Submitted by Steve Golding
It began 12 years ago. Vietnam Veteran Bob Jones started coming to Hesky Park in Meredith, New Hampshire and started a candlelight vigil to remind this quaint New England town in the Live Free or Die state that we left men behind. With the help of Garvin Eastman and many other people, they have sustained this vigil every Thursday evening ever since, making it the longest uninterrupted candlelight vigil in the United States!
Meredith, New Hampshire is a small New England town located north of Boston MA in the White Mountains on Lake Winnipesaukee. It is picturesque, breathtakingly beautiful with many things to do in all seasons. Water sports in the summer time and skiing in the winter months. It is a very unlikely place to find motorcycles!
For the last nine years annually every early June, The NE POW Network organizes a "Freedom Ride" of motorcyles to come through town in a Rolling Thunder-type rally, ending at Hesky Park where people speak, bands play, and our POW/MIAs are remembered. Hesky park is equally an unlikely place for a POW/MIA rally or dedication as it is pivotal to tourism and the economics of this beautiful place. Hesky Park introduces you to the Meredith side of Lake Winnipesaukee.
Although Bob, Garvin and I have communicated via e-mail and telephone for years, this was the first year that I had the distinct honor to attend the vigil and freedom ride and I must admit I was a bit of a snob having been to rallies in Washington, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Arizona and coming from New York City. After looking at a map of New Hampshire and seeing where Meredith was, I did not even make hotel room reservations!
My trip began at 4PM leaving New York. I took Manhattan's Westside Highway (renamed Joe Dimaggio Highway in honor of the late Yankees slugger] north to the Henry Hudson and Saw Mill River Parkways through parts of upstate New York. Once I got out of the city, traffic started moving and I settled in for the approximate 7 hour drive to New Hampshire.
My route would take me through 4 states: New York, Connecticut, Massachussettes, New Hampshire. I made the trip in 6 hours: West Side Highway to the Henry Hudson Parkway. Henry Hudson to the Saw Mill; Saw Mill to 684; 684 to 84; 84 to 90; 90 to 93 and 93 to Route 104. Of course, I printed out the program and left it home. I neglected to eat anything all day figuring on eating when I got there; all the things not to do when planning a trip!
The sunset while I was on 84 north heading toward Massacusettes. The closer I got to Boston, I started noticing more and more motorcycles. First the lone wolf, then in packs of 3; then in packs of 4, 5 and 6. We were all heading in the same direction, but I was unconcerned becauuse I did not notice any Rolling Thunder or 'Nam Knights or Christian Motor Cycle Club "colors" on the vests or jackets worn by the bikers. I did not see any POW/MIA shirts or paraphenelia on the bikes. It was just a coincidence that as I traveled toward Boston I found myself on the road with more and more motorcycles.
I called Bob Jones' home several times during the trip to see where the rallying point was since I had printed out the program and left it on my desk at home. Of course, Bob was not at home as he was preparing for tomorrows event. Mrs. Jones was patient with me and gave me the directions for the final leg of my journey. After asking her what was the latest time I could call back, (believing I would be arriving in town at around 11PM), she said 10 and I called for the final time at 10 PM. Bob still was not at home so I told her I would call the following morning.
As I got off 90 and onto 93, the clumps of bikes went from 6 to 10 pretty quickly and grew from there. When I exited 93 and onto 104 East I was checking my gas gauge. Some of the bikes noticed my POW/MIA license plate holder on the rear of my car and some passed me to get in front and some stayed directly behind me as if escorting me into town. At a local gas station, I put my directional on and those behind me beeped their farewell and continued on.
I purchased gas, cigarettes and inquired about a place to eat as well as hotels. For a place to eat, the cashier directed me to a place with one name, like Bob's or Joe's or something like that, and then told me that there were plenty of hotels "down the road" but that he could not vouche for availability. I continued on 104 East and by the time I reached the end of it I knew that my snobbery had led me into a wrong decision about not reserving a room! By this time, you see, although I have a manual shift, the sound of motorcycles drowned out the noise of my own engine when I shifted gears! I talked myself into a sense of security saying that I will scout around and then drive to the next town and find a room there.
I pulled into the place to get something to eat at 10 PM. There were about a dozen or more motorcycles in the parking lot and a few people milling around. The lights were on and I could see people sitting inside. I got out of my car and went to the door. Locked! I went around to the rear and found a door open. I walked in, bypassing some kids cleaning up in the kitchen, I went into the restaurant and sat down.
Well about 10 minutes later the bartender comes over to me to inform me "We are closed." I didn't blink an eye. "You're closed? Where's my dinner? Why would you take my order if you were closed?" I asked as innocently and confused as I could muster. He measured me and said, "What did you order?" "Steak, potato's; you know the standard for a guy my size," I responded with as much wit and charm as I could taste the steak. "I see," he said and walked away. Score! I thought.
He returned a moment later with a menu. "There is a problem with your order," he deadpanned with the thickest New England accent. I looked at him bewildered. He unfurled the menu and handed it to me. "We do not serve steak and potato's at this Italian Restaurant, sir. Please come with me." BUSTED! Without further adieu, I got up and accompanied him out the same door I had snuck in. He bid me good night and left me thinking I was going to have to eat McDonalds.
I asked several of the kids that were cleaning up if there was a place to eat and about a decent hotel. Their first response, in unison, "McDonalds." I beseeched them and they directed me to a charbroil house next to one of the Inns. I asked if I could get a hotel room there as well and the girl asked me where I was from. When I told her New York, they looked at each other as if they understood. Like I was mentally unbalanced. From another world. Someone to be pitied. She caught the look on my face and softened. "My dad's from New York," she offered as if to say, "it's OK, we understand. You're an imbecile."
I got in the car and drove to the charbroil place, as directed. I pulled into the parking lot of a magnificent Inn, really 1800 type of Victorian Inn, and encountered an employee as I approached the entrance. "Is this the charbroil place?" I asked. "Yes, sir." She responded. I hate being called sir. My dad was sir. I'm too young to be a sir. I work for a living. "Good place?" I try to be charming again. It failed yet again. "Sure is, when we're open. We closed about 20 minutes ago." I nodded my understanding. "Any place around that I can eat?" I ask miserably, dropping all pretense of intelligence. "Giuseppe's is at the Inn across the street, there," she said indicating the opposite side of the street with her head. "You don't, by chance, have any rooms, do you?" She looked at me like I was from another planet. "You aren't from around here, or even from New Hampshire, are you?" she asked the obvious Martian standing in front of her. I shook my head and she proceeded to tell me that I would have to drive "an hour or so" north in order to get a hotel room. This was because of something called "Bike Week."
She explained to me that every June, Meredith, Laconia and Weirs (the surrounding towns) host "Bike Week" and that bikes from all over come to this rally. It brings in about 350,000 people. To Meredith. To Laconia. To Weirs. In other words, there are no hotel rooms and those that have them are booked a year in advance. To this little town in New Hampshire and the surrounding little towns in New Hampshire and that explained all the "Bikes Welcome" signs that I saw on all the closed restaurants that I passed on Route 104.
I got in my car and pulled it into the parking lot across the street. "Inns at Mills Falls" read the sign. Very much like the Victorian Inn that I just left, feeling very much ridiculous for not reserving a room and cursing my snobbery when I looked up Meredith on a map. Sure, the small little town in New Hampshire. How many people even heard of Meredith. Yeah. Real smart. To top it off, while trying to be witty, charming and even smarter, I sat inside a closed restaurant trying to con my way into eating all while the clock ticked away at my chance to eat at the charbroil place. I was real angry with myself.
I walked in through the main door and stopped at the front desk. I asked for directions through the inn to Giuseppes. The girl glanced at her watch, told me the directions and said that I had maybe 10 minutes to get in as they close at 11. I thanked her and started on my way. "Can I help you with anything else?" she asked sweetly. "Not unless you want to rent me a room for tonight and tomorrow," I shot back still retreating. "I have one room available; we had a cancellation,." said this Angel of mercy. I retraced my steps and registered. "We have this nice room with a fire place, queensized bed overlooking the lake. Non smoking," she said while taking my information. I did not offer that it was well over 80 degrees and humid so I did not care much about a fire place. I almost said it, but my snobbery had already caused me much anxiety. I simply smiled, thanked her and paid in advance for both days. Cash.
I was staying at Chase House part of the Inns which was connected by parking lot. I could pick up my key on the 2nd floor of Chase House but I had to do so by 11. But I needed to eat. Food. I asked her if I could go and eat and pick up the key at the main desk, (here), and she agreed. I walked away happy that I got a room close by and that I was actually going to eat.
In fact, I was able to get a steak that was great and a good stiff drink and marveled at my fortune. Then a thought crept into my NYC brain. I neglected to get a receipt. Eat now, or walk out and get the receipt and chance getting locked out of food. But I'm not in New York. I'm in New Hampshire. And she's an angel. Relax. Eat. Drink. Eavesdrop on conversations going on around me. Life was good. Properly fed, I went back to the front desk and got my room key.
The Fireplace & A/C were going Does this bed look great or what?
The room was very nice, on the top floor with refrigerator and cable TV. There was a switch in the bathroom that caused the bathroom floors to heat up. There was a couch opposite the bed with a coffee table in between the couch and bed. A desk was next to the bed. I settled in, made some calls and read until sleep overtook me. Divine Providence intervened in spite of my stupidity. Tomorrow would be interesting as I would hook up with Bob Jones and attend the ceremonies. Time permitted, I would check out the area tomorrow.
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