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Day 16, Mile 6,163: Youngstown, Ohio

Our final destination as we left Vermont that day was Chicago, but we knew we wouldn’t make it all the way.  We figured we would stop driving that night about midnight, and with that consideration, it would put us in Youngstown, Ohio.  Youngstown was where Tom Crowe, the person we had visited in DC, and his family lived, and having met most of them we decided to call Tom’s brother Tim from the road.  We were hoping to have the chance to meet up with Tim for a little while, but unfortunately his shift for work began that night at midnight and so it wasn’t going to work out.  Tom, he told us, was in town however.  He was spending time at home with his family before he would be entering seminary.  In what was a surprising twist in the trip, we were able to meet up with Tom again that evening in the old steel town of Youngstown, for a short visit and a quick tour of the city. 

Youngstown was once the third largest producer of steel in the country, a town that was once full of wealth and mafia connections.  With its proximity to both Chicago and Pittsburgh, Tom explained to us that Youngstown was once the battleground for a turf war between warring mafia factions.  The town had seen its periods of wealth, its periods of organized crime, and was at this point past its prime.  Though areas of the town had beautiful mansions and a strong artistic history, (it is the home to the first museum dedicated solely for American artists), the population had decreased over the decades by tens of thousands of residents.  It was in a state of stagnation and in many ways, reminded me of the numerous other towns we had seen along the way, towns that 50-100 years ago spoke to the determination of our country.  Those symbolic cities now rested in many other locations, and the hope that once invigorated those areas was largely gone.  Tom is one of those rare people who in the midst of normal conversation provides some of the best history lessons you’ll ever hear.  His knowledge of the cities he has lived in and loves is astounding and inspiring. 

We spoke that night with Tom about the future that lies ahead of him.  We talked about what it will be like to be a chaplains candidate in the Navy, about what he hoped to accomplish over the coming years.  He told us about his upcoming vacation to Florida, where he’ll spend some final days decompressing before he begins his six years of study in seminary.  In all, it was just a wonderful surprise to see Tom one last time before we continued on our journey, and he continued on his.

Day 16, Mile 5,583: Dorsett, Vermont

We had made our way into New England, the furthest north I had ever been in our country, except for our layovers in Bangor, Maine on the way to OIF.  The gorgeous Vermont country side, with its forests and stone that shoot out from the sides of the road, provided some of the most beautiful scenery we had seen thus far.  The state had certainly lived up to its rich aesthetic reputation. 

To get to Scott’s home, we had to drive through the quaint tourist town of Manchester, Vermont.  On either side were high end retail outlets, catering to the visitor who come here for the beauty and the bed and breakfasts.  In a conversation with Scott shortly before we arrived at his home, he told us he would be waiting in the driveway for us, to guide us up the winding hill to his home.  Set atop a small hill, his house was situated at the edge of a forest that spanned miles, with a creek that brought crystal clear water in a picturesque setting down to the road, just a few feet from his front door.  Immediately, Scott had the sort of charisma that is infectious, and offered to us whatever comforts of home we needed.  Being single, he had extra bedrooms with extra beds, and told us we were more than welcome to stay with him.  We made our way inside, bringing our bags to our rooms for the night and spending some time loading up his washer with clothes that had accumulated in our suitcases for several days.  To celebrate our visit to Vermont with a product Vermont is known for, he had a small jug of genuine maple syrup for each of us, the kind of syrup that makes you wonder why you spent all those years as a kid eating you Eggo waffles with the store bought syrup that has more sugar than any kid really needs.

Scott had been an attorney in Boston, successfully working in a practice he had begun with several other friends.  Reaching a point in his life where the rat race of a life in law in the midst of a big city had grown old, he moved to Vermont to experience a different kind of life.  Though it may not have been everything he would have hoped, it offered the serenity that few people in life today can experience for more than a week at a time when they take their own lives on the road to escape their own lives.  Throughout his time in Vermont, he had become much more familiar with milblogs, reading Blackfive and several others on a daily basis.  He said that it was through Blackfive that he really began to understand what soldiers and their families experience over the course of a year long deployment.  It was also through Blackfive that he had found my site, and had taken the time to send me some kind and uplifting e-mails.  He had been a part of the Soldiers Angels program for some time, and had spent considerable time and resources reaching out to soldiers deployed to Iraq.  His gregarious nature, his compassion for soldiers and his eagerness at the project we had undertaken to thank American patriots, immediately gave us a glimpse at just how big a heart Scott had. 

Sitting in his living room for our first half hour in town, we talked at length about the decisions we make in life, about careers and priorities.  Having experienced a career path that both Kyle and I are interested in, we listened to every word he said.  Without waiting too long though, Scott took us into town to see some of the historic areas and to enjoy a cocktail before dinner. 

Driving through the mountains of Vermont, very near to a local ski resort, we reach Johnny Seesaws’s, a steakhouse fashioned out of the look of an old ski lodge, with a fireplace in the center of the main dining room.  Scott had treated us to an amazing dinner, with steaks all around.  The salads were served with the kind of house dressing you might only find in Vermont, a maple flavored dressing and vinaigrette.  The 22 oz prime rib Scott ordered, another house special, was about the single largest piece of meat I had ever seen served in a restaurant.  After an extremely enjoyable dinner, we headed back to Scott’s where we spent the next several hours talking.  Scott’s taste in music was very similar to ours and we spent a great deal of time swapping recommended bands and artists, sharing cd’s and giving copies to  each other.  The conversation always came back to politics though, discussing future international issues we may face with North Korea, Iran, Syria and China. 

We awoke late the next morning, with Scott offering us a homemade breakfast of eggs, sausage and coffee.  The road was really beginning to take its toll on our energy level and we could all feel it.  After so many days of driving and staying up late and changes in time zones, we could have slept until late afternoon that day.  Breakfast was great though as we spent some time looking at our favorite milblogs and talking some more about politics.  Fox News was on the television, but it played in the background.  The main things we were listening to were an array of cd’s changed to gauge whether or not we liked the artists we were all being introduced to.  After a few more hours, we were ready to hit the road.  We still had so much country to traverse as our visit to Vermont was essentially the U-Turn of the trip.  From here it would be West, following the highways that would lead us back to California.  It was bittersweet leaving that day.  We had all forged such a great friendship with Scott, he was the kind of guy you just like to hang around with.  Intelligent, but down to earth.  We also knew how short time was getting, with only days before law school would begin for Kyle and I, and before Ryan would have to head down to San Diego for school, we were faced with some of the worse decisions of this trip.

Looking at the map and charting out our estimated times, we came to the conclusion that we would not be able to make a few of the visits.  I did however make the promise to myself as we passed towns that I had wanted so badly to visit, that I would return.  It was hard knowing that in the towns that we only saw from the interstate were great patriots who had supported me and other soldiers throughout the deployment.  I just knew in my heart though, that even though we didn’t have the opportunity to meet on this trip, there would be a time in the future where my hand shook there’s, and looking eye to eye, I could ay thank you for your contributions to freedom.

New Pictures

We've been on the road now for over three weeks.  I have a lot I plan on posting when we reach an internet connection tonight, but in the meantime the pictures page has been updated.  I haven't been able to add the captions to the photos yet, but that will come soon too.

Click Here: http://missick.blogs.com/photos/web_of_support/

Day 15, Mile 5,319: Brooklyn, New York and WTC

We arrived in Brooklyn around six that evening, and pulled up to Kenz’s Aunt Anne’s house.  The three story brick home, set in a quintessential Brooklyn neighborhood was made even better by the hugs and greetings from Anne, whose thick Brooklyn accent gave us the feeling that we were getting a taste of the authentic New York experience.  We stepped into her home and onto the patio in the backyard where she had prepared place settings for the dinner she made for us.  Her confident, relaxed manner exhibited the sense that she was in a place she loved, a place she knew.  She had lived in NY her entire life and is the kind of woman that you see hasn’t let a city define her, but has been a part of the fabric that defines a city. 

After dinner, we headed down to the local bakery to pick up some desert cookies and Italian ice.  For some reason, good Italian ice recipes have never made their way to Southern California, and so it was a real treat.  Kenz had grown up going to the bakery, and that small trip was an experience in itself.  We walked into the bakery together greeted by the accented hello of an Italian family that must have been in Brooklyn for generations.  We debated what cookies to get and took suggestions from the ladies behind the counter.  When Kenz had told them we were all skydiving earlier that day, the place erupted with disbelief and replies that came in a chorus from every direction that they would never do that, never in their lives.  Heading back to Anne’s house, we laughed about the experience and Kenz told me about the things her aunt wanted to show us from 9/11.

All along this trip we have encountered numerous people that have remarkable stories from 9/11.  People who were near the Pentagon like Rick Rice, and women like Carla who witnessed the terror in NYC after the World Trade Centers were hit.  The sentimentality of Anne’s conversation though was unique.  When they stood on the third floor and peered out the window, you could see the WTC.  On any ordinary day, Anne would find herself in front of the WTC at around the time the buildings were hit, but on the morning of September 11, 2001, she was busy tending to an elderly woman who rents a room in her house.  She witnessed the plane flying into the second building and even snapped pictures as it was happening.  She felt the sinking feeling when they fell and devastation inside for all the lives that were lost as she watched.  She described the sense of depression that fell over the city and the fact that the devastation from the towers even made it all the way to Brooklyn.  After walking towards the Brooklyn Bridge to see what she could do to help, she made her way back to her home, dust covered her body.  When she went into her backyard, the backyard that we were enjoying dinner and desert in, she saw it covered in dust and papers.  At that moment in the conversation, she pulled open a box of items from 9/11.  Inside were scraps of papers, some with burnt edges that looked the pirate treasure maps I would create when I was a child with the concentrated beam from my magnifying glass.  She held the stack in her hand and explained that all of these papers had found their way into the backyard, carried by the winds on 9/11.  Meticulously she retrieved them, and thinking to herself that that paper may have been the last thing one of the victims had touched, she could bring herself to throw them away.  She gathered them up, praying for that soul as she did it. 

As Anne pulled the papers from a large manila envelope, we sifted through them.  At about that moment a breeze picked up in the yard, possibly by the overhead train that rushed commuters past her house and we all pressed them down onto the table to keep them from blowing away.  One page in particular stuck each of us, it was the page from a book that had been ripped from its bindings and stood as a singular testament to what one of the individuals may have been reading before their lives were snuffed out.  The papers included charred documents, some of them harder to read than others.  At the bottom of the plastic box were newspapers that spanned from 9/12 to 9/22.  The papers mourned the dead, accused the terrorists, sought answers and still found even more questions.  They depicted President Bush in that most famous of images with the bullhorn in his hands, they echoed the words of the NYPD and NYFD on the accounts of heroism that took place that day.  It was in all, as intense a conversation I had ever had.  And in her sharp Brooklyn accent, she reminded me that New Yorkers will stick together and that they had hit the wrong town if they wanted to get them down. 

From Anne’s house we would be heading to the site of the World Trade Center, and the gravity of the moment as we sat in her backyard could not have been a better preparation for what we would experience when we parked and began walking towards the gaping hole where the buildings once stood.  I wanted to be sure that before we visited the site we had properly reflected and paid respect to the spirit of the tragedy inflicted by the enemies of America, and I felt as we left with solemn faces and hearts heavy for the families of the victims that the tone for the visit had been set.

The enormity of site where the towers once stood is what immediately shocked me, and as I got even closer, the depth of the hole that now existed shocked me into a state where words could simply not come out.  The large gate that surrounds the perimeter was adorned with the names of the victims on several placards.  Other signs depicted photographs from before and after the attacks, and a timeline was posted, listing every significant event of the day.  We all stood, walking around and reading every word, reflecting.  One sign in particular, asked the public not to purchase from vendors who were selling items in front of the gates.  Fortunately, there were no solicitations when we were there that night, such a sight would have broken my heart.  Carla had actually warned us about vendors, saying how disgusted she had been when she saw them there.  About her pain at seeing tourists standing for photographs with big smiles on their face as if they were at yet another New York tourist attraction. 

Seeing the site where our War on Terror officially began was important for me.  As a soldier and someone who has been deployed as a part of the War on Terror, my military career was forever altered on that day, and after years of pictures, and newsreels, commentary on the event, to stand at ground zero I felt a new resolve in service to our country to ensure nothing like that would ever happen again.  It broke my heart to be there, but it strengthened my spine to know that in the end, I am at the service of this country, and though I may be a small cog in the wheel of freedom, I am doing anything and everything my country has asked of me.

The mood was heavy at that point, and we decided to head to our hotel.  We had managed to find a “relatively” inexpensive room in the city, and were still anticipating the sights in New York that people from every corner of the world can recognize: Times Square, The Statue of Liberty, the New York Stock Exchange.  After a half hour of reflection and talking and pulling everything together after seeing ground zero, we walked around Time Square as Ryan snapped pictures and we recorded video.  We had our first experience with the New York subway system that night when we all headed down to Greenwich Village.  We grabbed a slice of pizza, relaxed for a bit and then we had to part ways.  Kenz had work the next morning and still had a three hour drive ahead of her, and Chipper had to be back in Baltimore the next day as well.  It was tough seeing them go.  We had all enjoyed the night before so much, we’d gone sky diving together, we’d shared the emotional experience of ground zero together, and all this in 24 hours.  They felt like friends for life and all of us were deeply saddened when we had to part ways at the F line, not knowing how soon we’d all have the opportunity to hang out again. 

…to be continued…

Day 15, Mile 5,036: Delware & New Jersey

The next morning began with my palms sweating and driving to New Jersey, where we would be skydiving at Freefall Adventures.  I had been assured it was a very safe place, it was the place George H. W. Bush had jumped from on his 80th birthday, and Kenz had jumped there three times already.  None of that seemed to settle my queasy stomach though, as we listened to music and I did everything I could to keep my mind off of what I was about to do.  For some reason, I have always had nerves when I thought about heights, but the thought of jumping out of a plane was incomprehensible. 

The wait before our jump went by slowly, and I just couldn’t wait to get it over, but by the time I was in the plane and we were climbing thousands of feet every few minutes, I wished I was back on the ground.  Kyle and I were sitting in the front of the plane with our tandem instructors.  Looking out of the windows of the small plane, I kept seeing the ground and trees and buildings below us shrink until we were in the clouds and I simply could not see the ground anymore.  Looking back it seems humorous, but for a few minutes I was willing to face my own mortality, just in case my chute didn’t open.  I prayed and paused and took a few deep breaths, looking at my altimeter knowing that the point in which we would be leaving the plane was growing close.   

When I was told it was time to move, I didn’t hesitate, I was on auto-pilot, and as I placed my legs outside the plane and sat on the edge, I felt myself push out into the clouds and begin the freefall.  All of the sudden, falling at 500 feet per second and at 120 miles per hour, the noise from wind rushing past me blared in my ears, the light cloud cover leaving a misty feeling on my face.  As so many people who have jumped in the past testify to, the freefall was over quickly as the instructor leaned in with his hand on his wrist to remind me that we were at 5,000 feet and it was time to pull the rip chord. 

Pulling it, I prayed again that everything would go smoothly, that my chute would open and the harness would stay attached.  Sure enough, everything went smoothly and we glided down from 5,000 feet for the next few minutes.  My nerves were finally able to settle down and I realized I was going to be ok.  Landing on the ground though put everything back into perspective as I looked up to see the point where others who were the size of ants in the sky were drifting downward.

The exhilaration of the morning was matched in some ways as we collected the videos of the jump we had purchased, and hit the road for New York City.  It was one of the first major cities that none of us had ever visited and the excitement was deep.  Kenz had called her aunt in Brooklyn to let us know we were coming.  We would be able to have dinner and desert there, and then go into Manhattan.  The purpose for the visit was actually a detour from the original plan I had developed for the trip.  According to the itinerary I had drafted, I had only included stops, but hearing the stories of 9/11 and knowing how much it had affected my own life, we all felt the solemn responsibility to pay our respects to the victims and visit the site of the World Trade Center.  There would be time to visit other sites in New York, but our priorities were straight. 

Day 14, Mile 4,960: Baltimore

Heading out of DC, we left the majesty of th city in our rear view mirror as we headed for Baltimore, where we would be meeting some truly amazing people.  In may of 2004, the band Brickfoot was embarking on a 31 day tour of the Middle East, playing for soldiers in a program designed to raise the morale of soldiers.  I remember as clearly as if it was yesterday, talking with one of my best friends Specialist Atkins, asking him if he would be leaving the tent that night to go see them play.  We were both excited because it felt like there was finally something to do, an activity that was out of the norm.  When evening had fallen and we headed out to the common area at Camp Navistar, we were both surprised out how good the band was.  By the time we had gone out to the makeshift stage, Ryan had joined us and we sat out there loving the moment. 

I was enjoying their music, but after a few songs they played a cover of my favorite artist, Elliott Smith.  I was ecstatic since Elliott Smith was a fairly unknown musician at the time, and I had not expected them to play a cover.  At the time I wrote the following:

May 23, 2004
Music and Poetry for Soldiers
Tonight we had another morale raising performance here on our camp, a band named "Brickfoot." As I have explained elsewhere in this blog, Armed Forces Entertainment contracts with a variety of musicians and comedians to tour camps and bases around the world in an effort to provide a temporary distraction for soldiers. I can honestly say, that this was the best AFE sponsored show I have seen, partially because of their brand of music, some of the artists they chose to cover, and for the unfettered support they showed the troops. This evening, the band played a variety of cover songs, from the Beatles and some other classic rock favorites, to original's they had written, to some more obscure modern "indie" songs. What impressed me most about this band was their cover's of the White Stripes, Radiohead, Coldplay and most of all Elliott Smith. If there was a singular event that could immediately bring back memories of home and make me feel like the world I knew before is closer than I realize, it would be hearing an Elliott Smith cover song live. I am willing to wager that only one or two of you out there have listened to Elliott's beautiful, meloncholy whispers and gentle melodies. That is fine with me, he is not an artist that has mass appeal in America's pop-culture. This is exactly why I was surprised to here the song "Cupid's Trick" played before an audience of soldiers 10,000 miles away from home. As the song ended, I called out the name of the album it appeared on, "Either, Or", and the band members seemed equally surprised as I initially was, to find a member of the audience who knew every word Elliott Smith ever published. All I can say, is a temporary euphoria has set in from hearing a single song, it was as if God himself gave me a taste of the life I remember, and I am savoring every second of it.  Please drop Brickfoot and e-mail by brickfootinfo@brockfoot.com thanking them for their service to our troops.

In a strange way, it was that cover that had led us to Baltimore that night.  We had kept in touch a little from that point on, and when I had told them of our visit, they were ecstatic.  We arrived in the Baltimore area at around 2:30 that afternoon and went immediately to Frank’s house, one of the guitarists for the band.  We only had a short time with him because he had to head to work, but that 45 minutes was definitely powerful.  As we walked up to the house, Frank was standing outside to meet us.  He had the look of a rock star, with his facial hair and tattoos,  the sense that he would be ready to grab his guitar and play at any minute for an audience.  He place was adorned with music and military memorabilia, posters of the Flamings Lips and Elliott Smith side by side with pictures of the band standing in Iraq with Black Hawk helicopters, and one particularly amazing photo of Frank playing the star spangled banner in Tikrit, with every soldier in the amphitheater standing at attention.  On a bookshelf sat numerous coins he had received from colonels and sergeant majors along the way, and behind them was a small flag, tattered and folded into a triangle.  The flag had actually been wrapped around the M-16 of a soldier he met in Iraq.  The flag had accompanied him on several compbat operations, and after Frank and this soldier had talked one evening for hours on end, the soldier had given him the flag in appreciation for everything they were doing for us. 

Frank seemed overwhelmed by a lot of it in a way.  As he spoke of his collection from the war zone, he just kept saying how he couldn’t believe how great our military was, and how much of an honor it was to be able to play for us.  After September 11, Frank had wanted to make some kind of contribution to our country.  He gave the only thing he said he knew how to give, and that was his music.  His service was not for political reasons and as he said, wasn’t because he supported the war, he stressed that people forget that American soldiers are our brothers and sisters, they’re real people who need to know that their communities are behind them.  He didn’t lose touch with the humanity of our fighting men and women, and said that at the end of the day, he hoped that what he was doing was making a difference. 

We left Franks, and on the way I made a call to Kenz, a young woman in Wilmington, Delaware whom I had written back and forth with throughout the deployment.  Kenz had read about my experience with Brickfoot in May of 04, and being friends with the band and sharing similar music tastes, she wrote to thank me for my service.  At the time, she was working in New York City for a small independent record label named Everfine Records, and with their permission, she sent me some great music based care packages.  I had taken a picture for her shortly after that, sitting on the bed in my tent holding a guitar with stickers on it.  The stickers were actually from the care package she had sent and had the names of the record label and some of the bands on the label.  We had stayed in close contact and even before the trip began, had spoken on the phone many times.  Frank had suggested we head over to Steve’s house, the lead singer of the band.  He had been planning on having us over for dinner when we were in town, so after making arrangements with Kenz, we took a short tour of Baltimore and headed to a local suburb to meet up with Steve and his family. 

We were greeted at Steve’s house by Kenz, who had walked out onto the front lawn after I had called to tell her we were close.  She was the kind of person we had been fortunate enough to meet on this journey, a person whose heart truly was with our deployed forces, whose loyalty to our nation was unmatched.  She had not only come to visit with us at Steve’s house, but had come with dinner too, baked ziti, the kind you can only find homemade on the east coast by someone with Italian blood. 

Kenz led us inside where we met up with Steve, and Greg, who everyone calls Chipper.  Chipper is the bands bassist, and when he found out we were coming to town, came on over to join us for dinner.  We also met Steve’s wife, Ursula, and his two children Nico and Elliot.  From the moment we got there, Steve began playing some great new music for me, introducing me to some of his favorite bands.  Elliott Smith also played in the background as we talked before dinner. 
Dinner was wonderful and faded into the evening where we found ourselves sitting outside, asking Steve and Chipper to play some acoustic songs for us.  Sitting outside, with the candles burning to keep the mosquitoes away, Steve and Frank took turns with the guitar playing Brickfoot originals and Elliott Smith covers.  We all talked about how strange it was that over a year ago they were playing on a stage before us in Operation Iraqi Freedom, and yet there we were sitting around in Baltimore, playing music and enjoying each others company.  It was around that time that Kenz began talking about sky diving the next morning, and before long, she had convinced Chipper to come with us.

Skydiving was nothing I ever thought I would do, but somehow found myself faced the night before with the reality that I would be jumping out of a plane in a few hours.  I joked around that there was a reason I had never gone Airborne, just the thought of jumping out at 13,500 feet scarred me to death.  Kenz had promised to pay for me, and even though I assured her she didn’t have to do that, she insisted.  It was passed midnight, and we decided to head back to Delaware where we would crash and wake up early the next morning to head to the jump site.  The three of us climbed into the van and followed Kenz and Chip as we drove to Delaware. 

Day 13, Mile 4,910: Washington, DC

On June 13, 2004, I received my first e-mail from Tom Crowe came in, thanking me for my service and complimenting the writing I had done on my blog.  He had shared a bit about himself in those first e-mails, and throughout the rest of the year we grew to know each other fairly well.  He kept me up to date about his decisions to enter seminary and his desire to be a military chaplain.  It was through my blog that he met Steven Kiel before his deployment, and was able to develop a friendship with him. 

I had called Tom as we were leaving Leesburg, to see when it would be a good time for him to meet up with us.  It was actually his last day of work with the Freedom Alliance, an amazing organization he had been with for the last 7 months.  The Freedom Alliance works to raise money for the children of veterans who have died in combat, to ensure they have scholarships for college.  Tom would be entering seminary in mid August, and would be spending the next few weeks getting everything in line to enter into his studies for the priesthood.  He had invited the three of us to meet him at the Freedom Alliance headquarters which would be on our way into DC.  Walking through the doors of the organization that Oliver North does so much good work for, we were greeted by Tom and the rest of the staff who had thrown a pizza party for his last day in the office.  We were shown around the office and spent time sharing with the great people there about how our trip had been so far. 

While in the office Tom had arranged for us to get an amazing rate at a Hilton in Alexandria through his brother Tim, so we headed out to get cleaned up and change so we could all go out to dinner.  Tom’s brother Tim was coming into town for his “Holla for the Colla” party, essentially his send off to seminary.  Along with Tim was his fiance Diane.  They joined us for dinner at a local Irish restaurant in Alexandria, appropriately named Murphy’s.  Tom comes from an Irish Catholic family, and with Ireland still bouncing around my mind from my recent vacation there, we spent a great deal of time talking about the country where our families had originated from.  Dianes neck was adorned with a Claddagh necklace, a traditional Irish piece of jewelry.  I was wearing the claddagh that I had bought in Ireland as well, and talking about Ireland, we joked around about how deep the Irish imprint on America was.  There hasn’t been a town we have been to thus far that didn’t have at least one Irish pub or restaurant.  Sitting in the corner of the pub and restaurant, eating my fish and chips, we were all brought together by a love of our heritage, a love of our country, and a love for those who sacrifice in the cause of freedom.  It was a remarkable introduction to DC as  we laughed for hours and enjoyed each others company before we would head out into DC for a night tour of the monuments hosted by Tom. 

We had parked along the Potomic, at the end of the Lincoln Memorial, when we all climbed out of our cars and crossed the softball fields that were across the street from the mammoth and ornate dedication to the man who saved the union.  Ryan had never been to DC, and I had never seen the monuments at night, so we all knew we were in for a treat.  Climbing the steps that led to the seated statue of Lincoln, we were all immediately in awe of the majesty of the place.  The massive pillars, the vast President, the Emancipation Proclamation on the wall, they all served their purpose to remind everyone standing there how much President Lincoln had given in the service of our nation.  His humble, grandfather like manner peered out from his throne, but like Washington before him, he had rejected the sense of royalty that so easily could have been his.  We snapped pictures and stood in that hall for a while, allowing the realization to sink in of exactly where we were.  Looking out from that foyer, we stared ahead to the Washington monument.  Seeing the city at night truly was the unique experience that Tom had promised it would be, and walking down the steps, staring straight ahead, I made a promise to myself.  I have seen so many people who live in this city forget what these monuments symbolize, they simply get too wrapped up in the politics that seem to define the city.  They forget that every piece of marble and granite erected in honor of a man or a war, define the American experience.  They forget that behind every piece of sculpture are tens of thousands of dead Americans who made the sacrifices necessary for the preservation of liberty, they forget that each landmark doesn’t just represent achievement, but also struggle.  The struggles of Lincoln and the Civil War that made the nation what it is today, the struggles of Washington and everything he did to build a constitutional republic, the sacrifice of our men and women noted so poignantly in the new WWII memorial, the thousands of names on the Vietnam Wall, each name representing a dead American, and the Korean War memorial, where the platoon of soldiers standing frozen in time reminds us in shocking detail of the Forgotten War.  I promised myself that if I ever lived in this city, if I ever passed these monuments on my way to work, that I would not forget the true meaning, that I wouldn’t neglect the extent of selfless service required in maintaining our constitutional republic. 

The tour left indelible impressions on me, particularly after having served our country.  The war memorials in particular struck me in a way I didn’t expect, since with each one I could see the faces and names of fellow veterans, I could sense the presence of greatness in each letter of every name and each star at the WWII memorial, and every etching in the granite wall at the Korean memorial.

Our final stop on the tour was the Marine monument with its legendary still life of the men who raised the flag at Iwo Jima.  It was after one in the morning at this point, and we were the only people in the park.  The lack of camera flashes, the absence of anyone else around made the moment even more solemn.  I had read Flags of Our Fathers when I was in college, and I could sense the history behind each one of the men.  I was honored to stand in their presence, even if it wasn’t their blood flowing through the bronze.  It was the blood of men like them, it was the blood of every Marine with their history of hard charging bravery. 

We headed back to the hotel for some sleep after a long day, and found ourselves waking up 9 hours later by a phone call from Tim and Tom inviting us to lunch. 

Generous Georges Pizza and Pasta was our lunch destination, and by this point, we felt entirely tied together as people who had been friends for years.  As we talked and laughed and shared stories for the next few hours, we were all looking forward to Tom’s party that night.  It would be a great chance for us all to unwind a little, and I speak for our entire group that we were all honored to have been invited to share the upcoming evening with Tom and his family and longtime friends. 

That evening, the humidity was less intense and people stood around talking and enjoying the beer that had been provided by Tom’s friends.  The priest who would be guiding Tom through seminary was present, and gave a speech to the group letting them know everything that Tom would be experiencing over his next six years of seminary in Pennsylvania.  He spoke of the marriage he may one day enter into with the church, he spoke of the service Tom had hoped to one day provide as a Navy chaplain, and he spoke of the character of a man whom I’d met just the day before, but had known for more than a year.  Surrounded by Tom’s friends and family, all of which made us feel comfortable, I was struck again by the sense that this trip was about more than meeting people.  It was a witness to how close the bonds developed from thousands of miles away were.  To go to cities, and meet some of your closest friends for the first time is an experience that no one I know can relate to.  It really is the opportunity of a lifetime, it really is the trip that gives us hope for the future of our communities, of our country.  If you can for a minute, think of your best friend in life.  Now think of the moment you met them, and remember how it felt to find someone who you sensed was a kindred spirit, a person put in your life by God to help make your life even richer.  Well, that night I was overwhelmed with the sense that I had been blessed to experience that feeling time and again.  I was blessed to know that in the moment, I was living some of the best days of my life. 

Day 12, Mile 4,820: Leesburg, VA

After a bit of driving around downtown Leesburg in an effort to find Tom Seeman, we finally arrived at his home.  The direction he had given to us were fine, but we had missed an exit somewhere along the line and found ourselves at a loss for exactly where we had ended up.  In a sense, getting lost is a pre-requisite for a road trip like this, and we knew it had to happen again sooner or later.

Tom greeted us in front of his house and as we went inside amid handshakes and the feelings that it was great to have the chance to meet, we began talking about what had brought us together.  Tom had written me several times throughout the deployment, and through his blog, Tom The Redhunter, he had also helped generate an increase in traffic to the milblog I had operated during the deployment.  Standing upstairs and looking at his collection of books on philosophy and current events, I noticed the novel based on Joe McCarthy, The Redhunter, by William F Buckley.  I turned to Tom and asked him if the title had been the inspiration for the blog, and in fact it had.  According Amazon.com, The Redhunter is: “Buckleys primary narrative vehicle is Harry Bontecou, a Connecticut history professor who tells the story of his involvement with McCarthy in an extended flashback. After graduating from Columbia, Bontecou goes to work for McCarthy, only to find his own passionate pursuit of conservatism betrayed by the senators penchant for half-cocked, extemporaneous accusations of treason. McCarthys proclivity for self-sabotage becomes more pronounced as his committee hearings progress, forcing Bontecou to distance himself from his mentor as the backlash grows. The depiction of McCarthys upbringing on a Wisconsin chicken farm is affecting, as are the scenes describing Bontecous moral dilemmas and McCarthys losing battle with the bottle.”  From Tom’s house we went to a wonderful restaurant and enjoyed more discussions on politics.  Tom was particularly fascinating for me to talk to because of his deep knowledge of politics.  I had enjoyed his blog a great deal in the past, and talking with another intelligent blogger who had a firm grasp on the ideas that had led us throughout our history was immensely enjoyable.  The roast duck I got was also an amazing meal and served as a perfect compliment to the company we were all enjoying.

After dinner Tom led us to one of the hotels nearby, and on the way, Kyle had received a call from one of our friends in California that he had picked up the new issue of Wired magazine and was surprised to find me in it.  I had known the article would be coming out, and just wasn’t quite sure when.  We had eaten so late into the night that most of the stores in the area were closed, so at first we didn’t think we would be able to pick up a copy.  After booking our room for the night, Tom suggested we go down to the local CVS pharmacy where they had a substantial newsstand.  Sure enough, as we all stood there in a pharmacy at 11:00 at night, we found the new issue of Wired, opened it up and found the article.  I was so surprised to see a full page picture of me in there, sitting in my BDU’s hunched over in my office with my fingers on my laptop, that I my breath was taken away momentarily.  I immediately felt as if there were many other milbloggers who had written so much more than I, other soldiers who deserved this honor even more, but I was thrilled nonetheless.  I bought everyone a copy that was there that night, and we headed back to Tom’s house to sit on his patio and talk a while longer. 

Because Tom was heading out on vacation, we had had to rearrange the schedule a bit.  We weren’t scheduled to be in Leesburg for several more days, but sitting on that beautiful Virginia evening on Tom’s patio, talking about the news of John Roberts’ nomination to the Supreme Court, about the overwhelming feeling of seeing yourself in a large national magazine, and abut the experiences we have had on the road trip so far.  It was one of those picturesque moments that in normal life rarely repeat themselves, but a moment that life on the road has handed us nearly every day of this adventure.

Day 12, Mile 4,680: SigEp HQ

The next tourist stop on our journey to Leesburg was the National Headquarters of Sigma Phi Epsilon, the fraternity that Kyle and I were active members of while we were in college.  SigEp was a major part of our college experience as we enjoyed the sense of brotherhood it offered, and tried to implement the fraternities Balanced Man Program into our own lives.

As we pulled up to the Zollinger House, the name given to the fraternities 100 year old headquarters building, we snapped some pictures and went inside to meet with Scott Thompson.  Scott had come through our chapter house in Sacramento when we were active in 2000, and it was great to see him again.  After speaking for a while, he gave us a tour of the building, pointing out documents and plaques, and items that have meant a great deal to our fraternity over the last 100 years as we have grown to become the nations largest fraternity.  This short visit was another one of the times on this trip where the life I have led has been pulled together in a more coherent form.  My college experiences were so different from my military experiences, and yet, it is the military and life altering changes it implemented into my life that led me to a building I had wanted to visit since I became a member in 1998. 

Time was getting short though, and as much as we would have liked to stay, we hit the road with the hopse that we would be able to weed through the traffic of the DC beltway and arrive with enough time to enjoy our visit with Tom Seeman in Leesburg. 

Day 12, Mile 4,589: Colonial Williamsburg

Our next stop was going to be in Leesburg, Virgina, about 45 minutes west of DC, but along the way we had numerous stops to make where we would visit the historical landmarks that speak to the history of the brth of our nation in the beautiful country of eastern Virginia. Driving along the roads of Colonial Parkway, the historic route that links three major historical points in the area, we made quick stops in historic Yorktown, at the Yorktown battlefield where Cornwallis surrendered to Washington, Jamestown, the first settlement in the American colonies that was founded in 1607, and then to Colonial Williamsburg. The sense of history really was overwhelming, as National Historical markers seemed to appear even quicker than the thousands of mile markers we have passed on this trip.

Colonial Williamsburg certainly lived up to its reputation of capturing the sense of life in 1775. The old fashioned dress, the buildings and décor with its colonial details, really do bring you back in time to what life was like more than 200 years ago.