What Really Matters
If you're not from around here, it's likely you've not seen this spectacular site in person. That is a look up into Cold Water Canyon, above North Ogden. The flag (called "The Major"), is placed there by a group of volunteers every year for election day, through Veteran's Day. It is suspended by a large cable, from one side of the canyon to the other. The story behind the flag is truly inspiring and tragic. It is the true cost of freedom measured in one's own life. Without the details, it was started when a local man was killed overseas, serving our nation. It happened just after the election day of that year. He had written a article about the importance of voting, the respect for the process and how essential it is to our freedom - regardless of for whom, or how you may otherwise vote. It is not free...
The Crew...
I've shared this image before. It is very personal for me. A group of nineteen year olds, leaving for another mission - a raid if you will. An entire life ahead of them, and everything to live for, but willing to put it all on the line for the sake of freedom. Those guys all made it home and went on to live their lives. They are all gone now, but their dedication, willingness and courage live on in the freedom that was eventually preserved and won. Those big mitts manned those twin-fifties in the upper right hand side of the frame. They taught me how to shoot, and about everything else I needed to known to survive in my earlier life. The tall skinny kid was shoved into the tail, guarding from rear with a set of Brownings as well. I met him about thirty years ago - like meeting a legend you may have thought was only a myth. The flight engineer manned a set in the top turret, while the radio man doubled in the "waist gunner" spot. The other wait window gunner, ball gunner, pilot, co-pilot and nav are not in this picture. The ground crew chief is there in the middle - responsible for getting that bird off the ground and back home - still part of the crew all the same. I can't imagine what nineteen would be like in that world. I have the rest of the pictures that are equally important to me. In my office I don't keep any personal effects. I do have a picture of this bird in flight shortly after V-E day, flying a "blue-bomb" mission over Scotland. It serves as a constant reminder to me of how many paid a price along the way, for what we all take for granted today. No, none of them were perfect - far from it. But then, if we waited for perfection to grace us, and preserve the day.....it may be a long wait. I'll take the crew any day.
The Entire Crew without the officers - hardly menacing.
Lessons learned too late to appreciate
There are heroes and survivors all around us, if we could only recognize them for what they truly are. In this case, these guys all just wanted to go home and put the war behind them. When I was in junior high, we had a teacher that survived the concentration camps. He had still had the tattooed marking given him by his captors. He was a thin man, very unassuming. Nobody really knew his story, as I think he just wanted to put the war behind him as well. It wasn't until years later that I found out about his history. They are all gone now, but not in my own mind. The things I learned from all of them didn't set in until much later in my own life. I am a fool. My riding buddy is a retired vet - something like forty years. A very good friend, a neighbor, served in Vietnam. He is suffering the effects of exposure to chemical agents while there, but he doesn't complain. A dear friend of mine told me recently of her dad that fought in the Navy. The family apparently hardly knew anything of his service, but only of his influence and example. You see, that is how it works. These guys have been all around us, but we just don't appreciate the price they have paid - generally until it is too late. Well...better late than never, right? What is important is that we never forget our heroes - and they are all heroes to me.
More than twenty years ago, I had the opportunity to meet a Marine (there is no such thing as a former Marine). It was all business, but right toward the end of our transaction, he made mention of something that tipped me off as to him being a Marine. When I inquired, he told me only of his unit, and only because I asked. He was certainly not volunteering anything. I commented that February 19th, 1945 was a big day for him, in which replied with some curiosity "how did you know that?". That was the initial invasion of Iwo Jima. He then started telling me of his experience - it just roll out. It was one of the most awesome, but humbling things I had experienced. He then abruptly stopped and said, he didn't understand why he was telling me any of this, as he had never even told his own family. He then proceeded to tell me even more of his experience on that island. He described in detail how his best friend was killed laying directly to his side as they tried to take shelter in the hot volcanic ash of the initial assault. And later how another fellow was killed just to his other side exactly the same way. A string of bullets skipped over him both times to take the person next to him. I will never forget how he told me he was scared to death from the day he shipped out of San Diego, until the day he got back to San Francisco in the end. I couldn't believe what he had shared with me - and particularly how personal it was. I never saw him again, nor can I remember his name. I will never forget him sharing that with me. I have been in the presence of legends!
So what does this have to do with riding? Nothing. Nothing at all. I pretend to be a hero and ride my bike - as if that is hard, or heroic. I know that defending the otherwise defenseless is necessary, but how can I ever measure up to such a tall standard? If I could only be a fraction of what any of these guys are, I'd be something.
Thanks to you that have had to fight and did so willingly. You are my heroes....
It's snowing................
