By Amanda Hardin | Commentary, Rocky Mountain Voice
Every May, the sound of motorcycles echoes across America—not for show, but for something much more meaningful. Run For The Wall is a cross-country ride that honors the fallen and brings healing to those still carrying the weight of war. It begins in California and ends in Washington, D.C.
This year I had the privilege of joining the ride for part of its journey, riding the Central Route from Gallup, New Mexico, to Colorado.
We rolled out of Gallup with nearly 500 motorcycles, riding two-by-two in a tight, powerful formation. New Mexico State Police escorted us across the entire state, blocking every exit, every intersection.
There was no stop-and-go. No honking horns. Just a smooth, protected path across miles of desert and mountain, a gesture that made every rider feel respected and safe.
In a world that often rushes past service and sacrifice, this ride forces people to slow down, to look, to remember.
More Than Just a Ride
Run For The Wall was founded in 1989 by Vietnam veterans who felt their service and their fallen brothers had been forgotten. The ride now spans three main routes: Central, Midway, and Southern. Each leg stretches thousands of miles and is filled with ceremonies, salutes, and sacred moments. The final destination is the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in D.C., but the heart of this mission lives in every stop along the way.
This isn’t a casual group ride. It’s a rolling tribute.
Every piece is intentional. Every mile has meaning. Veterans, Gold Star families, active-duty service members, and patriots from all walks of life ride shoulder-to-shoulder. Many return year after year. Some have been part of the Run for decades.
There are road guards who risk themselves to keep the pack together, chaplains offering prayers and comfort, ambassadors welcoming the public, and a full support crew managing everything from fuel logistics to medical support.
The Missing Man Formation
At the front of the formation rides the Missing Man, a space intentionally left open to honor those who never made it home.
On each leg of the journey, a different fallen soldier is remembered. Their name is shared, their story told. Riders take turns holding that space in their honor. It’s a powerful visual, a silent reminder that even though someone is gone, their place is still here.
And at every stop, be it a school, an American Legion post, or a small-town gas station ceremonies are held. Veterans are honored, wreaths are laid, families are hugged, and tears are shed.
We were greeted by American Legion posts who provided fuel at no cost. Fuel crews worked tirelessly to keep things running smoothly, ensuring that every tank was full and every rider taken care of.
This isn’t a ride that just passes through towns. It connects with them. It brings people out to the overpasses waving flags, saluting from sidewalks, and holding signs that read “Welcome Home.” For many Vietnam veterans, those are words they never heard when they first came back.
Ramah Chapter of the Navajo Nation at Red Rocks Park in Gallup, NM
Moments That Stay With You
One of the most moving moments of the ride took place at the Angel Fire Vietnam Veterans Memorial in New Mexico, where fellow rider Kirk Olson shared a tribute that brought history into sharp, personal focus.
Kirk recounted an attack in 1964, during a nighttime softball game outside Saigon. American troops had gathered at Pershing Field to unwind; soldiers, sailors, embassy workers, wives, and children cheering under the lights. In the third inning, two U.S.-made fragmentation bombs buried beneath the bleachers detonated, killing Arthur W. Glover and Donald R. Taylor, and injuring 23 others.
It was one of the earliest and deadliest terrorist attacks on American personnel in Vietnam.
What made the tribute even more poignant was Kirk’s personal tie to that moment. His father had been at that game, sitting with those same men but had left about 20 minutes earlier to write a letter home to Kirk’s mother. Kirk was born after the war.
And yet, the ripple of that near-miss followed him to Angel Fire, where he stood decades later honoring the two men his father never forgot.
To commemorate their sacrifice, two memorial bricks were laid at the base of the Angel Fire Vietnam Veterans Memorial. As riders gathered around, heads bowed and hands on hearts, it became clear that this wasn’t just a symbolic act, it was a continuation of memory.
A son, paying tribute not only to the fallen, but to a father who lived with their loss.
For many of us on the ride, it was a reminder of what Run For The Wall is all about. These stories live on not just in monuments, but in the hearts of those who carry them forward.
A Ride That Stays With You
For me, this ride wasn’t just about the miles. It was about the stories. The strangers who became family. The feeling of being part of something bigger.
Every time we pulled out of a stop in that perfect, rumbling formation, I could feel it: This is America at its best.
Every time we pulled out in that tight, steady formation, I felt it in my bones—this is what America looks like when it remembers.
Run For The Wall doesn’t just honor the fallen. It reminds the rest of us not to forget.
If this is the first you’re hearing about Run For The Wall, take a moment to visit rftw.us. If you’ve never seen it, stand on a bridge and watch it roll by. And if your heart is pulled to serve, there’s always room in the pack.
Editor’s note: Opinions expressed in commentary pieces are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the management of the Rocky Mountain Voice, but even so we support the constitutional right of the author to express those opinions.