From Sheldon

Day one is very exciting and full of anxiety for a first time rider of this event. No matter how much you think you’ve prepared, you’re just not certain how daunting of a task you have signed up for. Did I prepare enough? Just how hard is this going to be? You start with the determination of a warrior and know that you are going to finish no matter the cost but you’re just not sure of the toll it’s going to take on you. You then can’t help but relate that feeling, though paling in comparison, to what the survivors must feel when a pillar of their family was taken from them. Did we prepare enough? Just how hard is this going to be?

The whistle blows and we say a prayer. Everyone starts rolling out and we fall in line. The early morning air is chilling but fresh and we feel great to finally be under way. As the day warms up and our blood starts pumping we start peeling the layers back. The first few stops come and go and are welcome breaks. We see the first signs of people’s support as they stop their cars to get out and wave or take pictures. Some come out of their houses to watch and wave as we roll by.

It’s easy to become jaded or cynical in this job. It’s easy to develop an ‘us vs them’ mentality. So easy in fact, you may have to consciously make an effort, constantly remind yourself that not everyone views the police through eyes of contempt. We deal with people when they’re at their worst; we see the evil in the world on such a daily basis it almost seems the norm. We know that less than one percent of our profession abuse the badge but we’ll always see that fraction as the top news stories. We get complained on and told we have no compassion because someone didn’t feel they deserved the citation they were written. Unfortunately some of us in this profession do become distrustful of everyone and pessimistic of the human spirit in general. I can’t judge them; I’ve caught myself more than a time or two saying something out of character. It is events like this however that remind us in a big way, that people still have faith in police and appreciate their service. When we roll by the elementary school and the kids line up for high fives, it fills me with motivation and inspires me. I feel the pride I felt when I first put on the badge and am reminded that young kids will still list police officers as one of their heroes when asked.

Back to the pavement with fresh motivation, the next score of miles seem to be effortless. The miles keep piling on however and the fatigue starts setting in. Each rest stop the tireless support personnel have cold drinks and snacks laid out for us. Lifesavers. Beautiful people. The medical personnel are constantly walking around asking if we need sunscreen, pain relievers, bio freeze, etc. Heroes. Every one of ‘em.

At the end of the first day, we roll in to our hotel and collapse on the grass by our trailer. We feel like we’ve just accomplished a feat of endurance riding over 100 miles in one day and know, ‘we got this!’ The last two days aren’t near as long, seventy something and then 40 something miles; piece of cake compared to that right? Then the veterans of the ride tell us, “wait til you see the hills tomorrow, you’ll wish it was just a 100 miles again.” Awesome.

Day two begins with groans and grimaces as we get back on our saddles. Ouch. We roll out almost in a daze without conscious thought. The miles wear on. We hit our first hill and I think ‘hill’ seems like an understatement. Rolling up to it, you can’t even see the top cause it rises so steep the trees obscure the view of it. Grrrrr! Attaaaaack! We attack the hill and run out of momentum not even a third of the way up. Then it’s the burn. Climbing on the lowest gear we have and still it burns! You finally reach the top and immediately start to question how much you have left for the rest of the ride because it’s not even lunchtime of day two. Then of course you have Derick telling you, “that was just the warm up!”

And he wasn’t lying. I’m not sure of the origins but our team came up with a place we liked to visit called the pain cave. I think we all visited this place and dwelled in it the rest of the day as the hills rolled on. You see riders helping other riders by putting an arm around ‘em and pulling them. Just when you’re mind starts going numb along with the rest of you, you pass under a bridge with a row of deputies lined on top. The deputies are decked out in their best uniforms and all are saluting until every rider passes. Goose bumps. Fresh motivation. A reminder of why you’re doing this. You then can’t help but to think again of the correlation between you’re physical struggle and what the survivors have to endure after losing that beloved family member. The climbs, the pain cave, the occasional support from others, the numbness.

The level of support grows at each stop, with more people, fire trucks with flags flying from the ladders, officers saluting on the roadside, and bag pipes playing with full regalia as we roll through town after town. The hills get bigger too and the weariness grows. Along with that weariness I feel our team camaraderie growing as well, and after a team dinner, day two ends around the hotel washing machine cracking jokes.

Day three finally arrives and we’re all excited we only have 49 miles left! The motivation of it being the last day keeps us all going and in good spirits. We hit a few hard hills here and there reminding us of the struggle the day before. The last half of the day we ride into DC in an ordered two file formation and stop at the DEA headquarters. The Black and Gold Pipe Band honor us with their music and an awesome reciting of a poem…………

“When I hear the call of the pipes
and the tattoo of the drums as they echo in the hills,
I will come and stand the line.
And you should know this,
That whether you stand the line with me or against me,
I will fight till death.
And if the Lord should decide to take me before you,
Then you should know this.
That my brothers and sons and my sisters and
Daughters will pick up my sword and continue to
Stand the line.
For oppression, anarchy and evil shall not prevail,
As long as I,
Stand the line.
Today,
Let us remember those warriors
Who stood beside us,
Today,
Let us remember,
We carry their swords.”

I have to admit, the haunting tune of the bag pipes get me every time and this time is certainly no exception.

From there we ride across the street to the Pentagon, the final stop before heading to the hotel. Everyone there is a survivor and many of the riders with us are survivors. The emotions come to the surface and a lot of hugs are passed around as well as fist bumps for completing the gruesome trek.

The next day we meet the families of those we rode for and give them the bracelets and flags that we carried. The amount of gratitude and emotions are overwhelming. I see the kids that are survivors and hear the money that was raised by this ride for the C.O.P.S. camp. That in itself makes it all worth it. I can’t help but think if something were to happen to me, I would want this amount of support for my family. It is a humbling experience and I vow to myself not to take things for granted or sweat the small stuff.

I’ve said many a prayer now for those families and will continue to do so, that their day three will come.

I felt proud of my team for being part of this and for enduring the ride to do it. I thank everyone that helped make it happen, as Otis said, we are not the only members of this team but everyone that supported us had a hand in it. Without y’all this would not be possible and we truly appreciate you’re support. That goes to our donors who gave money, our family members that allowed us the time, and our co-workers that covered our shifts for us. Thank y’all.

Sheldon

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