By Lisa Price Waltman
I have just arrived home (five minutes ago) after 2,800 miles traveled with the First Annual Honor Run. It has been a bit more than a week since departing and yet I feel as though a lifetime has been lived during this time.
Many of you know my affiliation with The Honor Run and how my father and father-in-law were both POW’s (WWII and Vietnam respectively) and of my family’s first hand experience with The Fisher House as my father-in-law was a guest there, later in life. Some of you may now know me as the gal with the crazy camera and the red convertible that followed the ride across the country. I must have over a thousand pictures saved but there’s one I’m glad I did not capture just outside of Camp Pendleton.
After parades of flag bearing children lining small town streets, fire truck and police escorts, homemade meals prepared with extra TLC, people waving from overpasses, bands donating their talents, Harley Davidson shops opening their much welcomed air conditioned doors, thumbs up from strangers in nearby vehicles, saluting veterans standing in the street, visiting veteran’s memorials, VFW and American Legion volunteers keeping us hydrated and fed…I have never shed so many tears of pride or have been more proud to be an American.
As an adult I flew my flag (with proper lighting) every day and night. Late last fall I flew my flag for one day, upside down – my statement of protest and my personal concern for our country and where we were headed. (I have flown it once since then, that being on the 4th of July) You may not agree with this act of defiance but as an American I am given certain freedoms to express myself and do not fear political persecution or physical harm for such an act. Not one of my proudest moments as a patriot, but a freedom granted to me on the backs of those who fight to protect the many freedoms we enjoy as Americans.
On Saturday during the final ride, leaving from Oceanside, CA, traveling to Oakley Headquarters at Foothill Ranch, I was once again riding behind the group of national riders. The hundreds of American flags that lined the outskirts of Camp Pendleton brought tears to my eyes as they stretched on for miles! (I had previously purchased one of the flags and cannot wait to receive it in the mail!) I managed to catch a couple pictures while still trying to keep the merging traffic off the back wheels of our riders. But the shot I’m glad I didn’t get was of a particular car that simply would not back off. Inside the vehicle were two individuals who insisted on traversing up and down next to the line of riders, flipping us their middle finger. I was shocked and incensed at this gesture to such a group. My instinct was to respond in kind. But as they paraded next to me I simply gave them a thumbs up as I kept my focus on the road directly in front of me and exactly why we were there. My thoughts immediately turned to those freedoms we’re given – we’re all given – even them. How ironic that in front of all these flags, these two felt a need to show their disdain for whatever they were protesting – we’ll never know. Perhaps they thought us to be a bunch of evil war mongers or bad ass bikers – we’ll never know. All I knew is that because of the military folks that we were directly riding to help, they – the rebels without a clue - get to do what they did without fear of political prosecution. And while most of us would like to entertain the thought of these two coming in last in an axe handle fight, we don’t go there. We ride instead.
Just two hours from my home destination today, my left front tire became “unlaminated” (technical term for freaking shredded) yet I was able to hobble my crippled little car closer to Pueblo, CO, where I found a dealership to assist me. The female service director asked me about The Honor Run signs on my doors. I told her about the ride, The Fisher House and what an amazing gift I’d been given in being a part of this mission. Tears came to her eyes as she began to tell me of her two sons, one in Iraq (US Army) and the other (USMC) possibly heading to Afghanistan. She thanked me for what we’re doing and she asked me to thank each of you, which I do (again, the tears). Without your passion and your beautiful, giving hearts, this would just be a good idea.
Mike Kerr spoke of a Zippo lighter that had been given to him by a widow – the only personal affect found on a fallen soldier/her husband, pulled from the Euphrates River. By each of you participating – regardless of how – you help keep a thumb on that lever that keeps the light burning. I salute each and every one of you and thank you for the opportunity to fall back in love with this great place we call America. I wait with great anticipation the arrival of my Camp Pendleton flag that will once again be a daily reminder of The Free and The Brave.
