View the Complete Archive of Road Trips HERE.

Rolling Thunder 2002

Memorial Weekend found us headed toward Washington, D.C. to participate in Rolling Thunder XV. Since I had first heard of this event over ten years ago, it had been one of my illusive goals -- you want to go, but doubt it you'll ever make it. Thanks to my husband, my dreams were becoming a reality -- I was actually going to participate in something I felt very strongly about -- bringing attention to our POW/MIA's.

A long ride with great weather brought us into D.C. amid rush hour traffic about 5:00pm. I must admit, I could hardly contain my excitement. Not only were we participating in Rolling Thunder, but it was also my first opportunity to ride alongside my fellow club members, many of whom I'd never met. The designated meeting place was Thunder Alley. This was in a location near the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial which had numerous vendors ranging from food to custom leather apparel.

While waiting for the club members to gather, we visited The Wall. For those who have never seen it, mere words cannot discribe the feelings and emotions which one feels as they walk the path alongside the granite wall. Flowers, cards, letters, medals, pictures, even posters from elementary school children were found alongside names of loved ones.

I saw parents gently touching the name of their son. Combat veterans looking at the name of their team member who never made it home. With each step I took, I saw more names. More sons. More fathers. More husbands whose names are now immortalized -- as if they shared a common grave.

The Wall became a blurred spector as my eyes filled with tears -- knowing that each name represented a soldier who had paid the ultimate price. That each soldier had family who grieved their loss.

Although it was a joyous reunion of several club members of the Wheels of Freedom M/C, that happiness was overshadowed by the seriousness of placing our wreath at The Wall. The club members work tirelessly to bring attention not only to our POW/MIA's, but also the needs of veterans across the country. As we gathered around the wreath, I thought of my Dad, a World War II Purple Heart vet, my brother in Korea who is a veteran of the Persian Gulf, my husband, who is a Vietnam era veteran, and my daughters' father who is serving in Afghanistan with the Special Forces -- and offered a silent prayer for each.

I found there's nothing like a ride down the streets of D.C. to get your mind off things -- you're too busy watching out for traffic lights, pedestrians, and those offensive drivers who don't realize that motorcycles share the road. We joined several club members for dinner that evening, and with all those bikes lining the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, we became the target of onlookers. Good targets, that is.

The young lady in the picture was the first to timidly approach our group. "Which motorcycle is yours?" she asked. Surely a good question to ask, as she soon found herself not only seated on a biker's H-D, but also revving the engine with a wide smile on her face. That prompted a virtual run to the motorcycles, and every kid (and many moms as well) were standing in line to sit on the bike and rev the engine.

We had a good night's sleep on the floor at the motel (stuff is expensive in D.C. --- that includes food [$7 hamburgers] drinks [$6 a shot, $4 for beer] motel rooms [well over $100 a night if you can find one] ) as some members moved their bedrolls and allowed us camping space inside.

That morning, we gathered in the motel's parking garage (Rule #1 - don't leave your bike on the street in D.C.) and I was soon to learn about real city driving. Sitting on the back, I am used to giving the turn signals, but in D.C., it seems that ordinary signals just won't do. Aggressive drivers make for the need to use both hands. I soon felt like a windmill while John veered through the streets at what seemed like break-neck speeds -- all this before 9am.

As we neared the Pentagon Parking Lot for the parade line-up, traffic slowed to a crawl as we made our way through a line of policemen, amnesty boxes (for guns/drugs/whatever), and drug-sniffing dogs. Rolling Thunder volunteers were busy with parking arrangements, as we moved into position for a four-hour wait.

It was wall-to-wall motorcycles from all over the country. The Washington Post estimated between 350,000 and 400,000, but other accounts estimated the total to be closer to 500,000. Either way, it was the most motorcycles I'd ever seen at one time and was an impressive sight to say the least.

As the heat rose in waves from the pavement, hundreds of thousands of riders were milling about in anticipation. Members of the Christian Motorcycle Association were on hand at both the parking lot and Thunder Alley distributing free smiles and ice water to all who were in need. We walked around the parking lot and couldn't pass up the opportunity to use the camera -- especially when the sign said it was prohibited. LOL

While in Ohio the week before, John bought me this shirt to wear to D.C. Several folks asked for pictures and one guy even said he was going to use it as a screensaver!

Air horns blared, balloons were released, and riding four abreast, the motorcycles began the parade through D.C., past the capitol to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The sound of the motorcycles was exactly like a deep thunder -- one which continued for over four hours. Even the ground vibrated with the sound.

I had not anticipated the thousands of people I saw lining the parade route. As we rolled past, folks young and old would stand with their hands outstretched to touch our hands. I know I must have touched over 200 hands during that short ride. People cheered. They held signs that read, "Thank You Vets." One older women with tears streaming down her face held a folded flag close to her chest. Soldiers in uniform saluted. Again, I felt tears glaze across my eyes. I couldn't help but think it would have been so nice for our returning Vietnam Veterans to have received a parade such as this instead of the condemnation they received at the time.

Never in my life have I seen such patriotism. So many flags. So many veterans. Where were the policitians on such a momentous occasion? Were they listening? One could only hope.

Rather than remain in D.C. for the weekend, we began our trip home. A cloud burst in Virginia saw us huddled with other riders beneath the awning at the local Sheetz store waiting out the rain. We opted to continue despite the clouds, and by the time we reached Hampshire County, WV, the temperatures had dropped and there was golf ball-size hail piled along the roadsides. We were cold, wet, tired and hungry. Rather than sleep on the ground as usual, John spoke the words that brought joy to my heart, "Let's get a motel room."

Since we were in Grafton, we paid our respects at the National Cemetery before leaving town that morning. A fitting beginning to Memorial Day in West Virginia.

We completed our journey with a side-trip to the VA Hospital in Clarksburg. We were hoping to see signs of the construction of a new nursing home for our veterans. There was none. After writing countless letters during the past year, we still see no long-term care facility for our state's veterans. "Soon" they say. "Not soon enough," we say.

Copyright 1999-2003 by West Virginia Bikers - All Rights Reserved Website by Hawk Mountain Designs