Trav’s Travels & Adventures

SCORIA BEACH - LAKE SAKAKAWEA HIKE
PART 2 of 2
3.6 miles and 24 stairs climbed to get back up to the truck!

SCORIA BEACH - LAKE SAKAKAWEA HIKE
PART 1
3.6 miles and 24 stairs climbed to get back up to the truck!

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/GkMptj2hgtpeMnTK/?mibextid=ox5AEW

Please save and share in honor of all those who are thriving in spite of the challenges! June is PTSD Awareness month!
www.LoveOurVets.org

As far back as the civil war, there’s been documented symptoms related to trauma in our military. The terms we use have certainly changed over the yrs. Soldiers Heart, Shell Shocked, Battle Fatigue, PTSD & now PTS.
PTSD is still the official diagnostic term, however there is a movement within the community to TheD
PTS is an injury, it’s not a disorder. The goal behind the PTSD name change is to encourage , &
to feel more comfortable opening up about their experiences and seek help sooner.
Photo credit .wellness
™

26 years ago.

5/29/1998 9:30am MDT

My homtown and several people that I knew were changed forever.

Everything can change in a millisecond.

MEMORIAL DAY HIKE/CLIMB
Sheep Butte, McKenzie County, ND
5/27/2024

After three attempts and the first two being snuffed due to thunderstorms coming through I was able to climb and summit Sheep Butte.

26 stories according to my fitness app up to 2,702 feet at the top.

I started out in between storms and hiked around the entire butte to see where it was best and safest to climb. The rain makes the clay slick and muddy and of course loosens up the earth altogether. Being alone, safety is always paramount.

After doing a 360 around the butte I found that the easiest and safest way up was on the northeast side. I climbed up and along the bentonite clay edge and soon found a game trail that I was able to use mostly but for some zig zagging here and there. The mule deer are just as good as mountain goats with traversing steep terrain it seems!

Once I crossed over the ridgeline from the east to northern face the angle continued to be steep with loose scoria rock. I also moved into thick pinon and juniper before comingg out above that and into a clearing before making th summit.

With the wind kicked up from a passing storm I explored from atop the world in these parts and took in the views in all directions. Stunningly green and just beautiful as far as one could see.

Once I was satisfied with that I started my main goal and purpose and that was to post Old Glory atop the peak for sunset on this day of remembrance.

Using my trekking pole as the mast and my pack as the base I placed the flag to the pole with zip ties and then carried it to one of the USGS survey posts. I had difficulty with posting it tall enough to keep it from touching the ground and had to make a few trips to gather rocks to help elevate and also brace and anchor the whole thing. After about 20 minutes of getting it all set I was able to then photograph and video the effort.

With the sun setting behind the clouds out west and almost level to my location, it was time to pack up and get back down before dark.

Once I had everything packed and removed as though I had never been there I paused and surveyed the land around me and turned my thoughts to what today is about. I recalled several soldiers with whom I served with that were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. I thought about past conflicts and the numbers of casualties our nation has endured since 1776 and well, a little before that to create our nation.

Looking to the setting of the sun, I said a prayer for those lost, those left behind, and those of us that carry on with wounds unseen and those that struggle after our time in service.

Concluding that and accomplishing my goal for the day after two false starts I was able to descend and get back to the truck in time and get home.

In honor of:

SSG TRAVIS TOMPKINS
SSG ERIC DUCKWORTH
SPC JUSTIN BLACKWELL
PFC JEREMY BOHANNON
SSG NELSON TRENT

And many more that came before me, during my time, and after.

MEMORIAL DAY HIKE (Maybe)

Currently awaiting the storms to clear out, if they are going to, so I can make a special hike and climb that butte. 🇺🇸

Memorial Day

We all wore the same uniform. We all swore the same oath. Trained and taught the tactics and techniques necessary to fulfill them and accomplish the mission.

We bonded and became a cohesive unit. Ready to go, ready to fight, ready to do whatever we needed to do or that was asked of us.

We didn’t speak of the potential of one of us being killed. The closest it ever came was first aid training, casualty evacuation, suppressive fire and bounding maneuvers-by foot and by vehicle. We never trained to die or to lose a soldier. Everything was aimed at our tactics or efforts coming out on top for the win. Losing wasn’t an option, whether combat or life.

With young minds and able bodies we geared up and went to work. A year’s worth at a time. Twenty-four hours of each day there for something to happen. Some days it did, many it didn’t. From weapons green to weapons red and out that gate and outside the wire. Back and forth, back and forth. A well oiled machine and routine with a hair triggered tension knowing that one moment the road ahead would be clear and the next turn or mile it could be that engagement with enemy elements or that bomb hidden cowardly in or along the road.

Day in, day out. Night in, night out. Small arms fire, IEDs, warning shots, and ambushes. Many times we rolled back in with our humvees showing signs of the fight. Or sometimes, the procession was slower with them under tow or on run flats, limping back in from the fight. But all within them returned physically unscathed.

We seemed immortal after a while yet that grim reaper lurked nonetheless. We owned the streets but for fate that waited. Waited in feverish anticipation for the time to strike and shatter that bit of bravado built from so many hours and times before where we reigned supreme or victorious.

Then it happens. Before comprehension. Before absolute understanding, amidst the fog and chaos of it all and yes, in disbelief, it happens. Either instant or after all the combat lifesaver efforts and the nine line is called in for medevac.

That immortal feeling is ripped away and total exposure is unbearably and intensely present. What follows is another series of trained and coordinated measures.

Full company formation. Every patch on the left arm the same. Before a guidon that represents all those behind it as one force. Yet some are now missing.

Commanders call for attention and the unit snaps to. Standing at attention and silent before a battlefield cross with dog tags hanging and swaying in the breeze.

The commanding officer calls rank and name of those standing before them. Name after name is called with the soldier sounding off loudly that they are here.

Then, the CO calls out a rank and last name that goes unanswered to. The CO calls out again with rank, first name, and last name, and again, silence. The CO calls out a third time with rank, first, middle, and last name and again, silence. Painful, cutting silence.

Another member of unit leadership calls out the rank, first and last name of the absent soldier followed by the three letter “K. I. A.” and full date of the death of that soldier.

The CO order “present arms” and a bugler plays Taps. If the reality of the loss and that things will never be the same again hasn’t hit already, that bugle sounding that tune has a driving force like nothing else.

The trumpet fades and silence returns to the formation, but for the snapping of flags and guidons amidst the breeze passing through.

Soldiers now move in single file to and by the battlefield cross that represents a fallen comrade. Some soldiers are brisk and render a salute before moving on.

The fallen’s squad members are the last to render final honors for they knew the fallen best and were there through it all. The final honoring and mourning is slower to pass with them having been the ones to truly suffer the loss. The salutes hold a bit longer. The tears flow harder. The gaze upon that battlefield cross heavier.

One by one, filing by, one by one, expected to pick up and move on and get back to mission. And they do.

And we return. Back to our country. Back to a world far removed from the reality of what most of the world is. Unforgiving, violent, and unsympathetic.

But much is missing now. A team member but also a piece of us. Every one left a bit of themselves over there. Every one of us, a bit died with our fallen when they died. All that is missing now may never be replaced.

And we “move on”, whatever that means. But that really can’t ever happen. One cannot simply just forget or dismiss what and who was lost.

The fallen are said to live on, so long as their name is said and their story told. Not just of how they died, but of how they lived. It’s an extremely important piece that is carried on by each soldier they were with and with each family member and friend that was back home.

Mourning bands on wrists etched with the fallen’s name, birth date and death date worn by those greatly impacted by the loss. A symbol amongst warriors to cherish and honor their fallen.

It is said that we, those left behind, that we must live on for them. Yet there is often a great deal of suffering that accompanies that most immense of a tasking.

It is a great responsibility and of even higher expectation to live on for those that no longer live. To do so honorably and enthusiastically. But those left to do so are often left with guilt, anguish, sadness, and trauma from that loss. Battling that while trying to live to meet a purpose of such magnitude as that of honoring a fallen friend can be absolutely daunting.

Survivors guilt, our own wounds, injuries, trauma, our own life’s struggles, our own scars from combat-physical and psychological. Many of us press on to honor those lost while only partially functioning ourselves. We learn over and over again that life will never be the same. It will never, ever go back to the way it was before we set foot off that plane and moved into the theatre of operations that we were sent to.

But we press on. Some way, somehow, we do. There are days we stumble or totally collapse. There are days when there’s a brief feeling that life will or is better. But, no matter what, that date, those memories, all that was had and lost…those always come back. Time does not heal anything. It simply allows us to carry it better. Usually. There are always times where we will struggle. We will ask “why them?” Why not me? We will play it out over and over again seeking a different outcome or something or someone to blame. Something or someone to take some of the weight we feel and carry and place it on that. But yet, even when we do, it doesn’t seem to get any lighter or better.

Yet we press on into the next day. And the next. And the next. And pretty soon months and years have passed and we still go back there in our minds. A sudden sound, smell, memory, or other occurrence takes us back and we relive it. The anniversary of it and then Memorial Day reminds us every damn time.

We have to live for them but how are we supposed to do that when we can’t get the bad and the loss and how the loss came to be out of our minds?! The what ifs too?!

We have to live for them.

But what is that life supposed to look like?

But we must always:

Honor the fallen. Never forget.

RIDGE TOP TRIO

Way over der, I spy with my lil eyes….

Fallen Soldier Memorial

The Battlefield Cross

The rifle is affixed with a bayonet and inverted, signifying that the Soldier went down fighting.

The boots signify the Soldier’s last march onto the battlefield. Dog tags are imprinted with the Soldier’s name and hung from the rifle so their identity will never be forgotten.

The helmet is placed atop the rifle representing what the Soldier stood for and signifying that their battle is now over.

The Battlefield Cross is a sacred symbol amongst military members. Since a funeral is typically not possible during wartime, these symbols serve as a rallying point where surviving members of a unit can mourn and remember their fallen comrades.

We remember our country’s fallen, your brothers and sisters, and we appreciate and honor their sacrifice.

🇺🇸 God Bless America 🇺🇸

5/25/2024
Afternoon hike around the “Dome & Flattop Butte”

Saw several mule deer but they spooked before photos could be taken.

Tabletop hoodoo with small tunnel.

Purple, blue, yellow, and white wildflowers.

Cave up high on the butte.

Absolutely beautiful evening.

For many , Memorial Day is a nice reminder of warm summer days to come, with campfires, parades and that carefree spirt of summer fast approaching.

Americans can be forgetful of the sacrifices made by military members, veterans and their families.

Memorial day serves as a reminder and May we never have a lapse , never abandon their memories or allow their sacrifices slip from our Consciousness. Never forget, never let our children forget that millions of Americans have died on battlefields defending our way of life.

We have awarded medals to many, added their names to monument, named buildings after them for their bravery. This doesn't bring them back and nothing can ever replace the hole left behind but it can serve as reminders for each of us.

It's easy to say we will never forget but you have to be active in your efforts.

A gold star mother once told me...
“Not all heroes die a heroes death but all heroes live a heroes life! Let's honor their life, not their death.”
We honor those that could not leave the war behind them once returning home as well.

Live your life with purpose, make sure your words are not hollow when you say You Will Never Forget.
Say their Name. Share their stories!......
Parts of jenni's Memorial day keynote address and photo credit unknown.

Waiting for the weather to improve so I can get back out and have some adventures to share!

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/brN6JeN7H1DRmVrm/?mibextid=ox5AEW

Here's some ground rules for Memorial Day weekend:

1. Don't wish me a Happy Memorial day. There is nothing happy about brave men and women dying.

2. It's not a holiday. It's a remembrance.

3. If you want to know the true meaning, visit Arlington or your local VA, not freaking Disneyland.

4. Don't tell me how great any one political power is. Tell me about Chesty Puller, George Patton, John Basilone, Dakota Meyer, Kyle Carpenter, Mitchell Paige, Ira Hayes, Chris Kyle and any other heroes too numerous to name. Attend a Bell Ceremony and shed some tears.

5. Don't tell me I don't know what I am talking about. I have carried the burden all too many times for my warriors who now stand their post for God.

6. Say a prayer... and then another.

7. Remember the Fallen for all the Good they did while they were here.

8. Reach out and let a Vet know you're there, we're losing too many in "peace".

- Ironman

Many, many hours and miles spent racing across the county, hooking n booking the badguys and helping people.

I truly miss it, but for the thick and ridiculous amount of backstabbing and bad politics.

Are you familiar with the “Let Them” theory?

I’ll tell you the more I grow the more I am okay with accepting the “Let Them” in my own life and relationships. Even family can mistreat and disrespect you.

This is something that took me a very long time to learn. I used to tolerate a lot because I didn't want to lose people. I learned the hard way if they were really my people they would never treat me like that. Don't make the mistake of being so understanding and forgiving that you overlook the fact that you're being repeatedly disrespected.

Let them be upset.
Let them judge you.
Let them misunderstand you.
Let them gossip about you,
Let them ignore you.
Let them be "right."
Let them doubt you.
Let them not like you.
Let them not speak to you.
Let them run your name in the ground.
Let them make you out to be the villain.
Whatever it is that people want to say about you, let them!
Kindly step aside and LET THEM.

The hard truth is they know how much they are hurting you. They just simply don't care. They did it knowing it could cause them to lose you. They did it anyway. People that love you care about how they make you feel.
The end.
Let them go.

There will be people that would rather lose you than be honest about what they've done to you. Let them go.

The lack of respect was the closure. The lack of apology was the closure. The lack of care was the closure. The lack of acountability was the closure. The lack of honestly was the closure. Let them go.

Make the decision to no longer sit at tables where you might be the topic when you get up. Let them go.

You can still be kind. You can even still love them deeply. But do it from the distance they created in their words and actions. Access to you is a privilege they have proven they can’t be trusted with. Let them go.

You don’t need to tell your side of the story. God already knows. Let God fight the battle for you. Let them go.

It’s taken me a long time to get here. Sleepless nights, countless tears, managing a range of emotions filled with anger, disappointment, confusion and deep hurt. Lots of self reflection, self preservation, deep prayer and seeking wisdom from those much wiser than me.

If you are struggling with this please know you are not alone. We will never understand why hurt people hurt people. But we can do the hard work to grow ourselves. Because healed people do in fact heal people.

Don’t you dare let them steal your joy.
Don’t you dare let them steal your light.
Don’t you dare let them steal your peace.
You are in control of that.

Hold tight to what you can control and release your grip on what you can’t control.

Let them go.
🫶🏻

HIKE - 5/15/2024

Today’s hike was one that wasn’t planned. It was one of those days where I just wanted to go and get lost or find something new. New ground, new adventure, just new.

I didn’t have any direction on particular. No preselected location. I just loaded up the dogs, grabbed my packs, and headed out. A vague direction of southwest.

Today was a little cooler, 65, with a breeze. Nice out for sure.

Gravel roads and some pavement and I eventually recalled a road tucked away just past a ranch that is access to a pocket of public lands. I found it and headed down the road, soon to see a herd of cattle already aet out to graze. The grasses have greened up thanks to recent rains but it still needs to grow some to feed those cows.

The mind is as usual just chomping at the bit at things in control, not in control, things that are an issue, will be an issue, or aren’t an issue buy there they are with all the rest. I seem to find myself no sooner getting lost in these thoughts when one of the dogs will want some attention or get antsy to go after something outside the truck….like these cows.

I stop the truck and pull up the map on the phone for a quick check of where this road goes as this is only the second time down it. Last time, it was in a sheriff unit, so it’s been a few years. The road looks to go west and south a couple miles and terminates at an oil pad. There’s a section of private land but the rest is all public. Before we move on, I snap a photo of a cottontail rabbit by a fallen tree not too far from the road. And odd sight in a way but then again not.

First stop is a clay bluff along the road. A small one. I hop out and grab the trek pole and leave the pack. Just a quick up and around. Bug juice applied before leaving. The ticks are noticeably bad this year. I do my thing, up the wash to the bentonite outcropping and follow the game trail up and around. Up to the top where I almost step on a perfectly round cactus. They don’t grow more than four inches wide by four inches tall and they bloom an awesome hot pink flower later in summer. Back down to continue circling this bluff. I find a neat drainage across the backside that runs and cuts right along the bentonite. A knifeblade of rock on a pedestal on center of the wash with some almost serrated edges. Then as I come out of the wash, one large rock on left with another smaller but one of same material on the cliff edge, almost like a gateway, or exit.

Back in the truck again and over some rolling hills that soon take me into a new valley. The road winds down to a cattleguard and I stop at it to check the map again. Off to my left is a hillside with buckbrush. And in that buckbruch in the shade lay at least three mule deer. Almost perfectly camouflaged but for their pronounced ears. One is a buck and growing his antlers. I snap a photo and slowly pull forward. They stand frozen as if I never saw them.

Around that hill and as the valley opens up more and lays out the terrain ahead I can see a rock formation and interesting area to my east. Park the truck, leave the dogs (cactus & snakes) in the AC, grab my gear and off I go.

It’s hard not to think about all of the different reasons to be thankful to be able to make this hike. Likewise, though are thoughts of guilt and anguish to still be around while others of better caliber aren’t or haven’t been.

I realize the calmness and hear the birds chirping and singing and it reminds me to take that all in to bring that to this page later, so there goes a 30 second video of badlands, birds singing, and some wind distortion as the breeze kicks up. Then back to the hike. Across the rock formation in front of me that initially caught my eye from the road and then looking south to the butte that climbed up from the open flat around it and making my way over to it.

Then the first surprise, the land is so misleading. What looked like a flat of grass from where I was to the butte isn’t. There’s an open expanse with a cliff before it that opens up to the sandy bottom and then to the butte, which is now taller than it originally looked.

I walk the edge of this expanse before coming to a spot to drop down in and walk around this large butte as originally planned. I circle it and check out its features, the caverns carved by water running from the top down and keep an eye out for anything that might be worth more time. I circle around to the south side, which is taller and very steep, some rock formations at ground level garner my attention.

The cottontail rabbit that was sunning bolts from its hidden spot and startles me. Off to the east end where the butte meets the drainage and there, I spot several bloomed mud lilies. More photos of course.

I continue on my circle around this butte and take in the many angles and potential spots to maybe come back and climb to the top of it and check it out more some other day.

Back to the truck and the AC. Back to the three doggos that await and act all happy at my return like I had left them for a week. Never gets old.

Off to the next spot on this day, literally just driving until I come across a place that demands that I visit, almost literally pulling me out of the truck.

The twists and turns of the road that reveal these locations is always a great part of it.

It’s even moreso when that happens on the hike. Like walking into new “rooms” almost that have just been there waiting for me.

Waiting to show me so much about this world and about myself.

Northern Lights 5/11/2024 1:10am

Several of these are looking straight up!

2003

19 years old…..

Ft Carson, CO - November 2002-March 2003

After going to my unit and getting acquainted with the green machine that is the US Army, I found myself learning and growing with each passing week. Learning from those above me that had been through the paces and come to be the masters of the trade.

My unit was one that rotated between law enforcement on post (garrison) and training cycles where we would go through our series of weapons ranges and maneuvers for combat support missions. Iraq was potentially kicking off and I can still remember the back and forth from Saddam Hussein and our country’s leaders with it seeming to get more and more heated by the week.

Now, mind you, this was the very fresh post 9/11 time. Afghanistan was also full on and it seemed inevitable that it wasn’t if, but when orders would come for us to go to either theatre. We were itching for out part in the fight bit at the same time, it was definitely something that you spent the night in the barracks looking up at the ceiling wondering what it would be like. What it would involve. What it would mean. But until orders came, we just continued to train and train and train and train and train. It became a vacuum and there was so much that was thrown at us to learn.

There were also the personnel shuffles. Staff changed up due to certain soldiers ending time in service, others coming down on orders to a new unit, others coming on as brand new privates, and injuries that sidelined others still. There was a buzz about everywhere on post and it was both awesome and scary.

I was one of those basic minded Americans. Watching the TV as the planes slammed into the towers before leaving home for school my senior year was the final nudge for me to sign my military contract. I was already three quarters of the way there but once that happened they almost couldn’t get me to basic soon enough. I was pi**ed. And I was damn sure set on it not coming to my home.

So, fast forward to early 2003, those orders that we knew were looming finally came. But it wasn’t the celebratory or elated feeling that one thought it would bring. Everything suddenly became extremely real. Because for all the drills and scenarios, battle tactics, classes, weapons drills, and everything else we had been doing, it all now meant that the next time any of those would be employed, it would be the very real thing; war.

Woodland camouflage and shined black boots with berets soon went into the closet and was traded out for desert camo, tan boots, and soft caps. Our brand new M1114 uparmored humvees soon became a very desired commodity of armament overseas and we loaded them on the trains to be taken to Texas ports to, at the time, ship out for Turkey, where we would join them and come into Iraq from the north.

That final night in Colorado still sticks with me. The barracks were packed, everyone’s personal belongings were stored away, nothing but shower bags and what we were soon taking on a plane remained. S**t was getting real and really fast. Everyone was anxious beyond anxious. That hum or buzz about the place getting more and more loud. The reality that we may not come back was right there with cleaning out the barracks. At 19 years old that night was phone call after phone call after phone call doing those last chats with friends and family from stateside. And then one last ride with some soldiers around Colorado Springs just to get away from that gnawing anxiousness that was the barracks. Motivation through the roof, but that aching of what was being left behind and the fact that when or if we came back we all knew that absolutely nothing would ever be the same, feel the same, look the same, sound the same, and all that, it would never be that, ever again. Having good conversation on every call while the thought that it could very well be the very last time of ever speaking to someone or me speaking to them. Trying as best as possible to avoid that thought entering the phone call. Both sides struggling with how to say goodbye. All the normal endings of “Bye”, “Talk to ya later”, “talk soon”, “later”, “see ya when you get back”…..they held an absolute unknown as it wasn’t known if there would be a “later” or a “coming back”. And others with “you be safe and get back” or a couple “don’t you dare not come back” statements still resonate with me today. They felt like just as much a threat as a “do what you need to do to come home”.

Car ride over, it’s like midnight now, back at the barracks or the B’s. All lights on, nobody is sleeping. Guys are pacing the halls and outside. Others are trying to chill and maybe sleep. It was like an 0400 formation that would begin an extremely long trip to the Middle East.

Tired and stressed now, anxiety and all the phone calls playing over. I try and rack out but it’s uncomfortable, minimal bedding as what I kept was going into a dumpster soon. Staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning. Light dozing and then the alarm clock and it’s 0400. Time to go.

Company formation and this is it. These are the faces we will see for the next year. All we will know. A sea of desert tan and even with the anxiety, a solid confidence that God help what and whoever tries to f**k with us. Bravado or arrogance? Neither, just a confidence and determination that we were going to take on whatever came our way with how we were trained and get it done.

Gear loaded up, weapons issued, onto the buses and the 15 minute ride with police es**rt to the airport. Up the stairs and onto the commercial jetliner, stow your gear, find your seat, and in 18 hours we will be in Kuwait.

Wheels up, Pikes Peak “America’s Mountain” out the window and soon gone, destination Germany for refuel and then on to Kuwait. Sleep, wake up, eat, sleep. The plane had these small TV screens in back of the chairs ahead of us and they played movies. Otherwise it was a rather relaxing flight. Funny how all those thoughts connected to home had now disappeared. Every thought, every bit of focus was now looking forward with wonder and curiosity mixed in. What’s Germany look like? How long are we there? What can we see from the airport? And Kuwait, what’s it like? It’s how hot there?! You’re kidding! Where are our trucks? They haven’t left port in Turkey yet to go to port in Kuwait….lovely.

Back to sleep. It wasn’t good sleep either. It was like roadtrip sleep only with the addition of jet lag and exhaustion that comes from being unable to change out of the uniform and into whatever one wears to bed. None of that existed anymore. What we were wearing was what we were wearing for the next year. The most comfortable we were able to get was losing the uniform top and keeping a tshirt on, losing the boots and keeping the socks.

Leadership would make the rounds here and there to check on everyone but for the most part it was simply a time to chill as much as possible and joke around some too.

Then the final descent into Kuwait. Halfway around the world now gang! Looking out the windows as the plane got lower and lower and absolutely nothing but sand to be seen. Holy hell, nothing but sand. As a normal announcement, the flight attendants announce the current conditions on the ground in Kuwait City and the temperature here in April 2003 is a wonderful 95 degrees. Oh and Kuwait City, well let’s add to that 95 degrees and enter in the humidity being that it’s a port city right next to the damn ocean.

Wheels down. We step off that plane and the Kuwaiti air greets us literally like someone with a blow dryer on high. Breathing in was like breathing in the heated air from a campfire. How in the hell do people live here?!

Off the plane, into the heat, luckily briefly, as we all load up and onto a series of small buses with air conditioning. Then it’s a long ass ride north to the front lines and a series of camps set up for coalition forces….out in sandman land.

Camp Virginia. Nothing but sand berms, c-wire, tents, and formations of military vehicles (for those that had their’s). Our’s were still on route to port.

The invasion has already kicked off and been underway for a couple weeks at this point and we all cram into two huge tents with sand floors. My bed? A sheet of cardboard and a sleeping bag, if it’s cool enough to use. The tents had AC most of the time but there were several times when they would go out and we would roll up the sides if possible and if there weren’t sandstorms. Couple weeks there. CD player with Linkin Park’s Meteora album that came out just before we shipped off. Played over n over in the headphones as I slept, nightly.

It was about a half mile walk to the chow tent. I don’t recall showers, pretty sure it was baby wipe baths.

Our humvees finally arrived and then it was awaiting orders or attachment to a unit. There was confusion and more waiting and all sorts of logistical problems.

Finally, we got our destination, Baghdad. I had turned 19 just a few days prior. Now, here I was, a gunner in an armored humvee rolling north into Iraq. Intel still advising that there may be some T-72s running around. This was definitely concerning to me as a gunner with an M-249 mounted that does jack and s**t to a T-72! The AT4 draped behind me on the hatch would be the only possible way to handle that but that was if we could even get that lucky. Air support was around but nothing close. We weren’t moving under cover of gunships, they were up north on point in the fight. So yeah, roadtripping through Iraq….hot as hell, desert, and totally unknown ahead.