I think Ride Captains should identify a good, nearby hotel and publish it (and only one) in the forum.  If they can extract a favorable rate, that would be good too.

 

I like overnight missions.  Even without the camaraderie, I get a chance to ride a couple hundred miles of unfamiliar country roads, stand in a flagline and then rest.  The next morning it is easy to be early for the funeral.  And when we are dismissed I have the afternoon to roll a couple hundred back home.

 

David Austin Kirkpatrick would have a long visitation – six hours.  The Holiday Inn allowed me to check-in early, so I lightened my saddle bags before I toured Uptown, Indiana.  It is a nice place; a town a lot like Schiocton, Wisconsin where the PGR served another fallen hero just two days ago.  Here is the municipal ball field where David learned teamwork.

 

 

When it was time, we rendezvoused at the gas station/convenience store across the street from the funeral home.  We stood at the entrance of the building,

 

 

and the entrance of the parking lot.

 

 

I was one near the parking lot.  A woman and a man approached me and the woman thanked me and moved on to the next person.  The man stayed with me and made several comments, seemingly not anxious to go inside.  “Who are you?” I asked somewhat bluntly.

 

“I’m the dad.”

 

We talked a little longer and then he moved on.

 

A few hours later as a guy my height (6’3”) passed under our flags, the Ride Captain leaned over to me and said that he was Dave Meyer, pro quarterback.  I wondered:  what do I do about that?  Have him autograph my flag?

 

There had been no briefing.  I think that was a missed opportunity.  We could have offered a prayer and otherwise synchronized our comportment, particularly as it relates to talking in the flagline.  In fact there was lots of talking:  continuous, full-voiced and irrelevant.  Also eating and drinking.  But what do I know?  I’m from out-of-state.

 

I did my drinking and eating at the Subway across the street.  When I said “all the vegetables” Amy included jalapenos without double-checking.  So that is a good thing about Indiana.

 

 

Plus, they spoke of “sacrifice” on their sign.  In small towns, everyone with a sign employs it at times like this.

 

 

I finished the visitation and spent some pleasant time with John Anderson, 4th I.D. from 1966 through 1970.  He gave me a poem and a pin to send to another Fort Hood soldier, also named John.  Our John has done two 12-month tours in Iraq.  He was to begin his third 12-month deployment in December.  Then they changed it to 15 months.  Then they changed it to August.

 

 

His brother Jim is there now.  They both have wives – Melissa and Anna, respectively.  Plus, John and Melissa have Lindy.  I am writing this first so I will have it to send along with the poem and the pin.

 

It was still light so I went to the covered bridge that the newspapers had featured in their description of David’s return to Upland.  The one-land bridge leads south one hundred feet to the cemetery where he would rest.  This is the view of the north side of the bridge.

 

 

Notice the flags that line both sides of the road.  There is one every fifteen feet and they extend behind the camera for a total distance of a mile and a quarter, to David’s family farm.  On the fence in front of the house there was a large army flag and in the upstairs center window there was a single candle burning.  I took no picture of his home.

 

The papers all had pictures of the bridge, however.  It has fourteen flags hanging from the rafters.

 

 

It was getting dark at last.  I changed from sunglasses to regular ones and headed for the hotel.  I passed one more sign, an especially elegant one.

 

 

The next morning, a larger group of us gathered at the same staging area across from the funeral home.  When they were ready to move David to the location for the funeral service, we were called to attention at curb-side.

 

 

After a short ride we formed-up and I was taking pictures at ground level.  Jerry works for the college and has keys to the roof.  Thanks to the view he gave me, you can see that we flanked the entrance with our flags and we held the doors for the mourners.

 

 

The Red Cross was there to support us with water, coffee and lemonade.  Also doughnuts and friendship.

 

 

It is a beautiful campus but it would have been empty without our flags and our people holding them.

 

 

The bikes would trail the funeral procession so I volunteered to go with the cemetery detail.  We got lost on the way.  It was the second time that has happened to me in Indiana.  It has never happened to me in Ohio, Michigan, Illinois or Wisconsin.  I guess Indiana cemeteries are just hard to find.

 

The problem was not a lack of sunshine on this beautiful day.

 

 

Willa-Rose is a flower of Indiana.  She is a member of the Covered Bridge Society.  She has an interest in the local processing facility which is currently modernizing.  She told me that she knew many of the people in the cemetery.  She buried her mother in January and pointed out the mound of earth not yet covered with grass.

 

 

So I gave her a flag.  She was glad to be holding it and I was glad to see her holding it.

 

 

Sadly, the newest de facto PGR member would be disappointed by the mission management.  It seems we lined the wrong lane with our flaglines.  As I wrote two days ago, “Sure, we wish to honor the dead, but we could do that from home.  The reason we travel to hold flags is so the surviving family and friends can witness our gesture of respect.”

 

Even worse:  When the many cop cars rolled past our lane without turning into it, we remained frozen like a deer in the headlights.  We had time to move before the hearse and family reached us, but we didn’t.  Several of us grumbled that we were out of position.  I am afraid that Willa-Rose saw my frustration turn to anger.  As I prophetically wrote two days ago, “Funerals require quick reaction.”

 

And yet worse still:  We let him down.  David did his part, but we fumbled the ball.  He died in combat.  We stood stupidly in a grove of trees as the hearse and family circled wide around us, out of sight.

 

We disassembled when the bikes began to arrive, since the PGR (except for the cemetery detail) were the last of the procession, a fact which rendered us largely irrelevant.  Here you see us approaching one side of the bridge and also traveling from the bridge to the parking area.  The cemetery is just left of the field of view.

 

 

We were the last to enter the cemetery and would be the first to leave.  We waited through the graveside service far from the mourners who had their backs to us.  It cannot be fairly said that we even attended that service.  This is the view from where we stood.

 

 

Sure, all through the two days people would come to us and say, “Thanks for being here” and “It is great what you guys do” but those are just things that nice people say in the sadness of the moment.  For the first time I left feeling quite ashamed of our performance.

 

I was the first to leave and retraced the parade route past David’s farm.  The cemetery detail had taken a different route, so I was pleased to discover this silhouette at a turning.

 

 

…and that was it.  I stopped at the Holiday Inn where I had left my helmet at the front desk (and thanked Heather for suggesting that I park the bike under cover right at their front door) and started rolling north.

 

North of Wabash I discovered another covered bridge.  It too had a cemetery next to it.  I know I am extrapolating from a small data set, but apparently every Indiana county has a covered bridge with a cemetery next to it.

 

 

I had worked the backroads to the upper-left corner of Indiana where I came across two things (1) a great address:  Wheatfield, Indiana, and (2) R. J. Jackson.

 

 

He was driving/riding/moving-around-in a vehicle that was part Kawasaki, part Chevy and part Amish buggy.

 

 

Built her himself, and a fine job.  We rode together to Hebron.

 

 

There was to be one last memory before I would pass through the interstates of the Chicago area.  Five tall free-standing rock columns arrayed in an arc around a flagpole drew me to the side of the road one last time.

 

 

“For those who sacrificed, for those who served, for those who died from their wounds after the Korean War, for those yet to return, for those families who have endured great sorrow due to the war, and for those who have, and continue to protect our freedoms today in South Korea…YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN”

 

 

The five columns are for the five braches.  All were graffiti-free except the Army.  “Big B Go Army” it said.  Thanks for the sentiment, Big B, but how ‘bout you grab a flag and come with us to a funeral instead?

 

 

Naturally, I found a big rock and chipped that blemish off.

 

 

If any of you know Big B, please introduce me.  I can always find another rock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                        Pictures:                   visitation

 

                                                funeral

 

                                                cemetery