Guest post by Michael de Yoanna

If you told me I’d be riding a bicycle through a tropical storm in order to complete a film this summer, I would have said you were crazy. The film’s theme involves bicycling and how it helps veterans recover from their wounds. But attempting to be the director from the saddle of a bike, that’s another thing.

When my partner Greg Campbell and I began shooting this yet-to-be-named documentary film in late May, during a week-long veterans’ road cycle ride, we agreed it might be a good idea if I churned out a few miles with the riders. I’d get to know them and I could even attach a tiny HD camera to my bicycle and capture some shots. Then, we theorized, I could hop back in a van and get into director mode.

That all changed on the first day. The challenging road cycling rides, organized by Ride2Recovery, moved so fast that the best way to get to know the subjects of the film was to ride every day. On my bike, I’d introduce myself and veterans would tell me their stories—or not. Whatever. It was cool. At the end of each day of riding, there’d always be that question: “Are you riding again tomorrow?” At first, I’d hesitate to promise to ride. In the end, I pedaled every mile, more than 1,800 of them over the course of three rides. The only reason I can offer is that I was really enjoying the company. It was so inspiring to be around veterans struggling with seen and unseen wounds taking their recoveries into their own hands.

Every rider I sidled up to had an amazing story to tell and some wanted to share their stories on camera. I was in a position to help them help others understand the often forgotten toll of 10 years of war on a generation of Americans called to duty in the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

During the week that followed Memorial Day, I rode every mile from Arlington National Cemetery to Virginia Beach. Then I rode through Normandy, France, seeing the sites of World War II and hearing tales of that nation’s liberation from Nazis by Allied Forces.

The final ride was Ride2Recovery’s 9/11 Challenge, in which hundreds of wounded warrior bicyclists, hand-cyclists, recumbent riders and others visited the sites of the 9/11 attacks: New York City, a field outside Shanksville, Pa., and the Pentagon.

But the R2R challenge only offered 550 miles. To a handful of riders, that was not enough. So the idea of a “pre-ride,” adding an additional 361 miles to total 911, was hatched. The idea came from Justin Minyard, an Army sergeant and passionate cyclist still recovering from wounds he received both as a first responder to the 9/11 attack on the Pentagon as well as in combat in the ensuing years. Justin sought to honor the victims of 9/11. He also wanted to find some closure to the mental anguish he suffered as a result of those horrible days a decade ago. That’s why he was devastated to learn he could not participate. Unexpected medical issues arose and riding a bicycle could be dangerous. He would stay home instead.

Yet a handful of riders—initially five—decided to carry on with the “mission,” as it was called, often thinking of Justin along the way.

So, with a little persuasion from Justin, I embarked on the most difficult bicycling trek of my life. Veterans Casey Robinson, Nick Lerma, Nate Dewalt and Mike Troster, joined by civilian rider and R2R supporter Dick Brock, quietly pedaled out of an American Legion hall’s parking lot in Colonial Heights, Va., on Sept. 4. Three motorcycles—two Harleys and a Can-Am trike piloted by Legion Riders Tom Wahl, J.R. Dye and Gary Hilton—helped clear the intersections and alert motorists to our presence. Nick’s wife, Lisa, and Mike’s brother, Paul, drove support vehicles (little Emily Lerma, age 3, helped her mom navigate). Greg had the trusty camera by his side.

The rain from Tropical Storm Lee began falling soon into the trip and lasted for several days, leaving us shivering up steep hill climbs, navigating standing water on flooded bridges and traversing dirt roads so soaked that mud felt like glue on our tires. Making the trip more difficult was that one of the riders—Nate—churns the miles in a “low rider” cycle that he cranks with his hands because he is paralyzed from the waist down. Though he’s the fastest downhill on his cycle because of its low profile, riders help him get to the top of steep hills by pushing on a bar attached to the cycle. Pushing can be exhausting.

At the end of each day, our clothes, shoes and socks were drenched and covered in mud. Without laundry facilities at the hotels, I often washed my gear in the shower and put my shoes over the air vents to dry. In the mornings, the clothes were always damp. I’d shrug and put them on anyway, thinking, “I’m just going to get rained on again today anyway.”

It wasn’t just the riders who suffered. The motorcyclists were drenched in their rain gear, as was Greg, who came up with about a dozen innovations for keeping the gear dry as he road on the back of Gary’s motorcycle during the deluge, capturing some incredibly compelling documentary images.

We met many interesting people as we traversed Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. We even had lunch at a funeral parlor (no, there wasn’t a body inside). Still, the most amazing people were the riders and support crew. Though I knew a couple of the riders well, I got better acquainted with others, seeing first-hand their sheer will to finish the miles each day. It would have been easy to quit when we encountered that first orange “Road Closed” sign in the Great Flood of 2011. That was never considered. We either went around or through everything Lee threw at us. We never stopped.

When the sun finally began to burn through the clouds several days in, the riding got easier.

With just eight miles left in the pre-ride, we were talking about having a few beers to celebrate. Then came disaster. During a wicked downhill, as we hit speeds around 40 mph, a washed-up stick caught Dick’s spokes. He wobbled for a second and then went down hard into the asphalt, taking Casey down with him as he slid. Nick and I were following closely behind Dick and as our brakes squealed, Nick ran into Dick, flipping over the top of him, landing flat on the asphalt. I skidded to a halt along a guardrail and wiped the debris, including bark, from my face. I couldn’t believe I was still standing. To my left, three riders were down. I jumped off my bike and ran into the street to stop oncoming traffic. Joe Jackson, another rider and veteran who had joined the pre-ride late, employed his military skills as a medic, as did Gary. Their quick thinking was critical before the ambulances arrived to cart off Dick and Nick.

As for Casey, he insisted the rest of us finish the pre-ride, pedaling out the last few miles, including a merciless incline, with just one arm. When we arrived at the hotel, our thoughts were with Dick and Nick. Dick’s hip was broken. He’d need surgery. Nick, however, returned to the hotel, in intense pain, and insisted on finishing the 911 miles.

On Sunday, Sept. 18 that’s just what we did, but not without some very difficult hill climbs and, of course, more rain. By this time, we were surrounded by hundreds of riders with the official R2R ride as we reached the milestone, popping the cork off several bottles of champagne. That made the smiles and laughs even easier. We called Dick, who told me he is getting physical therapy and plans to return to his bike as soon as he can. And I sent Justin a photo of the Garmin GPS device he loaned me for the ride. It reads “911.” Thanks, Justin, and thanks to everyone who participated in the ride and supported it.

I can’t wait for everyone to see this film. Now that the riding is done, the real challenge begins—it's time to edit the footage.

Michael de Yoanna is an award-winning freelance journalist. Learn more about our film here.