Rolling Through

Rolling Thunder is in town this weekend.

I walked into Rock Bottom Brewery at 9:30 last night with my husband and daughter. Looking for a table we walked bast bikers in full colors. A few in wheelchairs. My husband took one look, screwed up his face, and gave a full on city "sniff."

Huh?

Them of you who don't know - Rolling Thunder is the annual biker fest in DC. Happens on Memorial Day Weekend. Folks roll in from all around the country and the sound of those bikes, coming down highways usually filled with slow moving commuters, sound just like thunder. I love the sound. The shining, painted, cared for bikes. The riders in their denim and leathers, colors proudly displayed on their backs and small black & white POW/MIA flags coupled with the red, white, and blue American flags look, well, patriotic.

I grew up around bikers and I was at the some of the earliest gatherings as these vets and friends of vets rolled into town, my town, to pay homage to their missing and fallen brethern. You watch a biker cry at the Wall and be unaffected. I can't.

His issue, our nine year old and his protective father instincts. Mine? Twenty years from now this annual event will be rolling into town but then they'll be talking about Iraq. At least, I hope so. Because war has a terrible way of making a lot of mothers childless. I look at my nine year old daughter and know that women all over America have kids in Iraq and are waking up to their worst fear. How many have screamed silently into the night "take me instead...," knowing all the while their screams are fruitless. It is too late. It is done.

Frankly, in that bar full of bikers, I never felt safer. People who care enough about the past to roar into town and be heard get what this country is really all about. We need more of 'em. Maybe as President?