Reflections: Roar of motorcycles doesn't wash away easily

At times, they looked for all the world like a sea of motorcycles, waves of them rolling about briefly, then coming to a slow stop on an area of shoreline, a space of pavement that would accommodate them until they headed off on this next journey.

They filled one area, and then a second, both far larger than the photo can show, even when taken from atop a steep little nearby hill. Still they arrived, this Patriot Guard and special friends here in Reed City, and some from Reed City.

They made sure trucks could still flow unencumbered through the parking lot after gassing up, keeping not only cycles but also selves back out of the way.

Then it was their turn. The Wall was due to arrive in Cadillac, and these men and women, children and grandchildren with it.

They had journeyed to the depths of hell, many of them, and survived. They will never forget those who did not. The wave moved out slowly. Then picked up momentum. Then was gone.

Yet, much like a wave, it left a mark in return. A mark on those who watched that special day in Reed City when they rolled in, rolled out, and touched the hearts and souls of those who stood on the hills. Same thing, we’re told, with those who watched from their cars at the pumps, pressed their faces against restaurant windows, sat in cars out along Patterson, or out on 10 or waited at the end of freeway ramps, and watched them flow by.

It was, indeed, a day to remember, and those who witnessed these moments surely won’t forget.