The Run For The Wall came through Colorado Saturday and I rode out to Limon to see the spectacle. It turned out I wasn’t the only one.
I’ve been following the Run For The Wall on Examiner.com via Glenn and Cathy Buchholz, a local couple who are on the ride. I figured I’d meet up with them when the group stopped for gas in Limon.
I reached Limon well in advance of the run because I wanted to scope things out and pick some good spots to shoot photos. I knew I had the advantage that Glenn and Cathy are on the fuel crew so they would be arriving ahead of the main group. I picked one of the largest gas stations in town and asked if that was where the group would be stopping. No, the lady told me, they would be using the Phillips 66 across the street. So I went over there.
Those folks knew the group was coming so I chatted with them awhile. Then, getting restless, I cruised through town a couple times just to be sure I wasn’t missing something. At one point, passing a motel, I saw a bunch of folks and bikes sitting out in the parking lot so I stopped. They weren’t with the run, but they had ridden out from Denver to watch them pass. They were a bunch of nice folks so I stood and chatted with them a bit, too.
It got to be time when the fuel crew should be showing up so I went back to the gas station, but after waiting there for too long a time I knew something was amiss. I rode back to the west side of town, where the police and parade marshalls were set up to guide the group, and I learned that the fueling stop was in a big truck stop on the other side of I-70. I scooted on over there and sure enough, this was the spot I needed.
They had marshalls to guide the riders in order to do it efficiently and quickly. Not wanting to interfere with their operation I started to turn in at the first entrance to the station, not the second one where they were directing their people to go. Suddenly a marshall with a flag on his baton lept directly in front of me and started screaming at me that I WOULD go in the other entrance, that I was endangering everyone on this run, and I had now done so TWICE!
Twice?
I explained to him that I was not part of their group but he didn’t want to hear it, continuing to scream at me and point and wave his baton at me in an extremely threatening manner. I thought, OK buddy, I’m not in the army and you aren’t either, not any more, but you obviously take your duty here very seriously, so I won’t argue. My wife, generous-hearted soul that she is, speculated that perhaps he was a vet who was making the run trying to deal with his unresolved demons from his Vietnam experience and was just a bit overwrought.
I went down to the other entrance, pulled in, looked around for a place to park that didn’t seem to be in anybody’s way, and parked. Then another marshall came over, greeted me cheerfully, asked who I was, and then asked me if I would please move “over that way” a bit because “I’m going to be parking a whole lot of motorcycles right here in just a few minutes.”
“Sure, you bet, not a problem,” I replied. The contrast was blazingly clear.
So I found Glenn and Cathy, had a few minutes to talk with them before the main group arrived, shot some pictures, and then headed back into town to take up position to get some photos as they rode down the main street.
Limon was turned out for the scene but it was not the kind of scene you might have expected. Probably the biggest crowd was on the grounds of the city office building, and by that I mean about 15 people. There were other clusters of up to five people scattered here and there along the parade route. I’m certain there were more U.S. flags lining the parade route than there were spectators. Hey, this is small town America.
The parade passed and I talked a bit with a Limon teen who was eyeing my Concours, telling me he had just gotten a Ninja 250 but didn’t have his license yet so he couldn’t ride it. And then it was time to head back to Denver.
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