DAY 14
October 17, 2006

I woke up this morning to a winter wonderland. My Dad warned me the night before that it was going to snow in Richfield. Why are the reports of bad weather always accurate? I was nervous that the snow might stick to the road. If the roads have to be plowed, it could be devastating for the walk. I don’t know if I could make it through a foot of plowed snow on the side of the road. Luckily, the snow only stuck on the mountains and foothills.

Doug and I started the slog from Salina to Richfield in a slushy rain and cold wind. A group from Moab wanted to join us for the day. While we were coordinating, their cell phone cut out as they passed through the treacherous San Raphael Swell. I wondered if they had thought better of the whole idea and returned to Moab, where at least they had shelter. I was surprised when a little while later, they showed up and started walking. Two Mikes, Mary, Jean and Wendy made up the group of stalwarts.

Their company was great for Doug and I. We started talking and before I knew it, we were in Richfield. The bad weather had kept us moving and we covered the 19.5 miles in record time.

Mike, a former Marine, told me that when he was in high school, all the seniors he knew were going off to the Korean War. He said he wanted to graduate as soon as possible and go off to the glory of war. He characterized this way of thinking as a delusion of which young men are prone.

I certainly was. There isn’t much glory in war, and I don’t know how the rumor got started. I’m thankful every day that I didn’t have to fire my weapon in Iraq. The times when I came close to made me realize that combat isn’t the noble and good thing that it’s often made out to be. A garbage man has to pick up trash because it’s his job, but I don’t think he imagines that it’s glorious. The same is true for soldiers.

Once, while I was in London with my wife, we walked along Downing Street and saw magnificent monument inscribed with the words: To the Glorious Dead. At the time, it struck me as ridiculous. The dead don’t seem that glorious to me. How about a monument to the glorious living?

Wherever the rumor of the glory of war started, it’s one I bought into. I’ve always wanted to die well. When I first signed up for the military I day dreamed of sacrificing my life in some heroic manner to save the lives of my fellow countrymen. Such instances do occur during wartime, but much less than we tell ourselves. I still want to die well, but with a few more years to think it through, I’ve decided that it should involve old age and grandchildren first.