Saturday morning came with the coldest temps of the year - 31 F (0.5 C) Now I normally don't ride much below 40 F (4.4 C) and I try to avoid riding in the dark; but this Saturday, there was a good reason for saddling up and pulling out at 06:00 about 1.5 hours before sunrise.
Wreaths Across America started more than 15 years ago when a Massachusetts wreath company began a tradition of donating and placing wreaths on the headstones at Arlington National Cemetery across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C. Since then, Worcester Wreath Company has donated close to 100,000 wreaths for volunteers to place on headstones at national cemeteries across the country. This Saturday morning, I volunteered. Patriot Guard riders all over the nation were participating in wreath laying at national cemeteries. In Florida, we participated at the Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell, the South Florida National Cemetery in Lake Worth, Barrancas National Cemetery in Pensacola and the very old St Augustine National Cemetery. All across the nation, the official ceremonies occur at the same time - 12:00 noon on the east coast to 09:00 on the Pacific Coast.
By any measure, this was a chilly ride 67 mile (107.8 K) ride. The thermometer read 43 degrees (6.1 C) when I left home, but as I traveled west, the bank sign I cruised past read 33 (+0.5 C). That was an attention-getter. When I stopped for a cup of hot chocolate about 50 miles from home, the temp was just below freezing at 31 degrees F (-0.5 C) . To be there at 08:00 or so and make the trip on state roads and back country roads, I had to head out early. There is no direct route. Talk about beating the crowds. I had the roads almost all to myself, but there were plenty of people waiting for me along the cemetery.
The nearly full moon was high in the western sky making a nice light on the road and making it easier to spot wildlife. With the moon so high and bright, the wildlife were not feeding. As the orange glow began to appear in the east and the sky began to lighten, I could clearly see the oranges on the trees, ripe and ready to pick. Birds were beginning to leave their roosts winging their way to another day of feeding. Cattle were getting up to began their day of feeding. The ever brightening sky revealed patches of frost. As I traveled further westward, the patches grew in size until whole pastures and field were covered in the glistening white. Only an occasional cage spoiled my solitary ride.
There were about 45 bikes at the staging area and at least 60 riders. The ride captain was "Slowpoke.†The name on his business card is John Minch. He led the group the 3 miles to the cemetery and the gathered the troops for instructions which we call a mission brief.
As we moved in a semi-circle around John, I could see that the Boy Scouts and some junior ROTC groups had already laid out about 200 wreaths before we had arrived and we were waiting for more trucks to pull in with the next shipment of wreaths. As we waited, John had the rundown of what we needed to do. Our instructions were to pick up only one wreath at a time. This was, in essence, to be a series of individual reverent ceremonies, not a race. John told us to pick up the wreath and as we walked toward the headstones, fluff up the greenery and the bow - make them look nice after days of being stacked and packed away in boxes. As we placed the wreath on the headstone, he said we should make a note of the name on the marker and remember it later, because that person beneath that marker paid the ultimate price, as John put it, “for us to breathe free air.†I could see the tears in his eyes and the hitch in his voice as he spoke.
As I listened to him and looked at the cemetery, I was flooded with a series of contrasts. There was the warmth of the morning sun… and the coolness of the morning air. There was the group… but each member acting singularly to honor each hero. There was the clear blue morning sky… and the clouds in many eyes caused by tears.
It was a quiet duty on a field of honor. Solemn. Peaceful. There was a long slow processional of real Americans in denim and chaps and leather jackets; each walking quietly, seemingly deep in thought as they lifted the small pieces of pine or fir in the wreaths and straightened the bright red bows. They were taking care to honor. They were taking the time to remember. I placed two wreaths this morning. Each time, I removed my hat. I knelt. I said a brief prayer and I said “thank you", stood up and saluted.
After laying the second wreath, I was walking back toward the bikes when I realized all of the wreaths had already been placed. And while I had noted the coolness of the air and warmth of the sun and the feeling of reverence that seemed to hover all of us to helped, I began noticing the sounds of the morning. There were some soft laughs as old friends greeted one another. There were hugs, followed by the popping sound created when an open palm loving slaps the back of a leather jacket. And in the distance – the pipes. Not from the motorcycles, but the sounds of hymns from a bagpiper. Solitary sounds for a solitary service.
There was a formal ceremony following the work of laying all of the wreaths. There was a retired admiral who spoke of service and sacrifice and the color guard added to the tradition of a military ceremony. But as I see it, the real purpose for the morning had already been attended to and taken care of. Looking back, I could see the contrasts of the forest green of the wreaths and the bright red of the bows. I saw the contrast of the warmth created by our remembering versus the coldness of this setting, this final resting place. And unfortunately, there was one last contrast I noted. While hundreds of hero’s markers were decorated, hundreds more in the cemetery were not. They stood as stark as they would on any other day, forming a different kind of long gray line. We made sure to place wreaths on the markers of those for whom we had done missions, family members and close friends. Two members have sons resting there. Both sets of parents were there. We hugged and cried together.
Altogether, PGR had 49 bikes and five cages by mission time. In addition to PGR there were several other groups and MC's there: US Military Vets MC, Viet Nam Vets MC, Honda Riders, and others. PGR, by far, had the largest turnout. There were also representatives from the armed services, high school Junior ROTC units and many civilians just wanting to honor and remember. Many folks sponsored wreathes which doubled the number of wreaths.
To me, this is part of the season of giving. Each of those headstones represents someone who put their life on the line for my freedom.
The day warmed up and it was around 62 F (16.7 C). After a fine meal at Lake Panasoftkee with great camaraderie it was time for the ride home.
Here is a map of my ride . Notice to north of my destination is Lake Panasoftkee. We ate at a great restaurant at a fish camp on the southern edge of the lake.
Wreaths Across America started more than 15 years ago when a Massachusetts wreath company began a tradition of donating and placing wreaths on the headstones at Arlington National Cemetery across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C. Since then, Worcester Wreath Company has donated close to 100,000 wreaths for volunteers to place on headstones at national cemeteries across the country. This Saturday morning, I volunteered. Patriot Guard riders all over the nation were participating in wreath laying at national cemeteries. In Florida, we participated at the Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell, the South Florida National Cemetery in Lake Worth, Barrancas National Cemetery in Pensacola and the very old St Augustine National Cemetery. All across the nation, the official ceremonies occur at the same time - 12:00 noon on the east coast to 09:00 on the Pacific Coast.
By any measure, this was a chilly ride 67 mile (107.8 K) ride. The thermometer read 43 degrees (6.1 C) when I left home, but as I traveled west, the bank sign I cruised past read 33 (+0.5 C). That was an attention-getter. When I stopped for a cup of hot chocolate about 50 miles from home, the temp was just below freezing at 31 degrees F (-0.5 C) . To be there at 08:00 or so and make the trip on state roads and back country roads, I had to head out early. There is no direct route. Talk about beating the crowds. I had the roads almost all to myself, but there were plenty of people waiting for me along the cemetery.
The nearly full moon was high in the western sky making a nice light on the road and making it easier to spot wildlife. With the moon so high and bright, the wildlife were not feeding. As the orange glow began to appear in the east and the sky began to lighten, I could clearly see the oranges on the trees, ripe and ready to pick. Birds were beginning to leave their roosts winging their way to another day of feeding. Cattle were getting up to began their day of feeding. The ever brightening sky revealed patches of frost. As I traveled further westward, the patches grew in size until whole pastures and field were covered in the glistening white. Only an occasional cage spoiled my solitary ride.
There were about 45 bikes at the staging area and at least 60 riders. The ride captain was "Slowpoke.†The name on his business card is John Minch. He led the group the 3 miles to the cemetery and the gathered the troops for instructions which we call a mission brief.
As we moved in a semi-circle around John, I could see that the Boy Scouts and some junior ROTC groups had already laid out about 200 wreaths before we had arrived and we were waiting for more trucks to pull in with the next shipment of wreaths. As we waited, John had the rundown of what we needed to do. Our instructions were to pick up only one wreath at a time. This was, in essence, to be a series of individual reverent ceremonies, not a race. John told us to pick up the wreath and as we walked toward the headstones, fluff up the greenery and the bow - make them look nice after days of being stacked and packed away in boxes. As we placed the wreath on the headstone, he said we should make a note of the name on the marker and remember it later, because that person beneath that marker paid the ultimate price, as John put it, “for us to breathe free air.†I could see the tears in his eyes and the hitch in his voice as he spoke.
As I listened to him and looked at the cemetery, I was flooded with a series of contrasts. There was the warmth of the morning sun… and the coolness of the morning air. There was the group… but each member acting singularly to honor each hero. There was the clear blue morning sky… and the clouds in many eyes caused by tears.
It was a quiet duty on a field of honor. Solemn. Peaceful. There was a long slow processional of real Americans in denim and chaps and leather jackets; each walking quietly, seemingly deep in thought as they lifted the small pieces of pine or fir in the wreaths and straightened the bright red bows. They were taking care to honor. They were taking the time to remember. I placed two wreaths this morning. Each time, I removed my hat. I knelt. I said a brief prayer and I said “thank you", stood up and saluted.
After laying the second wreath, I was walking back toward the bikes when I realized all of the wreaths had already been placed. And while I had noted the coolness of the air and warmth of the sun and the feeling of reverence that seemed to hover all of us to helped, I began noticing the sounds of the morning. There were some soft laughs as old friends greeted one another. There were hugs, followed by the popping sound created when an open palm loving slaps the back of a leather jacket. And in the distance – the pipes. Not from the motorcycles, but the sounds of hymns from a bagpiper. Solitary sounds for a solitary service.
There was a formal ceremony following the work of laying all of the wreaths. There was a retired admiral who spoke of service and sacrifice and the color guard added to the tradition of a military ceremony. But as I see it, the real purpose for the morning had already been attended to and taken care of. Looking back, I could see the contrasts of the forest green of the wreaths and the bright red of the bows. I saw the contrast of the warmth created by our remembering versus the coldness of this setting, this final resting place. And unfortunately, there was one last contrast I noted. While hundreds of hero’s markers were decorated, hundreds more in the cemetery were not. They stood as stark as they would on any other day, forming a different kind of long gray line. We made sure to place wreaths on the markers of those for whom we had done missions, family members and close friends. Two members have sons resting there. Both sets of parents were there. We hugged and cried together.
Altogether, PGR had 49 bikes and five cages by mission time. In addition to PGR there were several other groups and MC's there: US Military Vets MC, Viet Nam Vets MC, Honda Riders, and others. PGR, by far, had the largest turnout. There were also representatives from the armed services, high school Junior ROTC units and many civilians just wanting to honor and remember. Many folks sponsored wreathes which doubled the number of wreaths.
To me, this is part of the season of giving. Each of those headstones represents someone who put their life on the line for my freedom.
The day warmed up and it was around 62 F (16.7 C). After a fine meal at Lake Panasoftkee with great camaraderie it was time for the ride home.
Here is a map of my ride . Notice to north of my destination is Lake Panasoftkee. We ate at a great restaurant at a fish camp on the southern edge of the lake.
