THE IMPACT OF WAR LINGERS . . .

In Fall 1982 I took my first motorcycling journey with two of my older brothers, Steve and Harry, and Harry’s father-in-law, Chuck. We rode to the Davis Mountains, in which I enjoyed the companionship and fell in love with The Ride. Subsequently I undertook solo journeys throughout North America, Europe, and Norway, covering approximately 120,000 miles over 25 years. I didn’t know it at the time, but in retrospect those were healing rides, driven from within to deal with an as-then undefined PTSD.  What follows are two excerpts from the titled e-Book above. Fifteen years apart, the visitations occurred in different regions of New Mexico, a spiritual land.

Wednesday, September 30, 1987 – Carrizozo, NM/Midnight

“There is one room left in town. It has a broken window and a door that won’t open, so I crawl through the window to get in. I sleep with my 9mm by my side and dream of Thanh, my interpreter in Vietnam. He was seriously wounded in a booby trap explosion but was recovering in the amputee ward of the Saigon hospital when I left country. In my dream (or was it a visitation?) he’s whole and smiling, says he’s OK. (In 1996 I returned to my operating area in South Vietnam in hopes of locating him and one other soldier I served with. No luck.)”

September 12, 2002 – Mogollon, NM

“Dawn breaks cool and cloudy. As I ready the motorcycle, an old man who performs maintenance and cleaning for the motel sits in a chair tilted against a wall. He’s watching me … but not watching me. It’s like he’s done with life, stuck in each day, a scary thought. I start to speak but don’t because this morning I’m stuck in a dream similar to the one I had in 1987 when in Carrizozo for the night and I dreamed about Sergeant Thanh.

As I was drifting in slumber during this early morning, Lieutenant Hot, my favorite South Vietnamese Regional Force officer, visited me. The last time I saw him he had been standing on the bow of a river patrol boat while we cruised up the Vam Co  Dong  River before  disembarking  on  our  last  operation together. And even though I’ve written and talked about Hot—a man who with 17 years fighting experience possessed far more combat expertise than I did— I’d never dreamed about him.

The apparition is short.

“I’ve been looking for you over twenty-five years,” I say.

Hot  doesn’t  say  anything,  just  stares  at  me.  Then, uncontrollably, it seems as if my whole body erupts in tears. Silently, he leans forward, puts his cheek against mine, then cradles my neck.”

For those of you who have read my memoir, Coyote Jack/Drawing Meaning from Life and Vietnam, you might remember that one of my biggest battles was learning to control the seething rage I harbored over my year of combat in South Vietnam, where I served as an infantry officer advisor to South Vietnamese Regional and Popular Forces. I want to make clear the majority of my rage stemmed from post-war treatment by Americans, both overt and covert, from all political spectrums. One of the tactics used in dealing positively with PTSD is learning to recognize stressful triggers that can rip open that deep well of rage, which if not dealt with appropriately, can result in destructive behavior. Thus, it is in my best interest not to engage in situations or dialogue that are toxic to me, whether it is person to person or on social media.

As I have written before, I consider hate speech, whether extreme left or right,  incendiary. Hate speech is demeaning, often cowardly like road rage, and accomplishes nothing other than to rile your opponent.  Why try to have rational discourse with an irrational person. Nothing gets settled. The flames just get hotter. Any person engaging in inflammatory speech not only diminishes the other but also his/her own being. This is what is happening in America. It is disrespectful, distressing, and depressing. And it is reopening old wounds. 

Remember the Communist/Nazi/Fascist Tactics–Pick One: control the media, confiscate all guns, revise history. We do not really want a police state, do we?

Come on, leaders! Exhibit strong moral courage, defined by one source as intellectual honesty and willingness to stand up and be counted.   

FROM: TRAINING RUNS/THE REGENERATIVE POWER OF MOTORCYCLING BACK ROADSOur objective for the night, St. Véran, boasts of being the highest village in the Alps, and Rob has booked us at Le Château Renard, which naturally is the highest hotel in the village. The final ascent is by a tricky path, which must have a 25-degree rake and difficult turn included. It’s almost like the owners don’t want you to get there. St. Véran overflows with charm, its shops and homes rimming the vine of a road twisting up the mountain.

Clusters of small, rustic hotels and cafes dot the village. St. Véran is a remote, rugged ski resort in the winter months. Now, however, flowers enliven colorless wooden flower boxes, and a round wooden trough contains fresh, pure, cold water flowing continuously from a quartet of spigots mounted on four sides of a common post.