Writing this May Letter from the Editor here in the month of April, the adage about April showers bringing May flowers should be legit this year. The early days of April brought some nice much needed rains to our part of the state at least. Hell, while typing this I was listening to the soothing sounds in the dark outside of a slow easy rain. Hopefully, the flowers pop out and then when Melanie and I are riding I can point to them and say “look honey, I got you flowers” as I point to them. You know because I am a romantic that way and know that she loves flowers. I am not big on buying something that dies readily, but she loves flowers, so to me it is a win-win situation. I am sure she does not see it that way, but at least I am trying!
May is Motorcycle Awareness Month according to the American Motorcyclist Association, ABATE, the Senate Motorcycle Caucus, and other groups. May is designated Motorcycle Awareness Safety Month according to the Motorcycle Safety Foundation, National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, and others. Annually there are proclamations, declarations, and statements of support for Motorcycle Awareness and Motorcycle Safety Awareness and that is an amazing thing. Drivers of other vehicles on the roads need to be aware of riders and the machines they operate on the co-traveled highways and byways of our great state and nation. Riders also need to be aware of what and how we ride so that we can make it home safely after our time on two and three wheels. Anything that can be done to promote said safety of our sport and our riders is wonderful in my eyes though. When you see a post promoting such, please share it on social media, spread the word far and wide, put signs in your yards, and whatever else to show the world that we are back, we are sharing the roads with the other traveling public, and that we matter in the grand scheme of transportation in Iowa and all over
On the Cover the
Lehman Chompers finished up this awesome 1980 HarleyDavidson FXEF Chopper just before the Chopper Show in Mason City a short while back. The Green Machine took more than one award for the stellar work by this small custom shop in Des Moines. Jeremy is one of the most talented cats around that can wrench, fab, and even lay down some sick colors. This 80 inch mill with tons of S&S pieces and parts runs great with electronic ignition, chopped and raked Santee FXR frame with five speed gear box. The front end is a six inch over Wide Glide Style with a fat 21” front laced wheel. Jeremy fabricated the handlebars, frame modifications, entire exhaust system, fender struts, sissy bar with integrated Katana sword, switch box and motor mounts, and many other parts. To finish up the build, Jeremy laid down some bad ass greens with many different patterns and panels, with gold leaf and striping added by Joe Jones. Killer machine built by a stand up cat!
the nation. Although in my travels this spring leading up to this month, I started thinking about these very proclamations and wondered to myself if they are misnomers? Should we advocate for the motorcycle safely? Or should we be advocating for MOTORCYCLIST safety? I know, I know, it is hand in glove type of discussions here, but can we really advocate for the safety of an inanimate object? Motorcycles to some are more beloved than some family, especially if you include mother in laws in that mix, but they are still simply objects that are generally insured, generally replaceable, and generally metal, rubber, and shiny stuff that makes us feel free as we zip down the roadways. Motorcyclists though are the real topic of discussion here and truly the topic that needs more attention to safety and awareness. Should we not be promoting MOTORCYCLIST Awareness and MOTORCYCLIST Safety Awareness? People, riders, motorcyclists cannot be replaced. We are the ones in control of the machines we operate, and we are in control of the way we are seen and heard in the public. The riders are the ones that are in control of the passenger’s destiny and in large part on their safety. The riders and the passengers are the MOTORCYCLISTS! We are the ones that can help to educate and remind the general traveling world that we are here, we are back on the road, and we are requesting a place as safe as possible to ride without intrusion from carelessness and stupidity. Am I really that concerned if May is designated Motorcycle Awareness month or MOTORCYCLIST Awareness month? Hell no, I am not. In a perfect world everything would be, well, perfect, but it is not and neither is this topic. What has happened though is that I have sparked some thinking on behalf of all riders and passengers who have taken the time to read my musings for this month and if so, you have probably given more thought than normal to the safety of our mutual affliction and habit of motorcycles. Please keep it up and remind everyone in your worlds that riders are back on the roads in full force and we need to be seen, heard, and be able to make it home safely after our rides. Also, that we are a major part of our own safety on two and three wheels. Ride safely, check your equipment early and often, and ride responsibly. Make riding safely and being seen on two wheels a larger priority for 2026!
I look forward to seeing many of you on the road in the coming months! Be safe!
vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Proud Editor/Owner Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa
Proud Owner Thunder Guns West and Thunder Guns IMDA Board Member
Iowa COC Legislative Officer
Quote of the Month: “As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter the words, but to live by them.” — John F. Kennedy
‘Tis the One thing I “love” about getting older is the challenge that comes with having to wear prescription lenses in my riding glasses. It’s not too awful when you just wear single vision, but when you graduate into bifocals – oh my! For years, I’ve dealt with it by wearing single vision while I ride but take them off so I can read the menu when we stop for a bite to eat. Sadly, I noticed last year that my up-close vision has deteriorated enough that I’m not able to see my instrument panel very well any more with the single vision glasses. (Mark says that apparently, I’ve never been able to see the speedometer, but what does he know!)
To combat the issue, I decided to experiment with wearing a pair of my regular, progressive-lens glasses to ride in. It started out well enough. I could see great straight ahead and still glance down and see my instrument panel. (OK, squint down, and holy cow! Am I really going that fast?) I was feeling “all that” till we got to the curvy part of our ride. We have a state park nearby that has a stretch of road that will get you prepped to ride Needles Highway and that that was where my experiment got a bit wobbly. Regular glasses have a view field that goes all the way across the lens, but progressive bifocals have a view field that runs in a fairly narrow, vertical strip. I quickly found out on the curves that I really had to keep my chin pointed in the direction I needed to go and focus on the road ahead. I made it through, but there was no sightseeing, that’s for sure!
To my surprise, the biggest struggle I had from wearing my regular glasses turned out to be that of battling the heavy wind coming from the side. Did I mention that I also have astigmatism? In case you don’t know what that’s like, imagine having to peer through a cheap version of a rolled windshield that makes everything look unfocused and double-imaged during the day and creates stars and halos around all the lights at night. If not corrected by a prescription lens, astigmatism makes your eyes get tired easily and can give headaches from the eyestrain. The south wind created just enough of a shuddering motion to my glasses that I felt like I had lost my astigmatism correction and was looking through a bad windshield. Headache city! I was extremely glad when we stopped so I could pull my headband down over my ears to help clamp my glasses in place. Disaster averted! At least now I know that with a few tweaks, I think I’ll adjust to wearing the progressive lenses to ride in.
Sometimes, we have vision problems that aren’t related to our eyes, but to the way we see ourselves. We all have a distorted view of who we really are – an astigmatism view, so to speak. We may see ourselves as too much, or as not enough. Too good or too bad. Too old or too young. We may feel that we’re too busy chasing our dreams to get involved in anything that doesn’t move us towards our goal or we may feel that there’s no point in being involved in anything because we have nothing of value to offer. Too many years spent failing to turn around now. Or maybe too many years of outward success to admit to our inward failures.
2 Corinthians 5:21 offers us this corrective lens: “God made Jesus who had no sin to become sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” This Bible verse lays out the “great exchange” that God set up for us: His son Jesus took our identity as “sinner” so we could take his identity as “righteous, beloved child of God”. If you have accepted Christ’s death as the payment for your sin, then God sees you as his much-loved child. But how do you see God? Many of us have problems viewing God as the loving father that he is because we didn’t have a loving father. God himself provide a corrective lens for that with what he says to us in Jeremiah 29: 11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” That sounds like a loving father to me.
Come to the Bible, to the word of God to get all your prescriptions filled. It will clear your vision and heal your heart; be your motivation and be your leader. God’s word will never play you false and will challenge you to live up to the same level. It is every thing that every one needs.
Blessings –
Karla
Mark & Karla Cornick are with the Christian Motorcyclists Association. Find out more about CMA and God’s plan for you at www.cmausa.org
The Biker Friendly Business Directory is a list of establishments throughout Iowa that sponsor the magazine. You can pick up your copy here every month. Let them know that you saw them in TRMI. If your business would like to advertise in Thunder Roads Iowa Biker Friendly Business Listing and become a part of the network, please email vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Biker Accessories
Dirty Biker Design 61 W Washington Street Winterset, Iowa 50273 www.DirtyBikerDesign.com 515-444-9050
Hell Bent Hotrods
Kickass Designs, Quality Garments Shirts | Hats | Gear | Attitude www.hellbentapparel.com Hell Bent Hot Rods on Facebook
Dealers
Baxter Cycle 311 4th Street Marne, Iowa 51552 712-781-2351 www.baxtercycle.com
Metro Harley-Davidson 2415 Westdale Drive SW Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52404 319-362-9496
www.metro-motorsports.com
Route 65 Harley-Davidson 1300 S Jefferson Way Indianola, Iowa 50125 515.962.2160 www.route65hd.net
Storm Lake Honda
3040 Expansion Blvd Storm Lake, Iowa 50588 StormLakeHonda.com 712-732-2460
Big Barn Harley-Davidson 81 NW 49th Place Des Moines, Iowa 50313 515-265-4444 www.bigbarnhd.net
Heartland Harley-Davidson 117 S Roosevelt Ave Burlington, IA 52601 319-754-1100 www.heartlandhd.com
Indian Motorcycle of Mason City
Mason City Powersports 12499 265th Street Mason City 641-423-3181 Masoncitypowersportsinc.com
Flaming Office
201 W High Street Toledo 641-484-2255
Outdoor Patio, Happy Hour 5-7
Flaming Office on Facebook & Google
Haverhill Social Club 202 1st Street Haverhill, Iowa 50120 641-475-3321
If your business would like to advertise in Thunder Roads
Iowa Biker Friendly Business Listing and become a part of the network, please email vernon@ thunderroadsiowa.com
grizzlysmotorworx@hotmail.com 515-967-0898
Lehman Chompers
Jeremy & Donna Lehman Des Moines, Iowa 515-201-8866
Lehman Chompers on Facebook
Mean Machine Cycles Elkhart, Iowa 50073
Custom & Full-Service HD Repair
Mon-Fri 9-6, Sat by appt only 515-367-7336
Motorcycle Medic
3159 Highway 30 Woodbine, Iowa 51579 712-647-2818
Open Tues-Fri 9-6, Sat 8-12
Road Rage BikeWorks
401 High Street Avoca, Iowa 51521 712-307-6111
Road Rage BikeWorks on Facebook
Thunder Road Cycles
4106 Rockingham Rd Davenport, Iowa 52802
563-323-3172
Thunder Road Cycles on Facebook
not so USELESS RAMBLINGS not so USELESS RAMBLINGS
Honor Isn’t Outdated
In a world where many people look for someone else to blame, the Samurai believed the first place to look was the mirror.
The ancient warriors of Japan lived by a code known as Bushido — the way of the warrior. It wasn’t a set of suggestions or ideals to follow when convenient. It was a way of living that demanded discipline, responsibility, loyalty, and honor. A man’s word meant something. His actions meant something. And when he failed, the responsibility for that failure belonged to him alone.
There were principles behind that code—ideas that shaped how a man carried himself every day. Rectitude: doing what is right even when it’s difficult. Courage: not the absence of fear, but the willingness to act anyway. Honor: not something you claim, but something you build through your actions. And responsibility: understanding that your choices, good or bad, belong to you.
It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about holding yourself to a standard, even when no one else was watching.
Not long ago, I wrote about the strain many nurses are under— long hours, short staffing, and a system that often asks more than it gives back. And yet, many of them still show up. They still do the job. They still carry the weight. That’s not just professionalism. That’s honor. That’s loyalty to something bigger than themselves.
have required commitment, sacrifice, and accountability. Instead, I let my ego and selfishness make that decision for me. That’s something I have had to own.
Somewhere along the way, that changed. I couldn’t point to a single moment where everything flipped, but I know the way I looked at things started to shift. I began to understand that avoiding responsibility doesn’t make life easier—it just delays the consequences. And eventually, those consequences come due.
That’s when ideas like Bushido started to resonate with me. Not because of the swords or the history, but because of the mindset. A code. A standard. A way of carrying yourself that doesn’t depend on convenience.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this idea of living by a code isn’t as foreign as it might sound. In a lot of ways, we already understand it.
Anyone who’s spent time around motorcycles—especially around the kind of people who truly live that life—knows there’s an unspoken code. It’s not written down. It’s not taught in a classroom. But it’s there.
You help someone when they’re broken down. You don’t leave people hanging. Your word matters. Your reputation matters. And if you screw something up, you own it. No excuses. No shifting the blame. You deal with it.
I wasn’t always someone who understood that. In my younger years, discipline wasn’t exactly a priority. Responsibility was something I mostly avoided. If things didn’t go my way, I had no problem walking away rather than adjusting my mindset. I made excuses. I blamed circumstances. I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.
One of my biggest regrets is that I never followed through on joining the armed forces. My eyes, congenital cataracts, and color blindness kept me from doing the things I wanted to do, and instead of adjusting and finding another way to serve, I walked away from all of it. At the time, I told myself I was making a choice. Looking back, I know I was just avoiding responsibility.
I had the opportunity to take a
I’ve seen it firsthand more times than I can count. Someone pulled over on the side of the road, and within minutes another rider stops. No questions asked. No expectation of anything in return. Just a simple understanding—you don’t leave someone stranded.
That’s not written anywhere. There’s no rulebook for it. But people know. And if you don’t live that way, your reputation reflects it. Word travels. People remember how you carry yourself.
It’s not perfect. We aren’t perfect. Nobody is. But there’s an understanding that how you carry yourself matters. The way you treat people matters. The choices you make follow you.
Different culture. Different time. Same idea. A code isn’t something you talk about. It’s something you live.
The problem is, not everyone wants to live that way anymore.
Somewhere along the line, we started drifting away from the idea of personal responsibility. It’s easier now to blame circumstances, systems, or other people than it is to look in the mirror and own our part in things. Accountability has become optional. Consequences are something to be avoided instead of accepted.
You see it everywhere. People expect results without effort. Respect without earning it. Freedom without responsibility. And when things go wrong, the first instinct isn’t to ask, “What did I do?”—it’s to ask, “Who can I blame?”
It shows up in the little things. People refusing to admit when they’re wrong. Blaming coworkers, blaming the system, blaming anything but themselves. It shows up in bigger ways too—walking away from commitments, cutting corners, expecting someone else to clean up the mess.
The truth is, it’s easier to live that way. It’s easier to avoid responsibility than it is to carry it. But easier doesn’t mean better. And it definitely doesn’t build anything worth standing on.
That’s not how a code works. A code doesn’t bend when it’s inconvenient. It doesn’t disappear when things get difficult. It holds you accountable whether anyone is watching or not.
The code didn’t disappear. You can still see it in the people who choose to carry it every day.
You see it in the nurse who shows up for another shift, even when the system around them is falling short. You see it in the people who do their jobs, keep their word, and take responsibility for what’s theirs to carry.
I’m not perfect. I still have days where I fall short. But I know what the standard is now. I know what it means to take responsibility, to own my decisions, and to carry myself with some level of discipline. And once you see it, you can’t really go back to not seeing it.
Honor isn’t outdated. It isn’t something that belonged to the past or to a different culture. It’s still there, available to anyone willing to live by it. The question is whether or not we choose to.
Because at the end of the day, it still starts in the same place it always has.
The mirror.
- David McCoy - david@thunderroadsiowa.com - FaceBook.com/TRMIDave - FaceBook.com/TRMINSUR
Soak’d Lake View
301 Vine Street
Lake View, IA 51450
Monday-Tuesday Closed
Wednesday-Thursday 4:30 PM - 10:00 PM
Friday-Saturday 4:30 PM - 11:00 PM
Sunday 10:00 AM - 8:00 PM
After a long weekend of swap meet shenanigans and a little unexpected excitement with bad fuel in the truck, we loaded up Vernon’s award-winning chopper, custom built by Lehman Chompers in Des Moines and headed for home. While swap meets are always fun and a great chance to catch up with friends after a long winter, it is nice to get back to the comforts of home. Along the way we decided that we were getting hungry, and I wasn’t in the mood to cook supper once we got home so we swung into Lake View and parked on Vine Street in front of Soak’d.
Soak’d was considerably busy considering the time of day and that “lake season” is not yet in full effect. We went inside and pulled up two stools at the end of the bar. The bartender greeted us momentarily and took our orders for bloody Mary’s while we took a look at the menu. The menu consisted of a generous list of appetizers ranging from chips and salsa to
burnt ends dip and spinach artichoke potstickers. I chose salt and vinegar curds to get us started while we waited for our pizza. The pizza menu has numerous classic pie options, as well as some that you won’t get anywhere else. Like the Pig-M-Up or the Sum Ting Wong pies. We decided to order a half and half pie with the first half being The Carnie which is a meat lovers pie topped with beef, sausage, Canadian bacon, bacon, and pepperoni. The second half of our pie was something we had never tried, let alone ever heard of The Mississippi Pot Roast pie. I will admit, we were both a little leery of this choice, which is honestly why we did the half and half deal, because if the pot roast pie was not to our liking, we could always eat the other half. Well, this was something we did not need to concern ourselves with, because when the steaming hot pie landed in front of us, we both grabbed a slice of the Mississippi Pot Roast side and dug in.
The crust was wood fired deliciousness, crisp outside and chewy inside. That perfect crust was topped with a beer cheese sauce, large pieces of tender beef, banana peppers, crispy French-fried onions, and of course there was a lot of cheesy goodness on top. The Carnie was a classic meat lovers heaven, also topped with a generous portion of mozzarella cheese goodness.
While enjoying our pizza, we also ordered another bloody to sip before heading out. I enjoyed all of mine, and Vernon’s glass was possessed by some kind of day drinking demon and promptly exploded in his hand…true story…I’d love to see the camera footage because no one could explain what happened. I only mention this because what followed was above and beyond and very much appreciated. The staff immediately jumped to clean the spill up and also insisted upon making things right for our visit (despite our objections), as well as sending us on our way with two drink tokens for our next visit.
Soak’d truly has amazing staff on board.
Great food, excellent staff, and a fun atmosphere makes Soak’d a must visit stop in the Lake View area. You will not be disappointed. If you don’t have time to stop in, you can now also order pizza to go online and take it with you. Soak’d, we will be back for sure, and sorry about the glass!
When you swing in to Soak’d, be sure to tell them Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa sent you!
Melanie Schwarte
If you have a WRTE location for us to visit, please let me know at Melanie@thunderroadsiowa.com.
What are the three shortest words in the English language? “Is it in?”
Why do women talk so much and why do guys think so much? Because one has two lips and one has two heads.
There was once a missionary preaching in a small African tribe. The people there loved him, and every day more were converted. But one day, a white baby was born to one of the women in the tribe. The chief immediately sent for the missionary and demanded to know why he had broken the commandments he had so lovingly taught to his people. The missionary, having been a devout Christian his entire life, asked to see the child. Upon viewing the baby, it became clear that this baby was an albino. The missionary attempted to explain this to the chief, saying: “Chief, this child suffers from a condition of the skin which changed its color to white. As an example, look upon your flocks of sheep. All are white, except for one which is black.” The chief cuts him off, saying: “Ok, I won’t tell about the baby if you don’t tell about the sheep.”
Why does a woman prefer an old gynecologist over a new one? Because the old one has shaky hands.
What’s the best thing about gardening? Getting down and dirty with your hoes.
You play with it at night and it vibrates. What is it?
A cell phone.
The Pope, the Dalai Lama and the Archbishop of Canterbury decide to go fishing, so they hire a boat and row out to the middle of the lake. However, it’s a very hot day and within an hour or two all the beer is gone. “Let’s row back to the shore and get a carry-out from the local pub,” says the Pope. “No need for that,” says the Dalai Lama, and he steps over the side of the boat and walks across the surface of the water to the shore, then goes to the pub. Ten minutes later he’s back with more beer. He walks across the water to the boat and steps inside. Half an hour later they’ve run out of beer again. This time the Pope says, “My turn!” He looks over the side of the boat and a big smile appears on his face. Then he steps over and walks across the water to the shore. Ten minutes later he’s back with yet more beer. Again, he walks across the water to the boat. Half an hour later and the beer is finished once more. The Archbishop steps over the side of the boat and instantly sinks below the surface, The other two drag him back aboard. As he lies coughing and spluttering in the bottom of the boat, the Pope says, “D’you think we should have told him about the stepping stones?” And the Dalai Lama, confused, asks, “What stepping stones?”
A man died and went to Heaven. St Peter says to him “Before you meet with God, I should tell you, we’ve looked over your life, and to be honest you really didn’t do anything particularly good or bad. We’re not really sure what to do with you. Can you tell us anything you did that can help us make a decision?” The newly arrived soul thought for a moment and replied, “Yeah, once I was driving along and came upon a little old lady who was being harassed by a group of thugs. So, I pulled over and went up to the leader of the thugs. He was a big, muscular guy with a ring pierced through his lip. Well, I tore the ring out of his lip, and told him he and his gang had better stop bothering this lady or they would have to deal with me!” “Wow that’s impressive, “When did this happen?” “About three minutes ago,” came the reply.
What’s the difference between you and the refrigerator? The refrigerator doesn’t moan when I put my meat in it.
What four-letter word begins with “f” and ends with “k,” and if you can’t get it, you can always just use your hands? A fork.
Two drunken Irishmen in a graveyard. Paddy starts reading the gravestones. “Mick” he says, Would you look at this, a feller here who was 90 when he died!” “Who’s that?” says Mick. “Somebody called O’Toole from Kerry,” he replies. Mick says, “Never mind him, there’s a feller here called Murphy, was 99 when he died! From Castletown of all places! “Well, that’s nothing!” says Paddy. “What about what’s written on this feller’s stone, here right beside the gate!” “The stone says 147!” “147? That’s amazing!” says Mick. “Who was he?” “Well according to the stone, it’s somebody called Miles from Dublin................................!”
You stick your poles inside me. You tie me down to get me up. I get wet before you do. What am I? A tent.
What gets longer if pulled, fits snugly between breasts, slides neatly into a hole, chokes people when used incorrectly, and works well when jerked? A Seatbelt.
Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe got a phone call from his wife, who was in a state of panic. “George!” she sobbed. “There’s a gorilla in the apple tree in the front garden!” “A gorilla?” Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe echoed. “Nonsense, woman. Have you been at the gin again?” “No, George,” she replied. “It’s a real gorilla - it must have escaped from the zoo or a circus or something. It’s sitting in the apple tree growling at everyone who walks past. It’s just thrown an apple at Mrs. Bell from No. 23!” “Did it hit her?” Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe asked, then said, “No, never mind that. I’ll come home straight away.” He drove home and, sure enough, as he pulled into the driveway, he saw a huge, fierce gorilla in the apple tree. It spotted him and growled, then threw an apple at him - he only just ducked in time. He went into the house, where his wife was nervously looking out the window from behind the net curtain. “George, what are we going to do?” she asked. Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe picked up the Yellow Pages. “It’s simple, Miriam - there are bound to be professional people who can deal with this sort of thing.” He looked up ‘Gorilla Catchers’ but there was only one firm listed. He dialed the number and after a few rings the phone was answered. “Bloggs and Wilson, Gorilla Catchers. Bloggs speaking!” “Good afternoon - my name is Ponsonby-Smythe. There is a gorilla in the apple tree in my garden, and I need you to come and catch it!” “I’m very sorry, sir,” replied Bloggs. “I’m afraid Wilson is off sick at the moment, so we’re unable to take on any jobs.”
Most of the time when I go in, I cause some pain. I can fill your holes when asked to. I sometimes ask you to spit and not swallow it. Who am I? A dentist.
“But this is urgent!” said Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe. “It’s in the tree, causing a scene - I’m sure the property values are reducing even as we speak! There must be something you can do!” “Well...” said Bloggs. “Catching a gorilla is a two-man job, but if you’re willing to fill Wilson’s role then we should be able to pull it off.” “I’ll do whatever it takes, “ promised Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe, and gave Bloggs his address. Twenty
minutes later a battered Transit van bearing the sign “BLOGGS AND WILSON - GORILLA CATCHERS” pulled up outside. The driver got out and went round to the back of the van, opened the doors, and brought out a large rifle, a set of manacles, and a viciouslooking Rottweiler dog which barked and snarled. The man came up to the front door and rang the bell. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Bloggs,” said the man when Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe answered. “I can see the gorilla in your tree - he’s a big ‘un, isn’t he? We’d best get started right away.” “That’s fine,” said Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe. “What do I have to do?” “Well,” replied Bloggs. “You stand there with the manacles while I climb the tree. I will wrestle with the gorilla and push him out of the tree. The instant he hits the ground, the dog is trained to leap forward and bite the gorilla’s testicles. This will distract him long enough for you to put the manacles on him. Then I can load him into the back of the van and take him away.” “I understand,” said Mr. Ponsonby-Smythe. “But what is the rifle for?” “That is actually the most important part of the whole operation,” replied Bloggs. “If by any chance the gorilla should happen to push me out of the tree, you must instantly shoot the dog!”
FBI rooting out terrorist cells: same gig, different bad guys. In the end, after becoming the FBI’s most decorated agent, I was retired; I had my pick of the lady dogs as they tried to breed a successor with my gift, but I guess I’m just unique. So, I ended up in retirement here, filling my days in comfort and peace.” The salesman is practically bursting at this. Just then the farmer emerges from the farmhouse. “How much do you want for this incredible dog?” yells the salesman. “I’ll pay any price!” The farmer spits. “Y’all can have him for nothing.” The salesman is even more flabbergasted. “How can you give away such an incredible animal? A talking dog with such an amazing story?” The farmer laughs. “Cos he’s a damn liar. He never did any of that stuff.”
What’s better than winning the Paralympics wheelchair race? Walking.
Why was the leper hockey game canceled? There was a face off in the corner.
I was reading a great book about an immortal dog the other day. It was impossible to put down.
What do 15-year-old boys and washing machines have in common? They both like keeping one sock for themselves.
How do you know you’re ugly? If you always get handed the camera for group photos.
When at the supermarket, I always pick the cashier who’s most likely to have sex with me. I always end up at selfcheckout.
I’m the highlight of many dates. I’m especially responsive when you put your fingers deep inside me. What am I? A bowling ball.
Have you ever tried Ethiopian food? Neither have they.
I have a stepladder because my real ladder left when I was just a kid.
An insurance salesman is visiting a remote farmstead. He parks at the foot of the driveway and walks up to the house to find an old Labrador lying on the porch. As he tries to step over it, it speaks! “Watch where you’re stepping, buddy!”
The salesman almost faints with shock. “You can talk!”
“Yeah, sure”, says the dog. “I’ve made a pretty good career out of it.” Intrigued, the salesman asks to hear more. “Well,”, says the dog, “it all began back in ‘81. My owner found out about this gift I had and turned me into a travelling sideshow.
‘Course, all I had to do was do simple skits, a few words, a couple jokes; it was pretty beneath me, but it paid well. Anyway, I was spotted by some government types, and got recruited by the CIA. They taught me to speak Russian, and I was infiltrated into secret bases all over the Soviet Union. I mean, who’s gonna suspect a dog, right? I was the most effective source of intelligence throughout the entire cold war; I can’t tell you how many times I saved the world with my timely intel. “After the cold war ended, I got moved to the
Jimmy and Jack were twins, but they weren’t identical - far from it. They looked like the before and after photos in those old body-building adverts. Jimmy was a skinny thing, while Jack was well-built and muscular. As a result, Jack seemed to attract women without making an effort - everywhere he went they would cluster round him, while poor Jimmy struggled and even when women approached him - usually because he was standing next to Jack - he found it difficult to talk to them. However, the two were the best of friends and Jack always did his best to help Jimmy out, though it was rarely successful. One day the two planned to go to the beach. Jack knew that as soon as he stepped onto the sands, wearing his swimming trunks, the women would come flocking and hopefully Jimmy would benefit from the overflow, so to speak. Unfortunately, as they were about to set off something cropped up and Jack found he had some business to take care of first. He said to Jimmy, “You go on ahead and I’ll meet you there. But in the meantime, we need to do something to give you an advantage. That skinny body is what’s holding you back. We can’t give you muscles but we can make you look a bit more of a stud - get a potato and pop it down your swimming trunks and you’ll look a bit more macho.” Jimmy set off and Jack took care of his business, then headed for the beach to find his brother. It didn’t take long: though the beach was crowded there was a large circular gap at one point, as if people were trying to keep away from some unpleasant object. Right at the center sat Jimmy, looking miserable. He got to his feet as Jack approached. “This is all your fault,” he said. “I did what you told me - I got a potato and stuck it down my swimming trunks, but as soon as I came out of the changing rooms people started screaming and running away. You said it would attract the girls but nobody will come within twenty yards of me!” “I’m not surprised,” said Jack. “You were supposed to put the potato down the front of your trunks!”
Ron and Mark’s Excellent Adventure
Part Two
...so, we skipped that part of the ride and went straight towards Ludlow instead...
We were riding a gravel road westbound about a mile east of Ludlow, South Dakota when I ‘found’ a piece of shale (a very hard and very sharp rock) with my rear tire. The shale was only about the size of a quarter, but hard and sharp as it could be! Needless to say, my rear tire went flat in a New York City Minute. I was doing about forty miles per hour when the tire went and had my hands full trying to keep the Old Chief upright as it was fishtailing wildly from one side to another! I swear I saw the saddlebags three times! Seeing saddlebags while walking around a parked motorcycle in a driveway or in a parking lot is one thing. Seeing saddlebags while riding a fully loaded motorcycle with a flat tire while doing forty miles an hour on a gravel road is quite another thing. Both hands were literally full just trying to keep the bike from flopping over on the gravel. Both feet were pretty busy acting as ‘training wheels’ or ‘outriggers’ of sorts; also involved in the task at hand. I was able to ride it out, but not without crying out to my Maker for some Divine Help. I think I may have cried out some other things, too, but it is hard to remember exactly what one says in situations like that one. I have had flat tires before and since, but none quite like that one!
Doug and Ron came riding up at about the time I was finally strong enough to get off the motorcycle and stand up unassisted. (They had been riding a fair distance behind me because, as I recall, they thought I may have been riding a bit fast for the conditions.) They asked why I had stopped and why I was shaking so much, then they looked down at the obviously flat tire. No more questions. When I finally gathered my composure, I believe I asked Ron if he would mind pulling out the spare 18” inner tube I knew he didn’t have with him. Of course, Ron had to remind me what I already knew to be true: He hadn’t brought a spare 18” inner
tube. What to do now? Well, first things first. We needed to get the bags (including saddlebags) off the bike, get it up on the center stand and remove the rear wheel. In the middle of nowhere. On a gravel road. On a hot summer day. And keep our collective cool in doing it. Piece of cake! As we were struggling with the obstinate wheel, I looked up and saw two bikes riding south on US Highway 85. One Gold Wing and one H-D; both riders packing passengers. They all took a long hard look at the unusual sight of two old motorcycles and one modern bike, all sitting on the side of a gravel road a half-mile or so from the highway. They looked, but they didn’t stop to see if they could be of assistance. They didn’t even slow down.
After we got the wheel off the bike, I climbed on the rear of the Virago, Indian wheel in hands, and Doug rode me into Ludlow, South Dakota. There is no population in Ludlow. Only a few derelict houses, an abandoned bar and one lonely rural fire station. Lonely, yes. Certainly not lowly. This place was nice! And it was unlocked!! And it had a BIG air compressor!!! And I had a bicycle inner tube repair kit in my saddlebag. (I also had just enough presence of mind to remember to bring the repair kit with us to the fire station.) I also had a pair of ‘motorcycle-sized’ tire irons and just enough brain matter to remember to bring them to the fire station, too. I peeled the casing from the rim and pulled the tube from the casing. Just add air, find the leak, patch it, and reverse the operation, right? WRONG! I patched the holes as I was able to ‘find’ them. And there was no shortage of holes to find, that’s for sure! I could only patch them one at a time, re-fill the tube and ‘find’ the next hole and patch it. By the time I got finished, I had ‘found’ EIGHT holes in the inner tube! And, I had used up every bit of inner tube patch material. I guess one would have to expect a few ‘extra’ holes for all the ‘riding’ I had done on the flat tire before I got the bike stopped. A fresh new 18” inner tube would have been a very welcome sight about this time.
When we were convinced that “eight” was the magic number and that there were no other leaks, we deflated the inner tube one more time and put the tire/tube/wheel assembly back together and rode out to where the lonely ’40 stood there, quietly waiting for us to return. Before very much time had gone by, we had the wheel back on the bike and all the bags packed and re-loaded. We were off! By this time, we were plenty hungry and Buffalo was only a few miles down the road. We rolled into Buffalo, South Dakota only to find two ‘other’ motorcycles parked out in front of the only bar/restaurant in town. When we walked into the dimly lit barroom all eyes were on us. Ron and Doug found a table to sit at, but I had other plans. I walked right up to the table of ‘other’ bike riders and suggested that they were the (expletive deleted) that rode right past us and didn’t even slow down, much less see if we needed any assistance. I think you could have heard a feather hit the floor at that moment. Ron swears he heard a double-barreled shotgun snap shut just below and just behind the bar top.
I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t care. Doug broke the icy silence by suggesting that I may be trying to ‘start’ something. I only stood there and glared as the ‘pilgrims’ slid away from the table and quietly walked outside to their bikes. I followed them outside and informed them that, in the future, they should ALWAYS at least stop and ask if there is anything they could do to assist a broken-down motorcycle on the side of the road; especially out in the middle of nowhere. They rode off and I returned to the bar and ordered a cheeseburger.
After we enjoyed our lunch, we found a gas pump in Buffalo
“Saint Ed” later that day.) and he was riding a shaft-drive 850 Suzuki. Ed had a five-gallon fuel jug strapped onto the back of his Suzuki, which we thought rather odd. We struck up a conversation with the young man and quickly learned that he was on his way back to Ohio and Civilization as he knew it. He had ridden the 850 to Dead Horse, Alaska on the shores of the Arctic Ocean on Prudhoe Bay. Ed was a Rider. We never asked him, but we knew Ed would never ride past a broke-down motersickel anywhere. Ever. Ed asked if we minded if he accompanied us on part of the next leg of our trip: Devil’s Tower via Alzada, Montana. Of course, we welcomed a Real Rider to join us and were soon on our way across the northeast corner of Wyoming and in Alzada, Montana. What I remember most about that particular stretch of highway was the big rigs hauling bentonite. LOTS of trucks hauling LOTS of bentonite! They were pretty rude to us lowly motorcyclists, too! We fueled the bikes in Alzada and headed south, back into Wyoming. That’s when ‘it’ happened.
and topped up the fuel tanks on our bikes. Doug had planned to ride with us to Buffalo and return to his ranch, so we thanked him again for all his help and bade him farewell. Doug rode east. Ron and I rode south. We were two, again.
Ron and I rode out of Buffalo through Redig and into Belle Fourche. Redig is another South Dakota town with no population. It was just a wide spot in the 71-mile stretch of road between Buffalo and Belle Fourche. Those 71 miles were undoubtedly the hottest, windiest stretch of road on the entire trip. And we rode through grasshoppers and biting flies like I have never experienced. While we were fueling our bikes in Belle Fourche, we met a fellow from someplace in Ohio. His name was “Ed” (Ron would re-name him
No man should ever have to deal with TWO flat tires in the same day. Ever. It’s just not
right. I guess I must be “No Man,” because that’s exactly what happened to me! About nine miles north of Huelett, Wyoming, on State Road 112, I had my second flat of the day. (The now “Saint”) Ed immediately pulled a can of “Fix-A-Flat” out of his saddlebag, but it would be of no use to me, as I had no valve stem on my inner tube. I don’t mean that I couldn’t find the valve stem; it simply wasn’t there. Ed still maintained his newly acquired sainthood by helping Ron find his way to Huelett and ultimately getting a new tube and a 12-volt air compressor delivered to the site of the flat. Ed had to get back to Ohio and left our lives just as quickly as he entered our lives. While Ron and “Saint Ed” did their thing, I did mine: For the second time in the same day, I pulled the bags off the bike, pulled the rear wheel, and pulled the inner tube. When I finally held the inner tube in my hand, I walked over to the right-of -way fence line and carefully draped the useless piece of rubber over a post and the top strand of barbed wire. Then I went back to by bike and got on my knees and began to pray. I only asked for enough help to get off that road safely by dark. And my prayers were answered, and handsomely, too! Ron returned alone. He told me that Ed must have been some sort of Angel or something he couldn’t quite explain. (I know he was real, because I have a picture of him standing by his Suzuki at a gas station in Belle Fourche.) Ron went on to tell me that the Honda dealer in Belle Fourche was on his way out to where we were and that he was bringing an 18” inner tube and a 12-volt air compressor with him.
The Honda guy never touched the tube. He stood there in amazement as he watched me
stuff the tube into the casing and roll the tire back onto the rim. In less than twenty minutes from the time he arrived, we had the tire and wheel put back together and on the bike. I flipped him a Fifty plus the cost of the tube and Ron tipped his son and we were riding again. It was about a quarter before dark and Huelett was nine miles away. I don’t remember when food, bath, and bed were ever as welcome as they were that night! We covered 230 miles that day.
I’ve had rougher days on the road since then, but don’t know that I ever had a rougher day before that one!
(To be continued in next month’s issue of TRMI.)
Thanks to Bill Wilson and the H.P. Love and Respect to All. Alice (LS) Landshark, etc.
It really shouldn’t be this G-D Hard
By Crash Davis
The turn of summer is finally here, copious amounts of warmth and daylight. Closed circuit to my buddy who I will call “Kevin” since that is his name, copious is just a big word like gymnasium. Summer is cooking and as my old man use to say, like all the damn time, “move your ass, you are burning daylight”. I mean, he said it all the time, even when it didn’t matter or was even the least bit relatable. No, I never called him on it…ever. The man had a size 18 ring finger for crying out loud, I may have lived a life filled with head trauma, hell, you might even say “copious” amounts of head trauma, but I was never that damn dumb to call him out on shit! But indeed, if you dreamed of riding all last winter and are not burning up the pavement wtf are you doing?
Back when spring first turned, I needed to attend a tech conference the next state over, a state I would do my level best to avoid riding in because of their anti-freedom rules governing mandatory headgear requirements that frankly, I always objected to. They changed that outdated heavy handed bullshit a couple of years ago and I ride there quite often now. I mean, most of it is flatter than a junior prom date, but like I said, a junior prom date, they still offer some nice curves and sense of welcoming, like we are just happy to be here.
The two-day event was cool, I did get a great deal out of it, but I was really looking forward to the ride home! Just to get back on my bike, just to crank up a playlist, feet on the highway pegs and lock in the cruise. The only issue, when I walked out, I was wearing a polo and ¾ zip pullover and NOT expecting 94 degrees!
Sweating my danglers off on the way back I knew that 1, I wasn’t properly prepared for such an adventure, and 2, I was NOT in summer heat riding shape just yet. But the great thing about riding, is you can adapt and change plans, so a pit stop in Grand Island was planned. I remember seeing on the way west a Stop N Rob in a couple of cites call “Fat Dog”, no idea exactly what it was, but it looked like a super-sized C store or at the minimum a small truck stop, surely my wardrobe oversight could be addressed there and there is only one thing I had in mind.
As I go closer to the tech conference date, the temps and the forecast kept trending in my favor and I decided to ride that super exciting I-80 west of Iowa to Kearney NE. It was a conference I was legit excited to attend, covering a great deal of cool new marketing stuff (my wheelhouse) and once I set my focus on riding I was even more fired up, to the point where I was counting the “sleeps” until I jumped on my bike. No mind or care that it was only 40 degrees when it was kick stand up, I was riding towards the warmer weather and halfway there it was 50ish.
I must find the perfect t-shirt for the remainder of my adventure. I wanted the truck stop staple, howling wolf, full moon, maybe some stars and shit, an American flag and if it has some dumbass saying on it, all the better. If you have ever seen the crowd at a flea market, you have seen a patron sporting this shirt. Usually smoking an unfiltered Pall Mall red while holding a grandchild or at the least you have seen it on sale at a truck stop and wondered, “WHO IS BUYING THESE!?”
Well, I wanted one because, it’s a classic. And it would very much offend my ride or die and as a dedicated husband, I do my best to be that assmunch whenever I can!
Sadly, while this store was super cool and I will always swing into on, they did not have said shirt that I was looking for. I really need to write them a letter, or maybe not. But they did have a large selection of Nebraska shirts including something call the Cornhuskers and there is zero chance I was ever going to buy one, let alone be seen wearing one, not even if I was walking over a dead terrorist corpse would you see me in one. Then, at the end of the wall, the Fat Dog shirts! Sweet! Exactly
what I wanted, plus it was on sale and the front said “Fat Dog” but the back of the shirt closed the deal, sale price be damned It read “Girth Matters”. OH, HELL YES! The nice lady even let me change in the bathroom. She said if I was bad, she might taze me, I said, “Lady, I am already frisky finding this shirt, don’t promise me a good time!”
The remaining ride was amazing, relaxing, and it just reached down inside and woke up my spirit. That is what riding has always done, it makes me feel alive! Even after a long, hot ass day, when it is over, I am usually ready to swing back on and do it again. After a beer or two of course.
Even though it was only 362 miles round trip, driveway to driveway, it got me stoked for more riding and soon text messages started popping back and forth, conversations around campfires about plans, goals, dates, locations…and I love all of it.
Earlier I found a list of great dive bars in Iowa, going to check those off, my bride wants another Old River Road run, which is one of my all-time favs and a few riding buddies are dialed in. Their quotes were all exactly the same. “Crash, you pick the dates, tell us when we pull out and we will follow you wherever you want to go.” (Just to be clear, we are only pulling out of the driveway. Clean up your gutter mind you perverts.) (Actually, don’t, I like you better thinking like I do.)
Here is the hard part, or rather the tricky part maybe. Most of my inner riding group gets it, when it’s go time you f’n GO! You budget it, plan for it, clear your schedule and we go. I have a problem wanting to help peeps that have always wanted to do
a two- or three-day jaunt, get them out of their comfort zone, they asked to be go along and as long as they are not mouth breathers and can ride, plus we like hanging with them, sure.
I understand for many people 100 miles in a day might a good deal of road, and that is fine, but many of use will ride through several TANKS of gas a day, miles be damned, and if you are 200 miles in and suddenly regret it, you have a problem. I don’t. I am going to keep doing what I set out to do, but that is the hard part, well that and firmly letting them know, THESE ARE THE DATES, if you have soccer games, tee ball shit, need to mow at grandma’s house, well, you do what you need to do, but we are riding. These are the days. After all, we are burning daylight.
Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa
Iowa Bike Nights and Dinner Rides Dinner Rides
TUESDAY
Teufelhund Veterans Group Anamosa (5-19, 6-23, 7-28, 8-25)
Wednesday
Back Forty Bike Night at the Barn Des Moines (2nd Wed May, Jun, Jul, Sep) Benolas Baxter The Honkytonk Clarksville
Thursday
Bikes on the Hundred Block Council Bluffs (3rd Thurs) Roar Into Harlan (3rd Thurs)
Metro HD Cedar Rapids (2nd Thurs May-Aug, 3rd Thurs Sep) East of Omaha Bike Night Griswold (1st Thurs May-Sep) Capt. Roys Vintage Bike Night Des Moines (1st Thurs) Iowa City HD Coralville (3rd Thurs May-Aug, Sep 24) Fireside Lounge Atlantic (4th Thurs)
Friday
Bondurant Bike Night (Last Fri May-Jul) Centerville Bike Night (4th Fri)
Saturday
Sunday
Just 1 More Jamaica (Starting in May) p st Thurs) Sep 24)
Colfax Saturday Night Cruise (5-2, 6-6, 7-11, 8-1, 9-12)
Apr 24 Bike & Car Show Night State Fairgrounds Des Moines
Apr 25 Abate D18 Leather Run,Heartland HD Burlington
Apr 25 Bike Blessing Big Barn HD Des Moines
May 1-2 Vintage Torque Fest Dubuque
Apr 25 Spring Hog Roast Zylstra HD Ames
May 1 SAFR All Roads Lead to Boone Fun Run Pre-Party
Boone
May 2 15th Annual Sleeping Angels Fun Run Boone
May 2 CMA Annual Bike Blessing and Run For The Son Crapo Park Burlington
May 2 International Female Rider Day Worldwide
May 2 20th Annual Cedar Rapids Chrome Divas Ride
Metro HD Cedar Rapids
May 2 Blessing of the Bikes American Legion Post 111
Newton
May 3 8th Annual Blessing of the Bikes Chapel of Praise Muscatine
May 8-10 Tenth Souls M.C. Mother’s Day Weekend Campout
Nashua
May 9 ABATE D16 Motorcycle Awareness Ride/Canned Food Drive Cedar Falls
May 9 Car and Bike Cruise Johnston
May 16
B.A.C.A. 100 Mile Ride Route 65 HD Indianola
May 16 CVMA 39-1 Patriot Poker Run DeSoto
May 16-20 Nation of Patriots Flag Tour Mason City, Ames, Waterloo, Dubuque
May 17 Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride Worldwide
May 21-24 Redneck Revival Conesville
May 22 Bike & Car Show Night State Fairgrounds
Des Moines
May 30 Gears and Beers Mean Machine Cycles Elkhart
Sep 12 Tenth Souls M.C. Clean and Sober Poker Run Nashua
Sep 13 620 Golf Tournament Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Sep 19 Abate D 18 Toys For Tots Mediapolis
Sep 19 2nd Annual David Mann Chopper Fest Kansas City, MO
Sep 19-20 Rumble In the Sand Conesville
Sep 20 41st Annual World-Famous Butterfield’s M-C Parts Hot Dog Daze Omaha, NE
Sep 24-27 42nd Annual MRF Meeting of the Minds Milwaukee, WI
Sep 26 CFMC End of Year Party & Ride Cedar Rapids
Oct 17-18 Rust Resurrection & Burn Conesville
Oct 31 Tenth Souls M.C. Halloween Dance Waterloo Nov 6-7 Veteran’s Day Event Big Barn HD Des Moines
Nov 6-8 ABATE of Iowa STEAM Des Moines
Nov 11 Veterans Day Pancake Breakfast Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Nov 27-28 Black Friday & Orange Saturday Big Barn HD Des Moines
Dec 12 Holiday Open House Big Barn HD Des Moines
Dec 12 Santa at Metro HD Cedar Rapids PLEASE EMAIL EVENTS TO VERNON@THUNDERROADSIOWA.COM INCLUDE DATE, EVENT NAME, AND STARTING
TOWN.
Coins
Memorial Day is a time to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom. During this time, ceremonies honoring those brave men and women who gave their lives for our freedoms are conducted at veterans’ cemeteries across the country.
There are flowers, flags, parades, but have you ever noticed coins on military on even non-service member’s headstones? If so, do you wonder what they mean?
Placing a coin on headstones of a service member or veteran is a show of respect and honor, as well as letting the deceased service member’s family know someone was there, but the denomination of the coins each has a distinct and significant meaning. According to an article by the Department of Military Affairs, the custom of leaving coins with the deceased can be traced back to the Roman Empire. Coins were placed into the mouth of fallen soldiers to pay for passage and protection across the River Styx, which separates the world of the living from the world of the dead. In Navy mythology, coins were placed under the mast of a ship to pay the “ferryman” for safe transport to the afterlife in the event sailors died at sea.
The custom gained popularity in the U.S. during the Vietnam War to honor the fallen during a time of upheaval and political divide over a controversial war. The coins were a way to quietly honor service members and communicate a message of respect for family members.
Leaving coins on military headstones and veterans’ graves is a kind and appreciated gesture, but what generally happens with them after time is also significant and special. The coins are usually collected and used for upkeep of the cemetery or to help pay for burial costs for homeless veterans.
For military members, the tradition is particularly rich and meaningful. According to tradition, there is a specific meaning behind each type of coin:
• Penny: This symbolizes visitation. It is for those who have no formal relationship with the deceased but wish to honor their service and their family.
• Nickel: A nickel is left by those who trained at boot camp with the departed.
• Dime: In the case of a dime, it indicates service alongside the departed in some capacity.
• Quarter: A quarter is a special symbol reserved for those who were with the departed when they passed.
This language of coins allows active servicemen and women to communicate with the families of those who served. It is essentially a way to pay respects without overstepping boundaries.
The practice has been continually morphing from ancient times until today. For non-military members, coins on a headstone are a symbol of honor. Primarily, they are a way to pay respects and offer good luck to the departed. Why
are coins, pennies in particular, a sign of luck? Ben Franklin might be at the center of this legend because he famously said, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” Because of this famous quote about the importance of personal finance, visitors to his Pennsylvania gravesite developed the tradition of tossing pennies on his grave. Many have adopted this good luck tradition of tossing pennies into the graves of their loved ones. In other cultures, outside of the United States, coins on a headstone are a practical solution because they are less expensive than flowers. Today, people leave coins on a headstone as a sign of enduring respect. They demonstrate that the departed are appreciated and revered long after their passing.
While flowers are the most common grave decoration, they are not the only way to pay tribute to those who passed. Cultures and religious faiths worldwide each have their own traditions that harken back for hundreds and even thousands of years. In the Jewish faith, for instance, people leave stones. In Latin America, it is common to leave candles. A tradition that developed from U.S. military culture is the leaving of coins on a headstone.
While visiting military graves this Memorial Day (or any other day), why not bring some pocket change as a simple symbol of respect to those who gave so much? It is a small gesture that could mean a lot to the loved ones of these late heroes.
There are many other ways to honor the fallen on Memorial Day! Attend an event or parade: Communities across the nation organize events and parades to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Join a local event or attend a parade to show respect and let the families of the fallen know their loved one is not forgotten.
Fly the U.S. flag. If you have not already, put out the flag as a symbol of patriotism. According to the VA, on Memorial Day, the flag should be flown at half-staff from sunrise until noon, then raised to the top of the staff until sunset.
Wear or display a red poppy. The colorful flower is a symbol of remembrance that dates to World War I. The tradition got its start thanks to a poem by WWI brigade surgeon John McCrae. Veterans of Foreign Wars conducted its first nationwide poppy distribution ahead of Memorial Day in 1922, a tradition that continues today.
Post a Tribute: Honor a late veteran you know by posting a tribute to the Veterans Legacy Memorial. The VAconnected website is “dedicated to the memory of the nearly 4.5 million veterans interred in VA national cemeteries.” The site allows visitors to search for a specific veteran and leave photos, tributes, and memories in their honor.
Spend time with family and friends. What better way to honor those who fought and died for our freedoms than enjoying the moments their sacrifice provided us? Sharing the day with those you love and care about the most is a great way to say “thank you” to these fallen heroes who cannot with their families and friends so that we can be with ours.
