I stayed at the Hyatt Regency downtown, situated across from the heavy nightlife of East 4th Street, a one-block area of dining and bars, overflowing with drunken 20 and 30 year olds, all pretty, dressed to impressed. It's wedding season, one reception was in full blast at the hotel when I went to find Cleveland's nightlife around 10 P.M., another had finished early and many young women and men in their finest livery prowled the light-hearted scene. I started my night as I usually do when I go to a town I don't really know and find the Irish Pub, in this case Flannery's, guaranteed to have many inebriated or in-process people. I sat at the bar, watching some softball game when I struck up a conversation with two gentlemen who complained that the bar wasn't showing the UFC prelims. Usually, I would've known that the fights were on and could recite the card. But this trip has shifted my sense of time; I know the day of the week and roughly the date but not much else. I hadn't even known that it was Memorial Day Weekend when I arrived in Cleveland.
Was Flannery's going to show the fights? No. One of the gentlemen mentioned City Tap, I finished the Old Speckled Hen and my salad, and ventured into the night, not really knowing where I was heading, just somewhere "over there..."
Eventually I found the bar and the fights had started. My main interest wasn't the headliner, we all knew the Dillashaw wasn't going to win, rather Daniel Cormier versus Dan Henderson. There was also Jake Ellenberger versus "Ruthless" Robbie Lawler, a devastating southpaw striking machine. All great fights. But T.J. Dillashaw stole the show and the championship by technical knockout in the fifth round.
I sat next to a young Cleveland guy (let's face it, they're all young to me now) who asked if I trained MMA and said I didn't any longer, my knees no longer functioning well, and I showed him Duane Ludwig, one of T.J. Dillashaw's coaches, and pointed out that I had trained with Ludwig for several years. The guy asked what brought me to Cleveland and I gave my pat answer, "To talk to you, of course", which was funny. And true. He was a Clevelander, born and raised, thought he might want to move to New York City someday, but he liked Cleveland, figured he'd stay for awhile, at least.
I staggered home; it's hard to believe that four beers can get me drunk these days, because I'm out of practice, not having had much to drink in the past couple of weeks.
I awoke to the sound of motorcycles, 9 A.M. Fortunately, I had drunk a lot of water so I wasn't hungover. As I dressed, got ready for the day, I kept hearing motorcycles roaring down the street. I had a chore to complete, get my iPhone working, and I didn't want to become distracted in my goal. My will power gave out, however, as I kept hearing more bikes screaming through downtown.
Gabbing a quick coffee and scone from Starbucks in the lobby I raced to my bike, hopped on, and followed the next wave of riders, who were heading towards the FirstEnergy Stadium, home of the Cleveland Browns. They congregated there for the Tenth Annual Cleveland Firefighters Memorial Ride. They stopped us on the way towards the memorial sculpture, asked to see our bands to prove we had paid the requisite fee. There were over 1,000 motorcycles registered for the event. I, of course, didn't have a wristband and I explained that I had driven from California just to be at the event, which in a way was true. They let me pass and parked among the throng, lined up, ready to go. I walked among riders, talked to many, listened somberly as they made speeches regarding the lives lost, presented several scholarships funded by the group to students, reviewed the names of the fallen in the last calendar year, played taps, flags raised at half mast, finished with Amazing Grace, bagpipes, really the only appropriate use of bagpipes.
Directions given we mounted our bikes and in a steady stream, two rows at a time, we moved the greater than a thousand motorcycles onto the streets of Cleveland, a thunderous herd on a 43 mile run. I wouldn't run with them, of course; I still had much to do. And I pulled off after a few miles. It wasn't my ride, after all, and it felt wrong not to have paid my way into it. I had donated money and bought food and drink, all going to the charity. I felt privileged to have spent time remembering our fallen heroes with them.
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