A large contingent of wounded warriors paused in their Ride 2 Recovery from San Francisco to Santa Monica for an evening in Solvang. That Friday morning, they set out for Ventura.
Ride 2 Recovery is a joint partnership with the not-for-profit Fitness Challenge Foundation. The joint aim of the organizations is to benefit both mental and physical rehabilitation programs for wounded Veterans. Cycling is their core activity and they are able to fit most Veterans – no matter the injury – with bicycles that meet their needs, says, Jim Penseyres, himself a wounded warrior.
While many of the cyclists are coping with amputations, some Veterans suffer wounds that are deeper. “So many guys and gals have wounds that you don’t see. Those are the ones we try to watch and monitor,” says Penseyres.
John Moore is a Navy man whose broad smile hides the trauma that sometimes rocks his life. “This is my first challenge and it’s been a challenge,” he says with a soft North Carolina accent – declining the offer to sit down during the interview. He’s been sitting for hours on a hard seat, he explains, and then laughs.
Moore began his training for the ride last spring and has lost 35 pounds, he notes proudly. But he undertook the ride as much for his fallen comrades as for himself. “We want to let everybody know that we still think about them, we care about them, we have not forgotten.” It is a sentiment echoed by fellow riders.
As a military police officer, his job was easier than many of his colleagues, Moore claims. Skirting the difficult memories that still cast long shadows over his life, Moore on this day instead focuses on the camaraderie he gains from the ride. It’s been a good experience, he says. He plans on doing it again.
“Because the rides are so long, it really breaks down the barriers,” explains Penseyres. With the sun on their face, the wind in their hair and the ache in their thighs for hours on end, participants find distraction in talking with their fellow riders. It is in those conversations that so many Veterans begin to find the relief – the outlet – that they need.
Trained to be tough, it is hard for military heroes not to perceive asking for help as a sign of weakness, says Moore and each of the other riders who stepped forward to speak. Trained as well to have each other’s backs, the Rides 2 Recovery allows them to give as much as they receive – helping to strike the even balance they need to move forward.
Liz Mocabee is both a Veteran and the widow of a Veteran, but in many ways she lost her husband long before he committed suicide. He, likewise, found it difficult to seek the counseling he was so in need of. But the horrors of war have to find their outlet somewhere. As is too often the case for military families, Mocabee and her children bore the brunt of her husband’s efforts to release his pain.
“Before you write anything down,” Mocabee says reaching out to stay the hand poised to render her story to paper, she wants to explain it all – from her struggles to be a good mother and wife, to the special needs of her children who have suffered so much. They, too, are wounded warriors in their own way. Mocabee takes a deep breath and in less than two minutes recounts 18 years of her life without help. It is the only time during the course of the evening that her bright smile is not present. It is in large part behind her now, she says.
She’s an open book, willing to focus on any aspect of her life that might make someone else’s life better. But the lives she most wants to improve are those of her two children. For two years after her father’s death, daughter Haley, now 16, disallowed any mention of him, even denying his existence.
“She has come a long way,” says Macabee. “Now she realizes that her story can help others. We want people to know that it’s OK to reach out, it’s OK to say ‘I need help.’” Even though it is sometimes hard to see from the darkness, says Mocabee, is that it is not a sign of weakness to ask for help, but rather a willingness to risk that last ounce of courage.
Survival is exhausting, she says simply. Her advice to community members who want to help is that they research the resources available to military families and then share that information. Just knowing where to turn can be the key to survival. But a bike helps too, she says, raising an eyebrow as she smiles. “I like to joke that my bike is my best therapist.”
Franklin Harris agrees. On his fourth trip now, he says that it is as much the fellowship as the athletics that helps heal the wounds of war. At the end of each ride, it is a better husband and a happier, more involved father, who returns home, he says. Celebrating in the arms of his children is a far happier place than the solitude he retreats to when memories overwhelm him.
He is in college now, on his way to a career where he can facilitate recovery for fellow Veterans. Tall, well-spoken and immaculately groomed even after a long day on the road, Harris exudes professionalism. But his goal is simple – he just wants to help.
But for Harris to obtain that goal it will take the willing participation of other soldiers in need. He has been there, so he knows that it isn’t easy when you’re hunkered down inside the safe cocoon of isolation to put down – even for a moment – the heavy burden of the aftermath of war to call out from the darkness and say, “I’m here.”
When they do, says Harris, he intends to tell them and show them: “I’ve got your back.” struax@syvjournal.com