I had heard of them but I had never actually seen them or been at an event where they were attending. I know they are sometimes considered controversial...for whatever reason...but puhleese...give me just a little break...remembering a fallen comrade?...you've got my vote, okay?
When Peter picked me up at the airport on Sunday, and as I disembarked from the escalator to collect my luggage, I walked through a group of assembled bikers, each holding flags, each wearing leather, and each looking quite individual and "non-conformist", if you get where I'm going on this. I don't think you'd find these guys seated at a fancy-schmancy dinner party and I think they'd prefer it that way. As it turned out, they were waiting for some one. A special some one. A comrade. A veteran. This veteran was alive and well. He was serving in the Middle East. But he was coming home. Early. Because his wife has cancer. And these gentleman...and I'm using the word "gentlemen" in it's highest, most noblest intended meaning, were there to greet him. And I stood there and watched. And my soul felt nourished for the opportunity of doing so. I left soon thereafter because it was their moment, not mine. But as we exited the airport, there were those bikes...all shiny and lined up neatly in a row, just outside...ready to carry those men to the next veteran that's returning...who knows in what condition...wow...I love these guys...
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