thedrifter
10-31-06, 06:19 AM
Cyclists going military miles
Camp Pendleton opens its roads – and a glimpse of the military world – to cyclists.
DAVID WHITING
Register columnist
dwhiting@ocregister.com
It's a thigh thumping Sunday morning and the marine layer roils as the hot desert wind slams into the cool, moist ocean air.
The mist parts for a moment revealing a tank, its long gun aimed up and toward the south.
It's an honor and a privilege to ride here, on roads where a sign looming out of the gray clearly states the reason for this massive swath of mostly undeveloped land:
"We make Marines here."
There are plenty of other reminders on a bicycle ride through Camp Pendleton that you've left civilian life behind and entered a world where men and women train hard to do battle in nations far away.
Obstacle courses of rope and timber seem to echo the shouts of a thousand gunnies. Covered trucks wait silently to carry troops. Humvees with weapons mounted on top stand guard.
And then there are the huge white bed sheets hanging on fences, most painted with letters of red and blue.
"Welcome home daddy!" And red hearts. Always red hearts.
It's comforting to know someone is cheering for this father returning from war, that he has a family to help take him away, if only for a little while, from the difficult duty that he faithfully fulfilled. But it's also disquieting, a reminder that the rest of us get to go home after a hard day of work.
I don't know why, but many of us respond differently when we ride the grounds of Camp Pendleton. It starts the moment we see the gates at Las Pulgas Road and doesn't stop until we leave the base far behind.
Maybe our core instinctively knows that no matter how much we suffer pumping our bicycles along asphalt and concrete, no matter how many miles we've ridden, or how many miles we have to go – the discomfort doesn't begin to compare with going on a single patrol in a country where armed insurgents and roadside bombs are hidden in the shadows.
It's with a mixture of humbleness and strength we approach the guards checking I.D.s. Few people outside the cycling community believe that any cyclist with a photo identification is allowed through Pendleton, so long as he or she stays on the roads marked with green signs bearing bicycle emblems. No wonder. It's possible Pendleton is the only military base in the country with such a policy.
Exactly how and when the allowance came about is a bit of a mystery. Phone calls and e-mails over several weeks with Marines handling public relations didn't shed any light. But without passage through Pendleton, cyclists traveling up and down the coast would have to go far inland.
Cpl. Josh A. Elliott is manning the gate this particular Sunday. Elliott, 25, from Yakima, Wash., with muscular build and solid jaw, embodies the gung-ho attitude of Marine mottos such as "first to fight" and "a few good men."
A cluster of roadies arrive, eager to maintain momentum on a ride from Redondo Beach to San Diego. Elliott checks identification, respecting their need for speed but also his mandate for tight security. They engage in small talk and, before their sweat has dried, Elliott has them on their way.
The corporal tells me guard duty is a pretty good gig, in part because of the cyclists. He says he has met people riding from Canada to the Mexican border as well as several Europeans cycling their way through the U.S.
Then this Marine tells me he's amazed at what the cyclists do, how far they ride, how ambitious they are.
I shake my head in wonderment. And, silently, offer a hoo-rah to the men and women who really deserve it.
CONTACT US: David Whiting's column on people and places appears Thursdays. He can be reached at 714-796-6869 or dwhiting@ocregister.com.
Ellie
Camp Pendleton opens its roads – and a glimpse of the military world – to cyclists.
DAVID WHITING
Register columnist
dwhiting@ocregister.com
It's a thigh thumping Sunday morning and the marine layer roils as the hot desert wind slams into the cool, moist ocean air.
The mist parts for a moment revealing a tank, its long gun aimed up and toward the south.
It's an honor and a privilege to ride here, on roads where a sign looming out of the gray clearly states the reason for this massive swath of mostly undeveloped land:
"We make Marines here."
There are plenty of other reminders on a bicycle ride through Camp Pendleton that you've left civilian life behind and entered a world where men and women train hard to do battle in nations far away.
Obstacle courses of rope and timber seem to echo the shouts of a thousand gunnies. Covered trucks wait silently to carry troops. Humvees with weapons mounted on top stand guard.
And then there are the huge white bed sheets hanging on fences, most painted with letters of red and blue.
"Welcome home daddy!" And red hearts. Always red hearts.
It's comforting to know someone is cheering for this father returning from war, that he has a family to help take him away, if only for a little while, from the difficult duty that he faithfully fulfilled. But it's also disquieting, a reminder that the rest of us get to go home after a hard day of work.
I don't know why, but many of us respond differently when we ride the grounds of Camp Pendleton. It starts the moment we see the gates at Las Pulgas Road and doesn't stop until we leave the base far behind.
Maybe our core instinctively knows that no matter how much we suffer pumping our bicycles along asphalt and concrete, no matter how many miles we've ridden, or how many miles we have to go – the discomfort doesn't begin to compare with going on a single patrol in a country where armed insurgents and roadside bombs are hidden in the shadows.
It's with a mixture of humbleness and strength we approach the guards checking I.D.s. Few people outside the cycling community believe that any cyclist with a photo identification is allowed through Pendleton, so long as he or she stays on the roads marked with green signs bearing bicycle emblems. No wonder. It's possible Pendleton is the only military base in the country with such a policy.
Exactly how and when the allowance came about is a bit of a mystery. Phone calls and e-mails over several weeks with Marines handling public relations didn't shed any light. But without passage through Pendleton, cyclists traveling up and down the coast would have to go far inland.
Cpl. Josh A. Elliott is manning the gate this particular Sunday. Elliott, 25, from Yakima, Wash., with muscular build and solid jaw, embodies the gung-ho attitude of Marine mottos such as "first to fight" and "a few good men."
A cluster of roadies arrive, eager to maintain momentum on a ride from Redondo Beach to San Diego. Elliott checks identification, respecting their need for speed but also his mandate for tight security. They engage in small talk and, before their sweat has dried, Elliott has them on their way.
The corporal tells me guard duty is a pretty good gig, in part because of the cyclists. He says he has met people riding from Canada to the Mexican border as well as several Europeans cycling their way through the U.S.
Then this Marine tells me he's amazed at what the cyclists do, how far they ride, how ambitious they are.
I shake my head in wonderment. And, silently, offer a hoo-rah to the men and women who really deserve it.
CONTACT US: David Whiting's column on people and places appears Thursdays. He can be reached at 714-796-6869 or dwhiting@ocregister.com.
Ellie