As
the morning runs down you can see the riders moving toward their bikes,
tightening down helmets, calling to a friend, or just watching the
thousands getting ready to mount up. Noon hits and the signal is given
for the first group to start their engines.
A low rumble begins, you look toward the sound and then it surrounds you
getting louder each second. In no time at all you can feel the rumble
in your heart and you understand that this is why you are here. Slowly you move to the wall...





As the wall gets higher you feel lonely, and sadness creeps
in. As you reach the halfway point you feel that the ride matters to
the living, but it doesn't free the ones gone. You continue as the names slide by, more and more names, countless.
And you realize
that the only thing that matters is the memory, knowing that you will
never forget them. The ride is a means to the end, touching a memory.
Written by Marisa Herman




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