This past Memorial Day weekend, a friend and I, like thousands of other bikers from around the country, made the trek to Washington, DC to participate in Rolling Thunder’s ‘Ride to the Wall’ and to honor the Veterans who made the ultimate sacrifice. This was my fifth trip for this event, but it was the most memorable.
We arrived at the Pentagon shortly after 8:00 am for the ride. The north parking was already half full. As a result, it was almost 1 pm till the row we were in started to pull out. A five hour wait, but it provided an opportunity to talk to other riders, look at bikes, take some photos, check out the vendors, and visit the new 9-11 Memorial at the Pentagon.
The ride went from the Pentagon, across the Arlington Memorial Bridge, then up Constitution Avenue along the National Mall, and back down Independence Avenue to the Lincoln Memorial. The ride was well organized and, despite the hundreds of thousand of bikes, it kept moving throughout the route.
One of the best part of the ride was crossing the Arlington Memorial Bridge. As you rode across the bridge, you got a good view of the Lincoln Memorial with the towering Washington Memorial in the background. But the most striking thing about this year’s ride were all the people along the route who extended thier hands to slap ours. Very touching (no pun intended) indeed. This support, along with the view, made me proud to be an American.
After arriving at the Lincoln Memorial, we made my way over to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial for the real purpose of the ‘Ride to the Wall’, to honor those Veterans who made the ultimate sacrifice. But it was also personal for me. I lost a good friend in Vietnam.
I met Frank Cox, Jr. on the airplane going to Vietnam. We were both Army Infantry Lieutenants with unassigned orders. Frank was a very tall African-American from Elmira, NY and we quickly became good friends. On arrival in Vietnam, Frank and I ‘hung out’ together at RepoDepot and were happy when we got assignment orders to the 101st Airborne Division. This gave us more time to get to know each other. Once at division, Frank and I were assigned to different Battalions of the 1st Brigade. From there we lost track of each other as we made our way out to the ‘bush’.
A few months later, I ran into Frank by chance. I was headed back to Camp Eagle with my Platoon and, as we marched down the road, Frank was headed in the opposite direction with his Platoon. We stopped our Platoons for a short rest so that Frank and I could talk for a while. We then went on our way. It was the last time I saw Frank. He was killed in action a few weeks later.
My friendship with Frank Cox on this earth was short-lived, but I will always remember him and the comradeship we shared. Rest in Peace, My Brother, Rest in Peace.
