I never saw my, 54’ Blue Specialized Tri-Cross Sport Bike, Victoria again. 

I like to dream, through a series of fortunate events, she partnered up with a Tour de France tested 62’ carbon fiber Lapierre; and the two are resting together against a willow tree in a Monet Water Lilly-esque Parisian park. Or, maybe, she’s rapidly rotating those Shimano clips to outmaneuver auto-mechanical beasts, traffic lights, and gravity with a bearded PBR and parcel warrior - shoulder-bag strapped with an “Off the chain” blazoned cap - named “Nature” delivering packages in South Philly. 

I might never know. But whatever road she took, I wish her the best.

Now, locked up in the last place I remember seeing Victoria (Cafe Streets, Chicago) is Jamis Satellite, or “J-Sat.” After a period of half-hearted, fruitless Craigslist and commercial bike shop searches, I met him at Goldfinch Cyclery in the New Bohemian District of Cedar Rapids. It was my first time crossing their threshold. I instantaneously connected with the spirit of the shop and the present trio of kind, wrench-wielding, midwesterners as I perceived the force of their bicycle knowledge and love of community was strong. And after pouring my heart out to shop partner Logan, like a discerning sage, he slowly whisked an inviting hand in the direction of a family of steel-framed Jamis Bikes. “Steel is real,” he said with conviction. And as he handed me the proverbial keys to one Jamis Satellite, I somehow knew he was right.

And thus began the charge of Jason Everett and his immortal steel-framed friend Jamis. Thanks Goldfinch’s Logan, Thaddeus, Chad, and Andy. Now on to Ragbrai. And wherever else after life carriers us.

Sometimes we forget the power of our diversity. Our minds are focused on the collective mission - fixated on the medic bag, the wrench, and the rifle - we lose track of the importance of connecting with our fellow Soldiers as individuals. This series of profiles will highlight that individuality; showing who we are outside of the uniform and the depth of why we wear it.

As a chef at Keo’s Restaurant in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, SPC “Sonny” Keomanivong of Alpha Company (Engineer), 224th Brigade Engineer Battalion calls out orders while moving instinctively with his line-cooks to execute with speed, focus, and synchronized motion through tight kitchen quarters. They look like a symphony objectified. “Dancing to the rhythm of the music,” as Sonny calls it, noting, that kind of chemistry can only be forged over time with repetition through stressful situations in an environment of trust.

Sonny believes working in kitchens throughout his life has served him well in his role in the Guard. It is where he first learned discipline, to follow orders without question, and the importance of being flexible and versatile when things don’t go as planned. He credits the National Guard for refining these characteristics in his life. In fact, he loves the rush of adrenaline sparked by the challenges of Guard training and the high-pressure chef environment. “Being in the Guard and being a chef go hand-in-hand in my book,” he says.

But those aren’t the most striking correlations for Sonny. His inspiration for becoming a chef stem from his grandmother’s legacy of gathering family around her “good” Laotian food for memories of happiness, laughter, and love around the table. His inspiration for joining the National Guard, besides being a childhood dream, was because his dad encouraged it and he wanted to make him proud. Family has been the key motivating factor for Sonny’s trajectory. And, if you asked Sonny what the most important benefit the Guard has given him, he’d say it’s given him another family.

Sometimes we forget the power of our diversity. Our minds are focused on the collective mission - fixated on the medic bag, the wrench, and the rifle - we lose track of the importance of connecting with our fellow Soldiers as individuals. This series of profiles will highlight that individuality; showing who we are outside of the uniform and the depth of why we wear it.

As a chef at Keo’s Restaurant in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, SPC “Sonny” Keomanivong of Alpha Company (Engineer), 224th Brigade Engineer Battalion calls out orders while moving instinctively with his line-cooks to execute with speed, focus, and synchronized motion through tight kitchen quarters. They look like a symphony objectified. “Dancing to the rhythm of the music,” as Sonny calls it, noting, that kind of chemistry can only be forged over time with repetition through stressful situations in an environment of trust.

Sonny believes working in kitchens throughout his life has served him well in his role in the Guard. It is where he first learned discipline, to follow orders without question, and the importance of being flexible and versatile when things don’t go as planned. He credits the National Guard for refining these characteristics in his life. In fact, he loves the rush of adrenaline sparked by the challenges of Guard training and the high-pressure chef environment. “Being in the Guard and being a chef go hand-in-hand in my book,” he says.

But those aren’t the most striking correlations for Sonny. His inspiration for becoming a chef stem from his grandmother’s legacy of gathering family around her “good” Laotian food for memories of happiness, laughter, and love around the table. His inspiration for joining the National Guard, besides being a childhood dream, was because his dad encouraged it and he wanted to make him proud. Family has been the key motivating factor for Sonny’s trajectory. And, if you asked Sonny what the most important benefit the Guard has given him, he’d say it’s given him another family.

On the last ceremonial stop in my old Clarksville/ Ft. Campbell stomping grounds, I went looking for a barber shop I frequented called Stud Cuts and barber named Ilka. For those familiar, neither are at the same place.

Instead, I got my haircut by the owner of Greg’s Barbershop. I was talking to him as he was cutting a young soldier’s hair. We talked about politics, the deactivation of the 506th, and both of our histories in the area. Until Greg said something staggering, “these boys here are getting their last haircuts - deploying to Afghanistan on Sunday.” The comment hung in the air for a moment as he brushed off the young man’s shoulders and gave him the “finished” tap. The young man arose from the chair, looked in the mirror and nodded with approval, as his “battle buddy” moved toward the door. Just before they left Greg gave the standard situational admonishment, but it was warm and had weight to it, one you knew he’d given a thousand times before, “good luck boys - keep your heads down and I’ll see you in a year.”

I took my turn in the chair and asked for a “low-skin blend and a trim on top.” I missed these haircuts. I always knew what I wanted and what it would look like. I like how they use the shaving creme and a razor to finish it off. Honestly, I’ve never quite figured out haircuts since my days at Ft. Campbell - it’s been kind of trick-or-treat for me and a source of mild anxiety.

We talked about all kinds of things past and present. I enjoyed the good ol’ barber banter; however, my mind was preoccupied with the boys and the gravity of the “lasts;” the last hair cut, the last beer at Black Horse Pub, the last…the last…the last…the heaviness, the excitement, the anxiety. I remember what those last days were like. Then I thought of the uncanny fortune of deploying on Mother’s Day. Imagine that.

Cheers to my Currahee brethren who I experienced so many firsts and lasts with. And special thoughts for mothers who are sending their children off to war today or supporting theirs currently over there; and my mother Teresa Lydon for supporting me, my brother, and father during our tours. Love you Ma’