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THE WALL EXPERIENCE -- Veterans' Advocate Jim
Strickland hopped on
his Hawg for a very special trip -- "With a
final briefing and a prayer for
safety (praying is still legal in truck stop
parking lots in South Carolina),
we start our engines and proceed on our
mission."
Veterans' Advocate Jim Strickland
provides regular columns for VA Watchdog dot Org.
If you would like to contact Jim about
his columns, you can email him here...
The archive of Jim's articles
is here...
---------------
October 24th 2006, 9:00 AM --
Joker Joe’s Truck Stop at exit 8 northbound on
that stretch of Interstate 95 from Georgia crossing into South Carolina
was cold. I’d seen patchy frost since I left Savannah and I was hearing
reports of 39 and 40 degrees. On a motorcycle the wind chill factor
makes it seem much colder. Even with leather jackets, heavy chaps,
gloves, fairings and windshields, the cold is a constant threat that
causes a rider to be less alert and critical reaction times to slow
down. The “cages”, a biker’s euphemism for cars and trucks, don’t notice
the cold as they’re passing within inches of the motorcycle at 75 MPH.
They have their Starbucks French Roast-Half Mocha-Soy Latte Grande in
one hand and a cell phone in another with some XM radio coming through
the 8 speaker sound system and just as they didn’t notice the chill in
the air, they aren’t really aware of that biker bent over the handlebars
of his ride over in the other lane.
As they cross the Savannah River Bridge into South Carolina, the driver
of that car can’t help but notice 4 more motorcycles entering the
highway and noisily accelerating up to and past the speed limit. Another
minute flashes by and that car’s passenger comments on the number of
motorcycles that have just exited the South Carolina rest area and are
now assuming their places in a 2-up, side-by-side formation on I-95
north. It’s an eclectic group of about 40 bikes now, Harleys and Hondas,
BMW’s and Triumphs…baggers and crotch-rockets and trikes and they’re all
reaching steady speeds of 80 MPH and more. More motorcycles appear as if
from thin air and as the group approaches exit 8, mile marker 8 in South
Carolina, the occupants of the cage notice something else; most of these
bikes are flying flags. American flags and POW/MIA flags and Marine
Corps flags and Army flags are everywhere. Teddy Bears bungee strapped
to luggage racks are holding on tight to their little flags and some
huge machines have mounted on them engineering marvels that support tall
heavy wooden poles with flags that appear to be over 6 feet long. The
gunshot sounds those flags make as they whip and crack in the cold wind
at 75 MPH can be heard even over the constant roar of the engines.
The bikes slow and exit and congregate at Joker Joe’s. First there are
40 or maybe 50, then 70 and then suddenly the lines of motorcycles at
the pumps topping off fuel, checking tires, ensuring that all fluids are
just right becomes surreal. Why are all these people here? Didn’t anyone
tell them it was going to be way too cold to go for a motorcycle ride
today? What could possibly motivate the now 200 or so motorcycles and
their riders and passengers to put themselves through this? There are
enough law enforcement officers here to protect and serve a mid-sized
city. The South Carolina Highway Patrol is there in force on 2 wheels
and 4. Sheriff’s deputies and locals and even off-duty officers riding
with their exclusive police-officer-only club, The Blue Knights are
fired up and waiting to roll.
With little or no direction, all these people are falling into a well
disciplined formation, lining up for the mission as if it were a
familiar task. You’ll hear that word “mission” at these sorts of
gatherings a lot, it has a recognizable and comforting sound to it.
They’ve taken care of their physical self, seen that their high powered
and dangerous machines are fueled and ready to go, they’ve called
everyone at home to let them know where they are and that all is OK so
far and they wait. The medics and chase trucks and repair teams keep
quietly to themselves, hoping that they have an uneventful day. They
wait for leaders to issue commands in the pre-mission briefing and they
drink bitter coffee and smoke a last cigarette and they make small talk
with people they had never seen before this morning and likely won’t see
again after today.
At the front of this busy truck stop is the reason that all these
citizens are here this morning. The tractor-trailer truck, that American
flag painted 18 wheeler parked over there is carrying a replica of the
Viet Nam Memorial Wall. It’s about ¾ the size of the real thing that’s
located in Washington, D.C. It’s made of “faux granite” rather then the
good stuff. It can be assembled and reassembled and packaged up in its
trailer and hauled just about anywhere in America, enabling tens of
thousands of Americans who will never be able to experience The Wall in
Washington to participate in that singular experience of seeing some
58,000 names of our fallen brothers and sisters inscribed there.
Today the “Mobile Memorial” is on it’s way to Columbia, South Carolina
for display. Bikers have been invited, mostly through word of mouth, to
saddle up and escort that truck from exit 8 right into Columbia. It’s
100, maybe 150 miles one way for us. That’s not far under ordinary
riding circumstances. It becomes a challenge in an event like this one.
The South Carolina Highway Patrol is escorting the truck, the Blue
Knights are falling in behind it and we’re to pull in behind them, 2 by
2. Police on bikes and in patrol units and command vehicles and even
helicopters will guard and guide us as we go. Refueling stops are
assigned in advance and signals from police car sirens will be used to
keep us informed as to departures. With a final briefing and a prayer
(Praying is still legal in truck stop parking lots in South Carolina.)
for safety, we start our engines and proceed on our mission.
The Highway Patrol has closed most of that part of I-95 for our
entrance. As we sort out riding positions and come up to the designated
speed of 70 MPH, we experience the rubber band effect any soldier knows
all too well while in a long formation. Finally though, after a few
minutes of jockeying for our positions, we settle in and we’re headed
north. We’re riding at 75 and 80 MPH surrounded by strangers and it
feels like home. The majority of us here today are Veterans and we’ve
done all this before, falling into rank and keeping the distance between
us just right and trusting your partners. Those who aren’t Veterans fall
in with us, there are no issues here today, we’re all marching to a
single cadence.
The ride moves along quickly, first Interstate 95 over to Interstate 26
and then up to Interstate 77 toward the cemetery where The Wall will be
on public display. As we pass other entrances to the Interstate
highways, we see that the Highway Patrol has them blocked well ahead of
us and that other motorcycles are waiting there to join us. At this
entrance there are 3, the next ramp shows a dozen and so it goes. Within
an hour of departure the line of bikes stretches ribbon-like to the
horizon to the front and rear. I’ve given up trying to guess how many
bikes are in our formation.
About 2/3s of the way we took a break for refueling. It was supposed to
be about 20 minutes and turned into an hour and 20 minutes. That too was
a familiar feeling. The grumbling and bitching and griping about the
delay and questions as to what was going on were all too well known to
us. Hurry up and wait was a theme we knew and could deal with.
It startled me a bit when I noticed the first gathering of people at an
overpass. As we rode under they were waving, smiling and had draped an
American flag above us. Southbound truckers were blasting their air
horns and flashing lights at us. Along the side of the highways entire
families had pulled over and were waving…some children saluted. Many had
their right hands over their hearts for our flag displays. As we pulled
into Columbia and traffic came to a crawl, many just sat in their cars
and passed on a thumbs-up as they yielded their right-of-way to us.
We had departed at 10:00 AM and it was now 2:30 PM and we had finally
delivered The Wall to its spot at the cemetery. We were then escorted
over to the Columbia Harley Davidson dealer’s new shop and treated to
lunch and coffee and we shook a few hands and quickly went our separate
ways.
Why? Why would a bunch of senior citizen Veterans and active duty
military and civilians with no military experience and young police
officers subject themselves to a day like this? In particular why would
the wives and even some of the children sit behind their rider and
freeze in that blowing wind and go hungry and not have access to a
bathroom for hours on end? There were no speeches, no dignitaries or
politicians, no commemorative buttons or pins or even any
acknowledgement at all that you’d done such a thing. Anonymity was it on
this ride, just people doing a job.
We had nothing to think of but why we were all there. The biggest
challenge of the day was riding that fast with tears streaming off the
side of our face as we each contemplated our task that day.
We knew the answer to “Why?” when we started early that morning and as
we rode farther and farther with that red and white and blue truck in
the distance ahead, we knew that our discomfort and sacrifice was
nothing compared to our fallen heroes who had sacrificed it all for
their country in that foreign land.
For a brief time yesterday we were responsible for their memory, we held
in our hearts and in our souls the very spirits of those fallen ones
whose names were inscribed on the faux granite riding endlessly in the
darkness of that truck. It was our responsibility, our duty, and our
distinct privilege to honor them as best we knew how.
So we did. Mission accomplished.
A footnote:
Researching to prepare for the ride I found a number of these “mobile”
replicas of The Wall. I rode with the “Dignity Memorial Vietnam Wall”
yesterday. More information can be found here
http://www.vietnamwallexperience.com/
There’s also “The Moving Wall” with information here
http://www.themovingwall.org/
and the American veterans Traveling Tribute at
http://www.avtt.org/.
I was surprised to hear a few comments from The Moving Wall leadership
that indicated that they thought that there was a sort of competition
for rights to be “The Original” and they made it apparent they didn’t
think much of others infringing on their territory… “The Moving Wall is
a replica of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, DC that serves as a
solemn reminder of the more than 58,000 lives lost between 1956-75 in
that region of Southeast Asian. The Moving Wall is the only replica of
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington. DC. Other traveling
memorials are merely replicas of The Moving Wall. The Moving Wall
remains the only one that is made by the same Vietnam veterans who
silk-screened the first name onto the first panel at the beginning of
1983.” “The Moving Wall is not a generic name for any of the traveling
replicas that copied The Moving Wall, but is a name that was given
specifically to the nation's first and only traveling Vietnam Veterans
Memorial during its fourth display back in February 1985. The Moving
Wall is the only traveling Vietnam veterans memorial that was actually
designed and physically built by Vietnam veterans with public
donations.”
Reading that made me sad. I’m not sure I care how yesterday was funded
and I saw no commercial benefit for the sponsors.
I’m also informed that there were estimates of some 1000 motorcyclists
passing by the truck carrying The Wall at its destination in Columbia.
As a rider I had no chance to get anything close to an accurate count
and my photos of the event are all static, shot from parking lots during
breaks. I’ll post a few here today and if I get any candid shots from
other sources, I’ll repost with those.
The Great State of South Carolina and the city of Columbia deserve a lot
of applause for hosting all this. Patriotism continues to run rampant in
the deep south and citizens still love any opportunity to stand up and
wave a flag. And finally, Harley Davidson obviously has a commercial
interest in all of this activity. They had hundreds of potential
customers in that brand new showroom yesterday and they’ll probably make
some money. So what? The entire event was conducted solemnly and with
all due dignity and I can’t help but think that some 58,000 souls were
happy to see those new Hogs and the Hondas and Yamahas too. It’s the
American way to honor, respect, remember but always move forward! I’m
ready to do it again.
---------------
Larry Scott
