The Illinois River runs generally from Chicago to St. Louis. I would cross it twice, once near Starved Rock State Park and again at my destination in Peoria. I traveled down I-39 from Rockford to the river and found that the bridge deck is being reconstructed.

Speeds reduced from 65 to 45 which was fine with me since the views were great, but then I came upon a sight that made me stop.

The guys simply preferred to work under the flag.

An hour later I crossed the river a second time and checked into the Red Roof Inn where I left my helmet and a few other things, and then pressed on to the small town of Elmwood, another 20 miles west. I was the first bike to reach the high school, but several of our leadership were already setting-up flags.

The other bikes soon rolled in and Max briefed us.

He did not tell us that we should not eat while standing in the flagline – some things are too obvious to mention, at least in Illinois – but he did remind us not to have conversations while standing to show respect. “If someone comes up to you and says, ‘Thanks’, you can say that you are honored to be invited to stand. Other than that, there should be no talking.”

The kids next door listened from their backyard.

A Marine Captain was interviewed. He explained that the Purple Heart is a very high award. I would hear his explanation again on the TV news a little after 2200.

It was a long vigil. Some of us left after a few hours; others arrived. When I left that evening I noticed the athletic field where Ben played and the nearby flag that was lowered for him.

I then traveled those 20 beautiful miles to back to Peoria.

In some hotels when you rise in the morning, you must walk down the hall, take the elevator, walk across the lobby and walk across the parking lot to see if your bike is still there. At the Red Roof Inn, you walk out your door and swing your leg right over the seat.

We were to rendezvous at the country club north of town but I returned early to Elmwood so I could look around. Like many small mid-western towns, at its center is a square. County seats usually have a courthouse there. Smaller towns usually have a green space. They all have flagpoles.

Beneath the flags was a monument to the locals who had served under our flag, starting with Frank Garren and Sam Tidd. They represented Elmwood, Illinois in the Spanish-American War. The trees were all wrapped in yellow ribbons.

The reverse side of the monument displays five more plaques of names. They have not been updated since 1994, however. I was glad to see an unused rectangular area where Ben Desilets and others may be memorialized.

The country club parking lot collected a much larger number bikes than we had the day before. Other vehicles, too.

We are not a biker organization, nor a veteran organization. If you are reading this and you are thinking that you would be proud to hold a flag at a heroes funeral, you qualify. There are no dues, no membership cards, no obligations. Just show up. If you don’t bring a flag, we will give you one.

Max briefed again, repeating his no-talking-in-the-flagline message. We moved as a group back to the high school and arranged our bikes. A few big-flag bikes for the procession in one place and the majority of bikes to travel in advance to the cemetery in another place. We then took up our flags and stood as Max had instructed us.

After the service started, I left with the advance group for the hilltop cemetery.

The 17-year cicadas were only noticeable at the high school. They were loud at the cemetery. Which was fine.

I have developed some skill at framing and focusing a shot quickly. This is minimally obtrusive and usually allows me to get good candid photos. The Corporal, PFC and Lance Corporal below were quicker than I.

As soon as I pulled my camera to my face, they instantly and instinctively assumed a posture of “parade rest” and remained motionless until I lowered my camera. I make that observation with nothing but admiration.

These three young guys had been trained and they had embraced their training. They knew the right thing to do and they had no hesitation to do it. They were part of the firing squad at a military funeral and they were not thinking about anything else.

And so we stood together – they with their rifles and we with our flags – ready to welcome Ben to his final rest.

I stopped by the Red Roof Inn to pick-up my helmet and the other things I had left there. It had rained on my trip down, it had rained overnight and it was expected to rain on my way back north. But it hadn’t rained during the visitation or the funeral.

I traveled due north on Illinois 40 and stopped at Bureau Valley High School, another small rural high school like Ben’s. This one had a giant wind turbine next to it.

About the same time, weather reached me coming from the west. I turned east on I-88 and opened it up.

Three dozen. For me, this was mission 36.

Visitation at the high school on Thursday.

Staging at the country club Friday.

Flagline at the high school Friday.

Cemetery Friday.