Yesterday after an all-day conference in NYC, I rode the Hudson River bike trail from Lower Manhattan to the George Washington Bridge. What an awesome place to ride.
On the way back from the GW, I turned of the trail at 79th St. riding toward Central Park. While I waited at the traffic light where the trail turns onto the streets, a guy riding in an expensive-looking suit rolled up behind me and said, "No shit! First Armored. I served with them in '69. I hated Fort Hood."
We rode a few blocks together. He told me he was a draftee, served two years and got out. Judging by the Upper West Side place he lived, he did really well for himself after making $148 a month in the late 60s Army.
As I rode on toward the park, he thanked me for my service, and I thanked him for his. I am sure I get a lot more thank you's than he ever got. When I got the tattoo I was hoping for this very kind of thing, running into other soldiers who served--and ride bicycles.
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