bikes with a leader and sweep for each platoon. This system worked great the year before for the Southern route and it seemed to be the way to go for us, too. It held the rubberbanding down to a minimum and, should an accident occur, it would minimize loss as well.
Before our first fuel stop at Winslow, the 6th platoon had an accident. Nothing major, but the rider did have ribs and ankle broken. Fortunately, he did not take anyone else out with him. The chaplain corp accompanied him to the hospital and made sure he was taken care of.
Through the day, my brother and I cruised together, when we could. It would become difficult to remain together, even when the coordinators suggested we ride behind each other, due to the way the fuel stops were completed. That was OK because we had our radios and they seemed to work just fine most of the time. Our cruising speed, once attained, would normally be about 65 mph. Again, not Rayspeed, but Ray never had to herd almost 600 bikes along. This was not so long a day as the first. In fact, the first day, I later found out, is the longest day of the Run at over 400 miles. Today we would travel only about 250 mile to Gallup, New Mexico. We ate lunch at the American Legion Post 37 in Holbrook, Arizona. If you think it is something to fuel 300 bikes in 15 minutes, try feeding 500 people in 30 minutes. But, they did it with flair and a program. The day was getting warmer but it was not unusually hot.
Now, one thing I noticed along the way from Ontario to Gallup is that people would show up to support us in the strangest places. We would be travelling along the desert with nothing but roadrunners and cactus for miles, when up on an overpass would be half a dozen people waving and holding a huge American or POW/MIA flag over the side. We would all wave and try to keep from crashing into the bike ahead of us while wiping tears and thanking God that there are people who do care.
An amazing thing happened when we rolled into New Mexico. I didn’t realize at first just how much the New Mexican people care about their veterans and, in fact, all veterans. We were met at the state line by two New Mexico State Troopers, who would be our escorts for the next two days. We rolled of I-40 about 10 miles West of Gallup. As we came off the freeway, I saw a few people standing on the sidewalks, all with flags in their hands. White people, Mexican, Black, Native American. It didn’t matter. They were there for us; to be more exact, to help us with our mission to honor our POW/MIA. The closer we rode to city center, the more densely packed the streets became. Anyone who has been to Gallup knows it is not a pretty place. But, riding down Route 66, it was as beautiful as it could be with American Flags of all shapes and sizes waved by people of all color. Tell me that isn’t America at it’s best.
Rounding the corner and heading toward the beautiful Courtyard Plaza, we were treated to thousands of folks applauding, waving flags and cheering us on. They had waited all day for this moment. As we rode under the crossed flags hung upon the Gallup Fire Dept. snorkel trucks, I felt humble and thankful to be here among my brothers, to travel for the cause.
Gallup treated us to traditional gourd ceremonies as well as honor guards of veterans, active armed forces and others. A special treat was the Armed Services Marching Band who played in our honor and the honor of all Vets. Have you ever met a true hero? We did. New Mexico’s National Treasure and Medal of Honor Winner, Hiroshi Miyamura, addressed the crowd. The peace pipe was lit and ceremonies of all kinds were in order. Later, the Sundance Iron Riders, of which I am a member, hosted a huge dinner in honor of RFTW. Later, my brother who makes his home in Gallup and I headed to the saloon and a much needed drink of fire water.

 

Day 3 May 18, 2007 Gallup, New Mexico
On this day in 1968 Frank G. Herrera – SGT – E5 – Army – Regular 173rd Airborne Brigade of Mesa, AZ, was KIA

We began each day on time and with a rider briefing. The Ride coordinator was getting tough and insisted that we ride closer than most of us were comfortable with. It didn’t take long for John and I to figure out how to ease the distance and then pull up just before the road guard got there. We got so good at it that we usually didn’t get caught slacking.
We left with 592 folks. Now, except for the new folks, you do not have to ride with the group. However, it is a good way to maintain that sense of mission when you ride with others of the same mindset. Another nice surprise was that we did not pay for one drop of gas in New Mexico. Each fuel stop was paid for by a group or motorcycle dealership or individual. This took a big load off the minds of many who were stretching things to make the entire run. I had planned to pay the full load but was pleased and honored to have someone else do it for me. The other great thing is that every stop was hosted by someone. Everyone ate free and there was free camping for those on a tight budget as well. I chose the motel camping mode as I like the comfort of a shower each day (that I don’t have to share).
New Mexico was full of surprises. As we travelled toward Albuquerque, we were met by 10 motor officers from the APD. These gentlemen blocked all traffic ahead and behind us, through the interchange to I-25, allowing us a clear and easy way through the city. The folks who had to wait? Honking and cheering with support. These people love us even when we inconvenienced them.
At Espanola, we were treated to a great lunch provided by local Veterans Groups. They had an ulterior motive. The citizens of Espanola recently completed their war memorial tribute and it was beautiful. It was no wonder they wished to show it off. A great ceremony was had and plaques and awards to the local groups were given by the Ride coordinators. To see the hundreds of New Mexican Veterans who have given their lives in defense of our country is overwhelming to say the least.
But this was a most important day. It was the day we would reach Angelfire Memorial near Taos, New Mexico. Anticipation filled the air like lightning. As we rolled closer, it got more quiet (if that can be said for several hundred motorcycles), and the mood became somber. Rain threatened but didn’t quite make it. The last 25 miles of the trip, we were told to take at our own pace. It was a good thing, too. The road that leads in to Angelfire from Taos is two lane, hilly and curvy. Unfortunately, one biker had an accident as he slid on some loose gravel. Hurt pride and bent floorboard were the extent of the injuries, though.
As we drove out of the hills and into the Angelfire valley, the view took my breath away. On a mesa overlooking the valley from the other end, is the Angelfire Vietnam Veterans Memorial. This memorial, built by a man who lost his son in Vietnam, lives on through the Trust created when he passed away. As we drove to the top of the hill, I saw the Huey on a pedestal, looking as if it were about to make one of their famous almost-crash landings. A sign above the entrance said it all: “Welcome Home”. There is a chapel of simple design in the corner of the property and they are building an outdoor amphitheater on
the side. The museum, housing artifacts and histories of the Vietnam era, also is home to the most comprehensive study of the men who died there, outside of Washington D.C.
And everywhere, there are ghosts. They speak to you and you begin to finally understand why you came here; why this place drew you here. Walking these grounds, sitting in the chapel so simply and eloquently decorated, gives back to you what you felt was lost. I was humbled to be here. Proud and happy that I could be here with my brother John who, although we served at different times of the war, could share this time.

Day 4 May 19, 2007 Angelfire, New Mexico 
On this day in 1965, Leroy Melvin Donovan, E7 US Army, Cedaridge, CO, was KIA. His body was recovered.

Early, crisp and clear. My brother and I stayed in Taos that night and had to be up a little earlier to meet the ride at the Angelfire Resort. I had called my wife, Julie, the previous day to tell her to sell the house, cash in the 401k and get ready to move. This valley is truly a beautiful place. Too bad the celebrities have heard about it and are sure to make it their own over the next few years. As we headed into the valley we ran smack into the densest fog I have ever seen. Feeling our way along, we finally found the road to the resort and parked the bikes. Coffee and something to eat were in order. We opted for muffins and the ever-present breakfast burrito washed down by a strong cup of coffee. After the briefing, we saddled up and headed out, a little sad and feeling we left a part of us behind.
Along the way to Raton, New Mexico, we stopped in Cimarron for a brief ceremony. We didn’t get off the bikes and John and I were so far back we couldn’t even see who got what. But it was a beautiful day and we were happy to be riding together. As we made our way out of the valley and onto the interstate once more, our escorts came by and waved to everyone.
Now Raton, New Mexico is not that big. But, when we pulled off the highway for fuel and lunch, I looked over to see the street between us and the fuel station 6 deep and wall-to-wall with people who had, once again, been waiting all morning for us. My brother and I, stopping here on the way back, found out that this is the big deal of the year and there is a town fundraiser that pays for the gas for the bikes. The folks were wonderful and we were on the road again all too soon, headed for Limon, Colorado.
A notable and touching thing happened as we left the Great State of New Mexico. As we crossed the state line, our New Mexico State Trooper escorts stood at attention saluting each and every bike as it passed. Hand over the Kleenex……again………..

Limon, Colorado was the end of the line for John and me. But, it was also an important stop for other reasons. Although we knew that Angelfire was the highlight of the trip, this turned out to be the real destination. As we dismounted our bikes at the KOA in Limon, the Ride coordinator asked no, he begged us to come back at 6 pm to ride over to Hugo, Colorado for a dinner feast that we would not forget. I heard moaning, wailing and gnashing of teeth. I told my brother to stop that. We kind of looked at each other, thinking that what we really needed was a hot shower and a drink. But, we also knew we were
FNGs and felt it our duty to respond to the coordinator’s plea. So, after checking in at the hotel, we headed back to the KOA.
Hugo is about 15 miles southwest of Limon and you will not find a smaller town. But, they do have a nice VFW that we found out later is really run by the Ladies Auxiliary. The street had been blocked off in front of the VFW and as we parked the bikes, we were treated to a flyover of two Blackhawk Helicopters from the local reserve base. Then, we had to pay for supper. As we stood under the threat of rain, the local VFW provided a solemn ceremony for the POW/MIA table. If you have not seen this ceremony, it will bring you to tears as each piece is brought to the table by a silent drill team, its purpose explained by the narrator, and the item set in its proper place. There was not a dry eye in the house.
Now, the VFW ladies have it down to a science. There were about 200 of us willing to make the trip. We came in one door, passed the bar where we picked up drinks offered by a solicitous bartender and then on to the buffet table full of homemade fried chicken, roast beef and turkey with all the trimmings. Desserts of every kind, all homemade as well, were coming out of our ears. And you could not say no to these wonderful ladies. John and I went home stuffed to the gills and very happy we made the trip.

John and I stayed the night and went to the riders meeting the next morning. More than 600 bikes were going to leave for the rest of the trip. We would not be among them. Time was just too short and I had to scrounge for the few days allotted me to make it this far. This was Sunday and the chaplain was there to offer a small Christian service and honor to our dead and missing. With our heart in our throats, we said goodbye to many of the folks we had met on the Ride. We knew, traveling back that we were forever changed. It was a plus that we could do it on motorcycles.