The Closing Ceremony and Wreath Laying - World Trade Center

Early Sunday morning you could hear the rumble of pipes down on 7th Avenue, the sound bouncing off the buildings in Midtown. I thought if I got out to the bike by 7:30 a.m. it would be early enough to line up right in front of the hotel. Wrong. Bikes were already lined up both north and south of the Sheraton and being directed onto the side streets even though we weren't scheduled to head to Ground Zero until 8:30 a.m.

Once directed where to line up everyone parked and the ritual of sharing stories and meeting new people continued. I am on a side street and it is quite a site to look down 7th Avenue to the big lights of Time Square and see it flooded with bikes and riders. This is one of my favorite sights every year. This time, because of the size of our group, we will divert over to the West Side highway after passing through the heart of Time Square.

All along Time Square people are lined up as well as firetrucks and First Responders. Everyone appears to be there for support with just a few caught up in the crowds. But out on the West Side highway it's a different story. There are fewer people and most appear to be conducting their Sunday morning ritual of jogging or walking their dogs. We are back in stop and go mode while the bikes already at Ground Zero are being parked and those of us on the highway inch our way down.

While still out on the West Side highway I can see the construction of Tower #7 rising above the skyline directly in front of me. I can't take my eyes of it as I continue moving toward Lower Manhattan, anxious to see what changes and progress have been made this past year. Though we are all fighting the heat of the pipes once again the mood is solemn and patient as we keep moving forward.

Just after being parked I walk to where a makeshift stage has been set up by the Foundation, though I stand in the crowd behind it. I arrive just in time for the ceremony that begins with the Pledge of Allegiance, National Anthem sung by Daniel Rodriguez, Taps and a prayer. I see hand held flags being passed out to anyone who wants one and am about to reach out when I realize I have no place on my bike to place it or to pack it for the flight home.

We are standing as close to the base of World Trade Center Tower 7 as we can. The significance is that this was the last building to fall and the first that will be rebuilt. It reaches up toward the sky, already having over 60 stories completed. A wreath is presented from the America's 9/11 Foundation which will be placed at the building during the official ceremonies in a few weeks on September 11, 2011.

We are introduced to New York's American Legion 9-11 Memorial Post 2001 Commander, John Powers. He speaks both eloquently and with heartfelt emotion about the tragedies of September 11th, the courage of the First Responders on that day, and the responsibilities we have today and every day as American Patriots and First Responders to support our country and ensure such actions never occur on our soil again.

The stage is also graced by Richard, a member of the Foundation who, just as he did last year, gives us the opportunity to see through his eyes and feel what he felt as he worked in Tower Two on September 11, 2001. I am again amazed at his courage to relive the moments when he learned about Tower One, left his own building, then returned to his office moments before it was struck. The most emotional moment for him was recounting when he was finally able to make it home that evening and the most amazing thing he saw was his American flag in front of his house that his son had lowered to half mast. That was when the reality of what had happened that day struck him the hardest.

Of course Ted Sjurseth is called to the microphone as the head of the Foundation. Although he, his wife Lisa and his brother Eric began this Foundation and work tirelessly year round to make these few days come together, he does not do this for recognition. As always, he is humbled by those who gave all on that fateful day and wants all the focus to be on them, feeling what they do pales in comparison. You will never meet more selfless and caring people.

We are also graced with the sounds of the New York Port Authority Pipe and Drum Corps. Knowing the losses suffered by the Port Authority, and having been inside their office located at the World Trade Center, my heart is touched by their presence.

When the ceremony comes to a close I have the opportunity to thank and say good-bye to several of those whom I have been blessed to meet that had a hand in all that I have been able to experience these past few days. Truer Americans cannot be found.

I then am finally able to do something I have had to miss out on in years past, I visit St. Paul's Chapel directly across from the World Trade Center. This small historic church was established in 1766, is Manhattan's oldest public building in continuous use, was a witness to the great fire of 1776, hosted George Washington on his Inauguration Day, and survived the Terrorist Attacks of September 11, 2001.

This Chapel is still in use and is essentially a museum and tribute to those lost in the terror attacks at the World Trade Center. The small, stone building is dwarfed by the newer, larger buildings that surround it. It is a piece of American history and a look back into time that is also the keeper of current tragic history. If you have not been there when you get the opportunity it should not be missed.

As I walk back toward my bike I see groups, couples and individuals saddling up for their treks back home. Good-byes are said to new friends and old alike. We have traveled from all over and been brought together for one purpose since Thursday. Some realize this is the only chance they will ever have the honor of participating in the America's 9/11 Ride, while others decide they must return again someday, and some still have sworn to move heaven and earth to never miss a future ride. But we all know we will never forget the sacrifices made, the lives lost and the attacks on our country. Whether we do see one another again or not we have all bonded over a few days together that gave us experiences which touched our hearts and souls, that took our breath away, that made us swell with pride as Americans, and that let us know that our nation is alive and well with patriots.

When I returned my rental bike Monday morning I had traveled only 826 miles but gained a lifetime of friendships and memories.

The Ride Day Two - Arlington to New York City

After the storm that hit the night before the first thing on every one's mind was the weather. But even at 5 a.m. it appeared the skies would be clear. That proved to be the case not just in the D.C. area but fair weather followed us all day. If you had experienced the thunderstorm Friday night you would understand the relief we all felt.

The line-up spot on Saturday morning is not the local Harley dealership but the Pentagon parking lot. It amazes me every year to ride around the building and sit looking at the home of our military's defense. I have even toured the inside twice. I have stood at the point where American Airlines Flight 77 first struck the building as well as the point where the penetration ended. Two years ago I met a man who had been in the building when it was hit and he thanked us for participating in the Ride because he felt it important we never forget those who were lost or what happened to our country. And last February I was on a flight home from Dulles when I learned that it was the renumbered Flight 77. I felt humbled as I spoke with the flight attendant.

After the requisite announcements we all face the large flag hoisted overhead by a firetruck and place our hands over our hearts while a soldier sings our National Anthem. Before we saddle up a wonderful priest from Connecticut, who goes by the name Chip and rides with us every year, leads us in a prayer and blessing for our country, our First Responders, our military and our ride.

There are 1720 bikes that depart the Pentagon and as we enter the freeway I look out at the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, and all the buildings of our nation's capitol. I am at the heart of our country and looking at one building that was struck by terrorists and another that was targeted.

After passing through D.C. we head north up the Baltimore-Washington Parkway passing so many recognizable places and names along the way. It is amazing as a Californian to see so many cities and sites that are important to our country's past, its leadership, and its defense. Once again, even on an early Saturday morning, there are people along the roadways and overpasses showing their support for our country and our ride of remembrance.

For our first break the ride overtakes the northbound section of the Maryland House rest stop. It takes time to coordinate all the bikes but eventually we are all parked. Aside from gas, food and drinks we are all still meeting new people and finding those from past years. As always on these breaks and with the heat and humidity, the most important thing we all do is re-hydrate. I am amazed at how smoothly everything is managed for such a large group, down to the lines at the shops.

It is even more amazing that despite our traveling along more urban areas there are still overpasses where people are standing, holding flags, waving, though these have become fewer and further between. Then before we know it we arrive in New Castle, Delaware and Mike's Famous Harley-Davidson. The great volunteers make the trek to the gas stations and back, as well as the parking situation, all run smoothly once again. As with every year I've attended, we are treated to lunch and given more opportunities to meet other riders.

What has been most amazing to me is running into some of the same people each day, something I wouldn't have expected considering the size of the ride. But my favorite part is seeing those from past rides, which happens once again as soon as I park. My first year's ride in 2007, we fell behind the group through Cumberland. The rider in front of me stood on his pegs, looked around and guided the rest of us in the right direction and later we got to know each other at our lunch break. He joins the ride every other year, and in 2009 we ran into each other at the stop in Linden, NJ. This time I find myself parked just behind him. It is always fun to recognize someone and have a chance to chat once again.

Just as when we had arrived, as we leave we pass under a large American flag hoisted on a firetruck and are cheered on by the volunteers and people of New Castle. We head out on the highway for New Jersey, and all those wonderful people along the roads who wave or stop to support what we are doing.

Because I've done this ride three times before I am not expecting anything new or different with the exception of changes due to the large size of the group. As with any assumption that was a mistake on my part.

As we traveled through New Jersey the route took us to a place we had not visited before, Hightstown. This little town was quaint and beautiful with it's hanging flower pots and the people along the streets waving. But then the main road curved left into the heart of downtown and what I saw took my breath away. The sidewalks and roadway were packed with people. A firetruck was parked to the left with several firefighters in their dress uniforms standing alongside and their color guard to the right of them. As I passed I pulled up my camera for a photo and one of them saluted.

It wasn't until the next stop I would learn that this was the hometown of Todd Beamer, the United 93 passenger who uttered the phrase, "Let's roll" to his fellow passengers when they decided to attack the terrorists and force their plane into the field outside Shanksville. The lump I had felt in my throat now became an audible gasp.

One of my favorite stops is in Linden, New Jersey. The shopping center between the Applebee's Restaurant and Home Depot opens it's parking lot for our large procession each year and the doors to their businesses, especially their restrooms. There is always a stage for entertainment and presentations, a color guard and the Pledge of Allegiance, and plenty of food and cold drinks given away to us all. This is all given from the heart and in the name of patriotism by the citizens and the local businesses of Linden. We are only 15 miles from our day's destination but no one minds the stop, instead we are grateful to see yet another town celebrating their love of country and dedicated to upholding the memories of those lost.

The sun sets as we leave the parking lot and head for the Holland Tunnel and Midtown Manhattan in New York City. This is the first time we have traveled into the City at night, and though it is still warm and humid we know it will be cooler than before as we make our way to and through the tunnel. In the past we have had to stop and go as we would proceed up to the tunnel, the heat of the pipes burning at our legs and some bikes overheating. But we are in luck this trip and though we are traveling slowly we have our feet on the boards all the way through.

But we are again surprised as we exit the tunnel and make a sharp right turn. There are people and flags lining both sides of the street and cheering us on. It is an amazing site to see on the streets of New York. We continue on to the West Side highway, past the docked Intrepid, strung with red and blue lights, then turn towards Broadway and past the theater district thick with people coming and going from shows such as Jersey Boys. Suddenly we turn and see that we have overtaken 7th Avenue and the volunteers standing in the middle of the roadway are pointing us to the side streets to park. It is dark and late after a day of being on the road since 7 a.m., and the streets are crowded with Saturday night foot traffic in Time Square. We all unload our gear, head for our hotels and showers before our night on the town or a warm, comfy bed.

The Ride Day One - Somerset to Arlington

The morning begins early. Even as I'm getting up at 5 a.m. I already hear bikes leaving the hotel parking lot. I am gassed up and packed so need only shower, dress and eat. The breakfast area is filled with riders. We all know we will be on the bikes for a long period in the heat and humidity so need our own fuel and hydration. I am surprised when I arrive at the Harley dealership to find that though I am 45 minutes early I am very much toward the back of the pack. In years past there haven't even been bikes parked this far out.

The mood is friendly though reserved. Not sure if it's the early morning, the late night or the somber occasion. Probably a little of each. There is lots of talk of coffee and water, friends trying to line up together, and people recognizing one another from past years. There are a lot of new riders and they are easy to spot, if not by the uncertain look of how to line up then by the questions they are asking everyone around them.

Finally announcements are made, organization and cooperation are stressed, the blessing is given and gradually the group begins to depart. There are certain groups to the front, including VIP's and the police escort motorcycles. As there is all along our route we first pass under a large flag and both citizens and volunteers line the roadways and wave to us as we ride by.

The sun had just made it's debut over the eastern skyline as I prepared for my turn to pull out. The morning is cool but not cold, and feels good through my mesh jacket to my bare arms and there are patches of misty fog hanging along some of the trees and small valleys made by the low rolling hills and pastures. It is beautiful and perfect.

The area around here is mostly countryside but even along the two lane road there are some houses and businesses, though they are few and far between. At most of them the people are outside. A few just watch us pass but the majority of them are outside to show their support for our ride of remembrance. They wave, they clap, they give us a thumbs up. This is a theme that will carry on throughout this ride.

As we travel down these familiar country roads there already seems to be a difference in this year's ride. It appears that there are more people and signs than in the past. This change holds true for the woman who always has a sign welcoming and wishing a safe ride, another thanking us and saying good-bye until next year, all while she's on her porch waving. This time she has an additional sign which says, "Our Nation Under God", and she is sitting roadside on her lawn waving to us with her dogs.

Passing through the actual United 93 Memorial site is more symbolic than anything because it is a constant procession of bikes and difficult to actually see anything while making a turn on dirt and rock, with construction equipment there as well. But while bikes ride up the left side of the road to the Memorial bikes are riding down the right, and it is a chance to see the other riders with whom you are sharing this journey.

Then it's back on the roadway and traveling southeast through the Pennsylvania and Maryland countryside. Many bikes pick up speed and take off leaving a large gap. But I have done this ride before and I have read the road rules several times. I know that if I too jump on the throttle I will catch up quicker but then slow considerably and increase the dreaded accordion affect. So I ride at a speed that has me gradually closing the gap, knowing there is a town ahead that will slow everyone down and I will catch up with ease. There are a few bikes behind me that are new to this ride and grow impatient, two even go around and take off. Without changing my speed I am on their tailpipes in just a few minutes as they are now creeping along. Keeping us all close is important but this ride isn't about moments of speed, or having fun, or about any of us as individuals. It is a memorial ride to honor and remember those lost.

In the past the little town of Berlin has had a few people along the roadway in town to welcome us, and a moment two years ago that tore at my heart. As we passed by a home only one person was outside. It was a young boy, maybe 11 or 12, standing alone in the warm rain in his driveway wearing shorts, a tank top, and his father's firefighter helmet. This year the streets along the main part of town were crowded for a town their size. Flags, signs and people happily greeted us. I looked for the boy again but no one was outside his home. Perhaps he too had been back in town.

As we again find ourselves in the rolling green countryside there are the occasional Amish farm houses near the road. This year I saw not only a few individuals out front or on their porches, but entire families outside and closer to the roadway, waving to us as we passed by. There were people standing at the Mason-Dixon and Maryland state lines, and those with flags sitting outside the one building of Barrellville, MD cheering us on. Proof that every American was touched by the tragedies and attacks on our country ten years ago.

In years past there has been a stop made at Allegany College after passing through the town of Cumberland, Maryland. However, due to the number of bikes this year this was not possible. But we still made our way into Cumberland and were greeted with the appreciation and patriotism they always show, only this year the townspeople were lined up beginning at the outskirts of town, and were several people deep in some areas. The people of this town have always put a lump in my throat but this time they took my breath away.

Next up was our lunch and gas break in Hagerstown, MD. With only two gas stations and the need to fill up before eating, it was coordinated chaos. Actually, there was no real chaos, that was probably just the heat-induced feeling. We traveled 124 miles in five hours without stopping. And the long gas lines heated up our legs even more than the sun and humidity. But once the tank was full it was time to find the outhouse, the food and water, and the shade - in that order. At this time in my infinite wisdom I place an extra bottle of water inside the side pocket of my mesh jacket for hydration on the road. Smartest thing I did the entire trip.

Of course while we are all cooling off and nourishing our tired bodies, we continue to meet new people and catch up with those from the past. We are all looking a little worn out, and there may be a little exhaustive complaint or two heard, but in the scheme of things most of us know that what we are dealing with is minute in retrospect.

Having almost been at the end of the procession the call to saddle up seems too soon. But when I see others getting on their bikes I step out from under a tree and get ready myself. I am looking forward to the ride through beautiful Leesburg and especially the evening in Arlington, remembering the great time last year and the new friends I made. This year there will be a street fair type event, including a concert by Aaron Tippen.

The road we take into Virginia is highway 15. I always enjoy the scenic route and the view as it crosses the Potomac River. For the first time just after crossing the bridge we are met by a group of supporters lined up along the state and county line. It is a great welcoming into Virginia. And as we travel south I see people lined up where there are normally none, or larger amounts of people were there are usually few.

The townspeople of Leesburg have always welcomed us with open arms and a wonderful show of support and I expected no less this year. What I didn't expect was for them to be able to seemingly triple the number of people along the roadway, and to be able to show even more appreciation. It was beautiful and yet another moment that I felt as if my heart skipped a beat. And this was all made even more special by the fact that Leesburg considered diverting the ride to the Bypass, until the citizens had their say. In fact, right in the middle of downtown I saw a woman holding a sign which read, "Leesburg does not bypass Patriotism". As I rode past I got the woman's attention, pointed to her sign and told her I loved it. She smiled, shouted out a thank you and gave me a thumbs up.

At the end of town we jumped over to the Dulles Parkway where we could accelerate and bring the bikes together. What I didn't expect to see were people. I could hardly believe my eyes all the times I saw someone and wondered how they got there. I think my favorite was the couple of families that took blankets and lawn chairs across the expansive lawn area between their homes and the Parkway to set up near the road and show their support. I was overwhelmed to see so many not only on the roadside but on the overpasses, even above Interstate 66 as we neared Washington, D.C., because they had not been there in previous years.

As we came around the Iwo Jima Memorial and alongside the white headstones of Arlington National Cemetery I expected to see mass chaos on the roadway as it neared 4:30 p.m. on a Friday night, but such a view never materialized. The next thing you know we are exiting the freeway and everyone is making their way to their hotels after covering 90 miles in 3 1/2 hours.

But despite the time or the heat it has been an awe filled day. It wasn't just the masses of people that was overwhelming but often the actions of just one. As we left the outskirts of Cumberland there was a man standing beside his pickup that had a large Gold Star flag draped across it. Along the interstate a man was standing on the shoulder solemnly saluting all of us, something I saw a few other older men do as well. One man parked in the center divide of opposing traffic and walked across the grass median just to wave a full-sized flag until we all passed by. And at the roundabout north of Leesburg a person held a shirt with the name of a loved one who perished in the terror attacks, causing me to fight back tears. Reminders of the realities of why we do this ride were everywhere today, and so were a lot of true American Patriots. Makes ever moment, the sweat, the dirt, the pain all worthwhile.

Somerset, PA - Where We Come Together

There are three things that really take place on Thursday, the day the Ride officially begins. The first is that this is the day riders arrive from all over. One would assume that everyone involved would just be from the local areas, and I would say that the majority may well be. But there are people who ride down every year from Canada, each year I've seen plates from Florida, Georgia and New Hampshire, and there was a man from Australia. Also, this year as well as last there were escort officers from the El Paso Police Department, and it was the department in Louisiana that won this year's police motorcycle giveaway. I cannot begin to list every department or state that is represented year after year, but I can tell you that it amazes me every time.

Some travel in their own personal small groups, some alone, some schedule a meeting place for all traveling from their state, and others travel with the police escorts from their areas and arrive as a large group as well. But however they do it, they come in-mass to Somerset, arriving all day and into the evening. The police bikes all park together in front of the Quality Inn and it is amazing to walk around and see all the agencies and states they are from. Of course, like any motorcyclist will tell you, it is also fun to look at all the personal bikes.

The second thing that occurs is that there are three escorted rides out to the United 93 Memorial near Shanksville. Construction had just begun on the Memorial last year and is not yet complete but the American flag still marks the point of impact, there is a small building with mementos and information, and a Park Ranger is available to answer questions and maintain the sanctity of the site.

And the third thing that happens is you begin to meet the other riders. You may meet them in line when you are checking in at registration, or purchasing Foundation merchandise, outside while looking at the bikes, roaming inside the Harley shop, filling your tank at the gas station, hanging in the hotel lobby, or later that night in the Quality Inn bar. You learn that the majority of riders are First Responders themselves, which is why they come. They may have known a co-worker who perished on September 11, 2001, responded themselves to assist another agency, worked overtime at their own department when so much was uncertain, or they just come to honor their fellow brothers and sisters in uniform.

But you meet them, you bond with them, and somehow you run into them a few more times during the trip. And more amazing is when you return the next year and run into them again. We may not always recall each other's names but faces are recognized and good times remembered. They are all amazing people and dedicated Americans.

The Journey Begins

Since this ride takes place on the East Coast I fly there and rent a motorcycle. In the past when I arrived I rushed to the dealership to pick up my bike before closing, and then at the end raced the clock from New York to D.C. to drop it off, followed by quickly catching a ride to the airport so as to return home the same day. I have anticipated that this year's ride will be more exhausting than past rides, both emotionally and physically, so I have scheduled a little down time before and after, though not much.

For the first time I fly into Newark, then taxi to a hotel near the dealership. After sitting in planes all day the two mile walk for dinner felt good, though a little harried as it was along a two lane highway with no sidewalk. But the food was good and the conversation centered around memories from the past three rides as well as thoughts and expectations for this one.

After breakfast it's off to the Harley-Davidson dealership just a few miles away. With the size of this year's ride I can presume that the accordion affect will be on-going and the riding time much longer, so I have rented the same type bike I have at home for the ease and comfort of handling under less than optimal conditions. Before leaving home I mapped out the 300 mile route from the dealership to the hotel in Somerset, including the gas and lunch stop at the halfway point in Annville, PA. I don't carry a paper map or printouts but instead rely on my best friends Droid and Google. So I rechecked the directions, commit them to memory and hit the road with anticipation.

Within the first couple of miles I am struck with a reminder of why I am here. There, attached to the fence on the first overpass I see is an American flag. As I travel southwest through New Jersey I see them on almost every overpass. I honestly only recall one that was bare. The reality of that tragic day remains a strong memory here. As these thoughts strike me I see a roadside sign announcing the exit for General Washington's Headquarters and realize there is a lot of America's history in this area and I am humbled.

Soon the green rolling hills and towns become more spread out and I am heading west across Pennsylvania. I think about the fact that after today I will have traveled the entire way across this state on two separate occasions yet have never been to Philadelphia to visit sites historic to the birth of our nation. I make a mental note to ensure that I make some extra time for that next year.

The need for food and fuel hit as scheduled and I locate historic Harper's Tavern, just off the highway yet isolated, where it has stood for over 200 years. The menu also notes the building's history and old pictures line the walls. There is even a framed old, yellowed newspaper dated April 15, 1865, announcing that President Lincoln had been shot. Combine that with the ambiance and good food and all this alone would be enough to recommend it to anyone traveling through. But as I look across the room I see yet another reminder of why I am here. There is a small American flag framed along with a certificate of authenticity that it was flown with the 193rd Special Operations Squadron during Operation Iraqi Freedom and presented to Harper's Tavern. I take photos and ask the owner who provided it to them. She tells me that a local young woman had it done while she was deployed and surprised them with the presentation. She said this with a great sense of both pride and honor. With the day's travel only half done it's time to saddle back up and reach Somerset.

I don't know how to say this without sounding strange but here goes. I have never been one to believe in ghosts, spirits or similar ideas. And then in August of 2007, I made my first visit to the United 93 crash site outside Shanksville. As I rode out there I could feel a heaviness in the air envelope me. I saw the flag posted at the impact site, listened to the Park Ranger read transcripts from the flight communications and cell phone calls, looked at the makeshift memorial, and added my own San Jose Police Department Motor Unit baseball cap to the wall. The feeling in the air and emotions were surreal and they left me as I rode away. I figured since this was my first visit it was just a very emotional one. However, when I was there again in 2009 and 2010, the site itself was changed each time but to my surprise I still felt as though I was entering a different airspace. I could again feel the people lost that day, their courage, their fear, and their resolve as Americans to take action and protect their beloved country.

I bring this up because as I was nearing Somerset on the Turnpike I was struck by these feelings again, though they were at a distance. I was suddenly pulled to stare off to my left, out across the countryside, where I knew Shanksville to be. And then I began to envision what those in this area saw in the air that day as the plane suddenly climbed straight up before turning and diving nose down to the earth. As the area moves behind me the feelings fade, but not the thoughts as I exit for the hotel in Somerset. This night will be one to relax, see those from the Foundation who have arrived early, and await the arrival of everyone else.

The Background

Whenever I talk to people about my participation in the America's 9/11 Foundation, Inc.'s annual ride they are always surprised to find me traveling to it in August. I understand the confusion as one would automatically assume that a September 11th memorial ride would occur on or about September 11th every year. But when Ted and Lisa and Eric Sjurseth created the Foundation and the Ride one thing they did not want to do was interfere with the families of the victims and their memorials. So out of respect they determined the ride would occur each year on the third weekend in August.

They put together the first ride in November of 2001, with riders braving poor weather conditions to travel from Virginia to New York, with the goal of showing support and putting some money into the suddenly devastated local economy. From there they created the Foundation, obtained their 501(c)(3) status, and began an annual ride dedicated to the memory of the Police, Fire and EMS workers who lost their lives on that fateful day, as well as remembering all of the victims. From these humble beginnings they have grown to provide annual scholarships to children of active emergency service employees, assist agencies in times of disaster, and donate a police motorcycle each year.

But what truly amazes me is the untiring, never ending work that the Foundation does year-round and the results that come from their hard work. This ride is police escorted through six states and the District of Columbia. And by that I mean they shut down the roads, highways, interstates, the Holland Tunnel and even Time Square. I am certain there are some people I see stopped on the on-ramps who are not happy about being delayed. But I will guarantee you that they are in the minority. There are so many that are out of their vehicles waving at us, and I don't mean with a single finger salute. There are people who line the tops of overpasses with flags and signs, waving to every bike as they pass. Firetrucks are also found overhead with flags hoisted across their trucks or strung from raised ladders. And then there are those who access the roads before they are shut down just to park on the side, get out and hold flags and signs for us to see.

If all of that doesn't tug at your heartstrings enough then you should see what goes on in the towns that we pass through. There are some sites that I see every year, like the women along the road to Shanksville. One always has signs for us and can be seen waving from her porch, while the other walks across her pasture toward the road to wave as we all pass by. And then there's the multi-generational family sitting on their front lawn in Shanksville at seven o'clock in the morning. The town of Cumberland, Maryland has people lining the streets, out of their homes and businesses, many dressed in patriotic attire, all waving their hands or flags. And beautiful Leesburg, Virginia greets us at the city entrance with firetrucks flying flags over the roadway, which leads to the townspeople on their porches and sidewalks waving and holding flags as well. Of course the one that always chokes me up is the old man standing outside his house wearing his military ball cap, hand over his heart.

But seeing the people everywhere, in small blink-and-you-miss-them towns to small cities to New York's Manhattan, coming out to support the memories of the fallen is what keeps me coming back. To never forget what happened that September day in 2001. That there were people who ran into buildings as everyone else ran out, trying to do their job and help others, because that was what they swore to do, what they trained to do, what they felt compelled to do, just like every other police officer, firefighter and paramedic. They deserve to be remembered for fulfilling their duty with honor.

And this week as we embark on our ride to honor their memory ten years later we will do so in full force. It is not about us riding or doing anything noteworthy, we aren't. Most of those who participate in this ride are themselves emergency service or military personnel. The focus among us all is always on trying to honor those who gave all.

I have also been humbled and honored to become friends with many that I see on this ride year in and year out, and to have heard their own stories. Last year Richard stood at Ground Zero and recounted for us his experience of being in the World Trade Center Tower Two when it was struck. I have spoken with those who could see the smoke rise above the Manhattan skyline from their homes and work, as well as those who immediately mobilized and traveled to the World Trade Center site to assist their brothers and sisters in uniform, staying for days and weeks. I've met a National Guardsman who described to me the crash site and work he did in the field outside of Shanksville, and a man now retired from the Air Force who had been at work inside the Pentagon. I have seen through their eyes and felt their heartaches, and am grateful to know them and to call them my friends.

Today I arrived on the east coast thinking of what lies ahead. Tomorrow I pick up my rental bike and head west, to Somerset, Pennsylvania, knowing my heart will grow heavier the closer I get. But I look forward to seeing everyone again, sharing in the camaraderie of our career choices, and bonding once again to honor those who have gone before us.

A Decade of Honor

I first learned of the America's 9/11 Foundation and the Ride that they began in November of 2001, in August of 2004. On that same day I decided that this Ride was what I needed to do to honor those fellow Police Officers, Firefighters and Paramedics who gave all trying to help their fellow man on September 11, 2001.

In 2007, I finally made the commitment and participated in my first Foundation Ride. I realized then that this was something I needed to do annually, that it was the least I could do to honor those who went to work, who responded without a second thought, as so many of us have so many times, yet this time who gave their all simply in the performance of duty.

I had met a sergeant and officer of the NY Port Authority at the WTC site in 1996. But the meeting was brief and I could not recall their names in 2001. I realized then that I was remiss, and whether those two men lived or died would always haunt me. And that failure would make me realize what was more important was to never forget all those who gave their all out of duty, as well as those who were simply our country's victims of terrorism.

This blog is dedicated to them all, in recognition of the 10th anniversary of their sacrifices. To honor them, in the best way that I can, as little as it is compared to all they did. My thanks, my dedication, my gratitude goes out to them all, and to all their families that continue without them daily. May God Bless you all.