The Battle for Indianapolis

We were met on the outskirts of Indianapolis by two mounted police and a police car. The police told us that they were escorting us to the park in the center of town where arrangements had been made to receive us at a war memorial. Veterans groups from the towns we had passed through had called ahead and made arrangements with the media and officials. A time had been set up for our arrival at the war memorial. The police had told us that we were running a little late so we picked up the pace to get there on time.We arrived at the memorial on schedule, but the place was deserted. Not a soul from the media, nor public officials. My greatest fears were now realized. In this strong veterans city a media blackout had been planned. We and the two mounted police sat on our horses for almost an hour and waited. It was becoming apparent that the word had been put out the the newspapers, radio and TV stations, not to cover the story. In every major city so far we had been met with full media coverage. Indianapolis I knew, with its nation veterans headquarters, was a key point in raise the issue. I had a talk with the policemen and told them how strange it was that in a strong veterans oriented town no media attended the press conference. They agreed and didn't understand what was go on and why the media didn't show up. I told them of my past experience, on the first ride to Washington with media blackouts. Both of the police officers were also veterans and in total support of our effort. I asked where the largest newspaper in town was located. They told me it was just across the way, opposite the park. I said I had a plan and asked for their help. I told them that if the four of us rode over to the newspaper and sat on our horses, on the sidewalk, at their front door it might get the newspaper's attention. The policemen were more than a little upset that the paper was trying to bury these missing soldiers and agreed to the plan. This was going to be a chess game, move and counter move. I wasn't worry, after all what was the paper going to do, call the police.The four of us sat on horseback at the paper's front door for less then ten minutes, when a reporter came flying out of the floor with a note pad in her hand. She looked up at us on our horse and said, "Gee whats going on?" I started to explain that we were riding across American for the POWs. She was already familiar with the story from the coverage on the wire services. I explained how a press conference had been arranged at the war memorial and how strange it was that for the first time in the hundreds of miles we had traveled so far, the media didn't show up. She tried to rationalize the situation by saying it must have been a mix up from the assignment editor. I looked at her and asked if she thought that that same mix up had happened to every other paper and every other radio and TV station. She thought about for a minute and her eyes went wide when she realized that it was impossible. She finally said, I guarantee you it will be in the paper. I called her three days later and she told me that her phone hadn't stopped rings from people trying to contact us. Another noticeably absentee were any officials from the national headquarters of the America Legion. All hope of enlisting their support now died. We were one third of the way across America, we were far off schedule, and winter would be upon us in a few months. Again, all seem lost. Was this going to be the end? It was one thing to across the country in the spring and summer, in a heavily populated part of the country. What lay ahead of us was a thinning population and open country and what we didn't know at this time was that we would be riding into one of the most sever winter on record. The prospect of being found frozen to death wasn't very appealing. We lingered in Indianapolis for a long time trying to come up with a solution. A V.F.W. post (Veterans of Foreign Wars), had invited us to their post that night. We rode out and tied the horses to a tree in their yard. Word must have gotten out that we were broken. They were having a dinner that night, it felt good to eat. After the dinner, they went around selling scratch ticket. One of the man, sitting with us, bought one and asked me to pick one out. I told him I didn't gamble and was not very lucky. He insisted so I picked one and won twenty-five dollars. He bought another one and had me pick it. I said save your money the chances of winning again were not never good. He insisted again and again won twenty-five dollars. I was amazed at my luck. A third time the same thing, I was starting to get a little suspious by this time as to the the honesty of their raffle. The results of the fourth card was the same. We thanks everyone for their help and when outside to ride back to where we were staying. As we got closer to the horses (it was dark) something seem wrong. My horse was standing their with no saddle. Barry's horse had its saddle loosen. It seem that someone was in desperate need of two saddles. Or was it something else? We'll never know. I rode bareback that night.Have you ever sat back and thought about the truly great people you've met in your life. These people were not great for the funding they so slyly gave us, but for their warm and generosity and their welcoming nature. If you don't yet know what make America great, its the people. I feel truly blessed to have had the opportunity to meet so many good people in this country. These are the people you never hear about, who go about their business and do no harm, but do good. Sure we have a lot of obnoxious idiots here, but they are far outnumbered by the good people of this country.

476 miles from Washington, Richmond, IN

The miles was starting to get to us. Like they said, "its not the years, its the mileage." Each day wore on us and the horses. We reached Richmond by the end of that day. Again veterans groups were waiting for us, along with the media. We passed out press packages with government reports. Again the town halls helped with making copies of the paper work. We met many good people in Richmond, I wish I could record their names, but the years and the many miles have dulled my memory. These people and all the rest of the public along the way was how we were able to ride across America and accomplish this task. We met with the public officials, the media and at night spoke at various organizations. It was becoming routine. I started to become well versed in answering the reports questions. Even the public speaking was becoming easier to do. I now had a format for the speeches. I would begin with a poem;The war is over, so its saidall men are home, or else they're deadDon't you know that I want to cryThat some of us have refused to dieWhere are your ears, my countrymenWhen refugees tell you the state I'm inDon't you know that I live in hellWith nothing but my soul left to sellI've watched friends fade, one by oneDespair killed them, not a gunI too may go this wayOr find freedom on execution dayBut you my friends can never be free If you're one that's abandoned meThis emotional verse, I would come to see, silenced large, noisy convention halls with thousands members. As I spoke these words I would hear the crowd quieting the others that were still talking, as they strain to listen to this stirring verse. A silence would fall over these massive convention centers as I told the world about our missing men. I would than speak of the many reports of live sighting of American soldiers from refugees that had escaped from Viet Nam. In closing I would ask each of them, to not abandon these men, but to bring the news to they hometowns and generate support for them. After awhile, this public speaking became routine. I could walk up to the podium without the hesitation of my first attempts at public speaking. I knew what I had to say and in what order to say it.There I was, a no body from a side street in America, giving speeches to huge crowds and doing media interviews. It was an uneasy feeling. I could have never imagined myself in this position. Reporters often asked me, "why you, why are you the one do this." I didn't know the answer to that question, so I would jokingly said, because I had the horse and others didn't. When I look back on it, I know why. I had lived my life believing in the greatest of this Country and wanted that continued for future generations to also have. Maybe it was all the reading I had done on history, that told me that Nations survive only by the participation of its citizens. When people made a big deal about me doing this, I tried to remind them that as far as I was concerned, I was just a messenger. I came to realise along the way that I was also representing millions of good people in this Country that felt the frustrations of our now mega government, that represented them and were very worried about how they were being represented. The glory, fame and notoriety of the ride were a pain in the butt, no pun intended. I have to continue later. I can't stress enough the fact that the ride across America was only possible because of the spirit of the American public. We as a nation, were, are and will be civilization's greatest hope. Yes even with all of our short comings in our society, have the best chance for the advancement of the human race. Some of you that have never been to foreign counties may only see the negative side of our Country, but today in the world people are still hacking each other up with machetes to solve their differences. Backward nations still violate human rights. Even with all the dirty political tricks to stop us, that I mentioned in the first section of this blog which were expected, we still have the best governmental system in the world. Yes, we may have some sleazy politicians, but for the most part we have many that truly love this Country.If you are under thirty years old and hate some of the things in this Country, relax. There was an old saying, If you're not a communist at twenty, you have no heart. If you're still a communist at thirty, you have no brain. The young often have lofty ideals. World peace, a world without hungry children, save the blue speckled turnip. As you mature you will see the world in its realities. Many parts of the world live in darkness and without opportunity. Why else would millions of illegal alien want to come to this Country if not for a chance at a better life, in a country with a descent government. I see a lot of talk on the Internet from people that believe that they have the answers to foreign policy, as though they have access to all the intelligence reports. I have a great deal of respect for the people, that have dedicated their lives to keeping this Country and my children safe, in the intelligence community. They are true, unselfish Americans that deserve the thanks of a grateful nation. Unfortunately, its the ill informed, half wits that raise their voices the loudest. Back to ancient history.Indianapolis, would be the breaking point of this endeavor. Either we would be able to raise some sorely needed funding and get this better organized or face the possibility of failing. Barry and I were accomplishing our goal of generating public opinion and support for these missing men, but the cost in human terms was taking its toll. While we were able to sometimes sleep in a bed and eat most days, our energy levels continued to weaken. This was due to my shortcomings. I had a real problem with asking for help. I had never had to do that before. If people didn't volunteer it, I didn't want to bring it up. Sorry Barry. It was stubborn pride on my part I know. Anyway, we would be in Indianapolis in a few days, the national headquarters of the American Legion. I felt sure we could we get some help from this veterans' organization. When I left the service, I didn't join veterans groups or trade unions or fraternal organizations, not that I thought that there was anything wrong with it, it just never occurred to me. I didn't grow up with that example. I just made my own way through life, looking back on it, it was probably a good idea. Veterans groups and others, had been paving the way for us calling ahead to the next towns, setting up the media interviews and arranging to met with the public officials for their letters of support. We rode along route 40 that took us through Cambridge City, Dublin, Kightstown, Greenfield and into Cumbland on the outskirts of Indianapolis. On horseback you can watch the gradual change of the terrain. We left Pennsylvania's mountains and descended into West Virginia's hill country. As we entered Ohio the hills grew smaller, than opened to near flat country of the Midwest, Throughout the Midwest I found warm and friendly people. This was truly the heartland of America. The media interviews were by now also becoming routine. It seem that they always started with, "When were you in Viet Nam or how long were you in Viet Nam." My stock answer became, What makes you think I was ever in Viet Nam. The reporters were always surprised to find out I wasn't in Viet Nam. I would than ask them what made them think that this was something that should concern just Viet Nam vets. These were American servicemen being held by a foreign power after the war ended. This should be of concern to all Americans. They were the sons and husbands and fathers that put on a uniform and did their duty for this Country. Were we now to just turn our backs on them. Is this what America has become, I asked the reporters. After thinking about it, the reporters got the message.

Tornado country

As we approached the Indiana border a man in the parking lot of a diner stopped us. He invited us in for a cup of coffee. His name was Tom McKinney. Tom had served as a Marine infantry officer in Viet Nam. We talked for quite a while. The horses needed the rest and so did we. I was greatly impressed by this quiet warrior. After leaving the service Tom became a Bible teacher, evangelist, missionary and author. We spoke of the hardships of the trip and the hoping to have the resolve to finish it. Tom encouraged us to trust in the Lord. I told him that that was at times all that kept me going in the bleak parts of the trip. Tom gave us each a Bible and a copy of a book he had written called "Live Free." He autographed the book with the inscription, to Ron a man with something special in his heart, who devotes his live to the freedom of forgotten men. I thanked him for the kind words. As I thumbed through the Bible he had given me, I found a hundred dollar bill he had placed there. Barry's Bible also had one. He asked for my home address, for over twenty years now I have received his monthly newsletter. He was a man I was very proud to meet. He lived the principles of God and Country.We rode into the center of a small village the sky had been turning dark. Suddenly an air raid siren started to sound and people started running in all directions. I looked at Barry and said I wonder what's going on. Barry didn't know either. A pick up truck came to a quick stop next to us, the man rolled down his window, pointed his arm towards the sky and yell, "tornado". Oh shit, I thought to myself. What do we do now? Coming from a part of the country where I had never seen a tornado, plenty of hurricanes, but no tornadoes, I wasn't sure what to do. The winds started to pick up and soon the streets were deserted accept for two guys on horses who didn't know which way to go. What do we do with the horses? The winds were now like a strong hurricane and if the tornado past close by us we were dead. We tied the horses to a strong tree and run inside a gas station. Thoughts of my horse flying through the air kept entering my mind. Would nature put a stop to our ride, where the bureaucrats had failed to? In twenty minutes the wind was dying down. We went out to the horses expecting to see only the reins still tied to the tree. the horses were still there, shaken but the noise of the wind, but still there. The tornado had moved off in a different direction. We calmed the horses and walked them for awhile. We had been through scorching heat, heavy rain storms, lighting and now this. Nature was the one force that we could do nothing about. We were out there exposed to whatever nature threw at us and had to learn to deal with it. The sun came back out soon and we rode on. Cars were back on the roads and waving as they passed us. I stop to buy some envelops and stamps. It had been a while since I had a chance to write to my eight year old daughter. I sent her the keys to the cities that I was presented with. With no TV or radio, those long nights under the stars gave me a lot of time to think about her and home.

Dayton and Wright-Patterson Air Force Base

We pressed on with a few days rest behind us. The spirit of the public kept us going. We were on our own, there would be no support from our home base in Massachusetts behind us. What lay ahead was any one's guess. We had made it this far and were succeeding with our goal of informing the Nation and bring it squarely to their attention. The miles were starting to take their toll on us and we were only 400 miles into the crossing. I wonder if I could be able to do the whole trip. Would we receive the same support from the rest of the Country? That would turn out to be wishful thinking.Here in the well populated heartland, It had been relatively easy, we eat almost everyday, a few times a week we sleep in beds and were never far from a town. I knew that it would change with the terrain. For now we would reach Dayton in a few hours. Along the road we received word that a nearby town wanted to present us with their letter of support. Barry rode to that town for the letter and I would meet him in Dayton the next day. A man from a veterans group stopped me on the road. He had the phone number of a reporter that wanted to talk to us. I followed him to a pay phone and spoke to the reporter. The reporter asked what time I would arrive. On horseback that is always hard to tell. I told the reporter that if they could tell me exactly how many miles it was from where I stopped to where they were I would be able to tell them. I knew that at a walking pace we were covering about 4-5 miles an hour. the reporter said they thought it was either 12-18 miles to their location. That didn't help.Arrangements had been made for me to spend the night at Wright-Patterson Air force Base. After meeting with the city officials I was lead out to the base. The military police escorted me a few miles from the gate to an open field where I could camp for the night. I hobbled my and let her graze on the green grass of the field. I was told that I couldn't lit any fires, which didn't make any difference since I didn't have anything to cook. Night had fallen, I unrolled my sleeping bag and went to sleep early. I was awaken about midnight by the lights and sounds of a jeep approaching. I got up to see who it was. A man got out of the jeep and walked into its lights. He was the commanding general of the base. The general was concerned about the state of affairs that were strangling the effectiveness of the military at the time. We spoke for almost an hour. He explained to me his concerns of government policies that he felt were not in the best interest of this country. We talked about the changing attitudes that the country was going through. I explained that it was one of the reasons I had decided to get involved. We as Americans were loosing our voice. Too many people felt hopelessly trapped in changes at their didn't agree with and powerless to effect change. I told him that this policy of leaving men behind and pretending they didn't exist was the last straw for me. I would not be represented by the bureaucrats in Washington this way. I was a citizen with a voice and had never believed that government could operate without hearing from the public. I told him of the division in the Congress, how some were fight not only to have these men returned, but were fight for the principles this Country stood for. This was the message I hoped the people were getting. He told me I was setting a good example for the country to follow. I said I could do no less, I had a daughter to raise in this country and I had a obligation as a citizen of this country.I don't know if the general thought that I would somehow have a voice, after this trip, that politicians would listen to, if he did he was wrong. My intend was to follow the example of Cincinnatius and return to my own life afterward. I met up with Barry the next day, a few more interviews and we were on our way again. On the other side of Vandalia we stopped to water the horses at a roadside lake. We were met by some people that told us we were expected in Englewood. Somewhere outside of lewisburg we were invited to a family's home for the night. Time has clouded the names of all the wonderful people we met along the way, but there were many. It was another hundred miles to the next major city of Indianapolis, Indiana and the national headquarters of the American Legion. I hoped that there, we could raise some necessary funding and better organize this effort.

Pass the 400 miles mark

The hot summer continued as we rode along route 40 in Ohio. The public response continued to grow, people sought us out for information. Groups and organizations were contributing to the effort in many ways, making photo copies, arranging for places to spent the night, bringing grain for the horses and numerous other ways. This endeavor was now being fueled by the American public. I felt proud to be an American. This is was the reaction I had come to believe existed in what the media mistakenly calls "the silent majority". There was nothing silent about the public response when it came to our missing men. How I wished that the families of these missing men could have seen the outpouring of support for their sons, fathers and brothers, from the public. I knew that the North Vietnamese would be monitoring the American press. On the first horse trip, I had refused to leave the million signature petition at the United Nation. I instead brought the boxes of signatures to the North Vietnam mission in New York and dumped them on their desk. Two of their security men ran into the office and we just starred at each other for awhile. The voices raised in America would be heard in Hanoi (the capitol of Viet Nam). For some reason it seem that everyone with a horse that I met had always dreamed of riding across America. I didn't know why. The months of riding I did to prepare for this trip, didn't help. Exhaustion and fatigue were our constant companions. Riding isn't a matter of just sitting on a horse, you have to use virtually all of your muscles in riding. Do that for 10-14 hours a day and you begin to understand what live was like for the people that lived in the past. We met so many good people along the way, we spoke to everyone across the broad spectrum of the population, from the mailman on the street to the governors and mayors and everyone in between. It became plain to see what a great country we had and that it was worth preserving. Only the public can preserve the values and traditions of this great land. That is done by speaking out and making sure that our elected officials never forget who put them in office and who can remove them. Tucker, sat back in Massachusetts with nothing to do. the phones had stopped ringing week before and the local Massachusetts media was determined to keep the story out of sight of the people in Massachusetts that might have risen in support. This I was to learn, was a common method of controlling the public. Isolate the active people in their area. Deny them access to the public and keep them from gathering local support. Our plan to recruit members from across the country into Friends of POWs in order to present a strong lobby to the politicians was crushed by by the stoppage of mail. We had been distributing membership forms to thousands of people, but none arrived at our PO Box. It was somewhere in this area that I spoke with a CIA man. He caution me to watch my back. The thought of being run down by a trailer truck and the effort being stopped in that manner was always in the back of my mind. We had a hard enough time riding our horses on the streets with all the bad drivers out there. Whenever possible we had police escorts accompany us. We had a warm greeting throughout the Harmony and Springfield area. the amount of involvement from veteran and civic groups kept growing. I never expected the amount of demand there would be for public speaking. There was not only the almost daily media interviews and talk shows, but we were being asked to address all types of civic groups now. this was slowing down our progress. Finally I came to the decision to take every opportunity to tell as many groups as possible the facts of the missing men. After all that was what I was out here to do, tell the world about them and not to forget them.Sometimes, even in rural areas, people would invite us to spent the night at their homes. In this modern day some people had lost the ability to calculate distance. When I asked how far away their house was, I was at times told 10 or 15 miles away. On horseback, especially at the end of a long day's ride, it was too far and we would find a place way the roadside to camp for the night. I appreciated the offers and felt bad when we couldn't accept. I know that these people were in their way trying to do their part in this.By the time we reached Dayton, cars were stopping us to take pictures of their grand kids on the horses with us, asking us to sign autographs, we had become public figures in a way I didn't anticipate. When people called us heroes, I tried to remind them that the only true heroes, were the men we left behind in Viet Nam. It wasn't easy going from a private person to a public figure. I pitied the celebrities that had to live their lives this way. I resolved that it was just a part of the job and had to put up with it as a representative for the missing men. I welcomed the times I could get off of my horse and be unrecognized for awhile.Route 40, was a historical road called the National Road, one of the first roads leading into the newly opened Ohio territory in the early 1800s. The land was relatively flat and the soil virtually without stones. It was easy to see why people in New England had abandoned the farms with its stony soil and moved west to the new Ohio frontier. throughout Ohio I had notice that the pioneers bought with them the names of New England towns that they had left. In Springfied we left route 40 and rode onto High Street to the city center. We spent a few days in Springfield speaking at different places. In the large cities, the horses had a chance to rest up, as we were driven around the city by veterans groups to various interviews and speaking engagements. What we left behind in each city and town was a public that was well informed of the situation. Next stop was Dayton.

Columbus, Ohio

We were met at the outskirts of Columbus by two police cars and two mounted police, that escorted us to the state fairgrounds to met the governor. A brisk wind kept the flag unfurled as we rode through the city streets. the police escort lead us to the fairgrounds. It was the opening day of the state fair. We were lead to a spot and told the governor would arrive soon. We sat on our horses and waited. A small group of eight or ten people surrounded cameramen from every TV station in Ohio approached us. This is the governor someone say. I didn't know which of the men was the governor, half of the group wore short sleeve shirts, the other half, undercover state police, wore jackets.We dismounted and I took out the proclamation. I stood between my horse was on my right side and Barry's horse was on my left. The governor stepped forward and gave us a warm welcome as the TV cameras rolled. I as about to present the governor with the proclamation, when Barry's tall 17 hand saddle bred horse bought him foot down on my foot and pressed all of his weight down on his front feet.Chaos erupted. I yelled, you son of a bitch, in pain, as I hit his horse with my elbow to get him off of my foot. The cameramen stepped back in shock, the governor's bodyguards quickly surrounded him. It happened so fast that no one immediately realized what was happening. As I tried to raise my now broken foot, everyone seem a little amused. fortunately the media cut that part out of the evening news.The governor had the police drive me to the hospital for x-rays. The horse had cracked three bones. I left the hospital with a large cast on my foot and carrying one boot. After two weeks I broke the cast off and put my boot back on. A hotel in Columbus had offered us complimentary rooms during our stay. I felt good to sleep in a bed again. Columbus veterans had lined up some talk shows and other speaking engagements at Rotary clubs, schools and organizations. The mounted police stabled our horses while we were in Columbus. I'm sure the horses appreciated the rest stop. Hundreds of packets of information were printed and distributed. Mayors from surrounding towns off of our route invited us to their towns. Barry made several day trips to towns close by as I hobbled about Columbus speaking. We had to decline many of the invitations from the more distant towns, but asked them to write letters of support for us to bring to Congress. I left left Columbus with the cast on my foot and one boot in the saddlebag. As we rode out of town, people stopped us with apples for the horses and buckets of water. After four hours of riding a man asked where we were spending the night. I told him wherever we happen to be at the end of the day, we never knew. I had a small two man tent and a sleeping bag tied to the back of my saddle. Barry, in true mountain man style had a bedroll and a canvas ground cloth.

Route 40 to Harmony and Springfield, Ohio

The hot summer continued as we rode along route 40 in Ohio. The public response continued to grow, people sought us out for information. Groups and organizations were contributing to the effort in many ways, making photo copies, arranging for places to spent the night, bringing grain for the horses and numerous other ways. This endeavor was now being fueled by the American public. I felt proud to be an American. This is was the reaction I had come to believe existed in what the media mistakenly calls "the silent majority". There was nothing silent about the public response when it came to our missing men. How I wished that the families of these missing men could have seen the outpouring of support for their sons, fathers and brothers, from the public. I knew that the North Vietnamese would be monitoring the American press. On the first horse trip, I had refused to leave the million signature petition at the United Nation. I instead brought the boxes of signatures to the North Vietnam mission in New York and dumped them on their desk. Two of their security men ran into the office and we just starred at each other for awhile. The voices raised in America would be heard in Hanoi (the capitol of Viet Nam). For some reason it seem that everyone with a horse that I met had always dreamed of riding across America. I didn't know why. The months of riding I did to prepare for this trip, didn't help. Exhaustion and fatigue were our constant companions. Riding isn't a matter of just sitting on a horse, you have to use virtually all of your muscles in riding. Do that for 10-14 hours a day and you begin to understand what live was like for the people that lived in the past. We met so many good people along the way, we spoke to everyone across the broad spectrum of the population, from the mailman on the street to the governors and mayors and everyone in between. It became plain to see what a great country we had and that it was worth preserving. Only the public can preserve the values and traditions of this great land. That is done by speaking out and making sure that our elected officials never forget who put them in office and who can remove them. Tucker, sat back in Massachusetts with nothing to do. the phones had stopped ringing week before and the local Massachusetts media was determined to keep the story out of sight of the people in Massachusetts that might have risen in support. This I was to learn, was a common method of controlling the public. Isolate the active people in their area. Deny them access to the public and keep them from gathering local support. Our plan to recruit members from across the country into Friends of POWs in order to present a strong lobby to the politicians was crushed by by the stoppage of mail. We had been distributing membership forms to thousands of people, but none arrived at our PO Box. It was somewhere in this area that I spoke with a CIA man. He caution me to watch my back. The thought of being run down by a trailer truck and the effort being stopped in that manner was always in the back of my mind. We had a hard enough time riding our horses on the streets with all the bad drivers out there. Whenever possible we had police escorts accompany us. We had a warm greeting throughout the Harmony and Springfield area. the amount of involvement from veteran and civic groups kept growing. I never expected the amount of demand there would be for public speaking. There was not only the almost daily media interviews and talk shows, but we were being asked to address all types of civic groups now. this was slowing down our progress. Finally I came to the decision to take every opportunity to tell as many groups as possible the facts of the missing men. After all that was what I was out here to do, tell the world about them and not to forget them.Sometimes, even in rural areas, people would invite us to spent the night at their homes. In this modern day some people had lost the ability to calculate distance. When I asked how far away their house was, I was at times told 10 or 15 miles away. On horseback, especially at the end of a long day's ride, it was too far and we would find a place way the roadside to camp for the night. I appreciated the offers and felt bad when we couldn't accept. I know that these people were in their way trying to do their part in this.By the time we reached Dayton, cars were stopping us to take pictures of their grand kids on the horses with us, asking us to sign autographs, we had become public figures in a way I didn't anticipate. When people called us heroes, I tried to remind them that the only true heroes, were the men we left behind in Viet Nam. It wasn't easy going from a private person to a public figure. I pitied the celebrities that had to live their lives this way. I resolved that it was just a part of the job and had to put up with it as a representative for the missing men. I welcomed the times I could get off of my horse and be unrecognized for awhile.Route 40, was a historical road called the National Road, one of the first roads leading into the newly opened Ohio territory in the early 1800s. The land was relatively flat and the soil virtually without stones. It was easy to see why people in New England had abandoned the farms with its stony soil and moved west to the new Ohio frontier. throughout Ohio I had notice that the pioneers bought with them the names of New England towns that they had left. In Springfied we left route 40 and rode onto High Street to the city center. We spent a few days in Springfield speaking at different places. In the large cities, the horses had a chance to rest up, as we were driven around the city by veterans groups to various interviews and speaking engagements. What we left behind in each city and town was a public that was well informed of the situation. Next stop was Dayton.