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Story and Photos by Rhianon Bader, Canadian Biker Magazine

"WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?" Asked the capital block letters on a black and orange patch. It was fastened to a young man's black leather vest with numerous other patches, including one of the Canadian Flag, a yellow "Support Our Troops" ribbon and another saying "RIMINI". Over one weekend in July I met several men and women of all ages, clad in these vests with a similar assortment of patches. Were it not for these insignia, it would be difficult to distinguish this group of riders from any other that might be meeting up for a weekend ride. These were, as the large back patch informed, members of the Canadian Army Veterans Motorcycle Unit on their way to Victoria for their annual regional rally.

STILL FIGHTING: Debbi Ferguson, bottom picture above, was one of the first females to serve in both combat arms and the navy. Her son is an eighth-generation military veteran recently returned from his third tour in Afghanistan. Her loyalty to the service, to Canada and to her CAV brothers-in-arms is beyond question, but she does have options. "We shouldn't still have to fight for the military sending us away and breaking us," says Mrs. Ferguson

My mission, so to speak, was to tag along and find out why the CAV exists and what it means to the men and women who are a part of it. It's probably important to admit right off the bat that I've never had any direct experience with the military, was an adamant pacifist as a teenager and am not aware of any military family history, save for my mother's father being a cook with a pet monkey on the front lines of the Burma Campaign in the so-called South-East Asian Theatre of World War Two.

Regardless, I have always had a fascination with military culture and armed conflict, and was sufficiently curious to throw myself (and my Honda CM400) into the middle of this unfamiliar, close-knit subculture of military veterans. Despite differing political outlooks, my motorcycle helped me connect with CAV members during the rally and it became clear, in turn, that motorcycles provide a rare venue for veterans to maintain the comradeship that can only come with prolonged close quarters and firsthand experience with the fragility of life.

The CAV was started in 2003 by co-founders P. M. "Trapper" Cane and J. S. Y. "Doc" Lebrun when they met at a charity ride in Central Canada. The idea was not only to continue their love of motorcycling with ongoing support for their community through charity fundraising - it was also crucial that the organization provide a space for continuing camaraderie even after military service. In the past six years, the CAV has raised well over five million dollars for numerous veteran support initiatives, the Special Olympics and more. However, charity riding isn't mandatory for membership.

Like other military units, the CAV is broken down regionally - In this case there are four: 1 CAV is Central Canada and Quebec, 2 CAV is the Maritimes and Labrador, 3 CAV is Western and Northern Canada and the fourth formation is CAV International. Each region is then broken down into sub-units named after a "Battle Honour", totaling 46 units at present with more than 3,000 veterans and supporters. For example, the 60-something-strong RIMINI UNIT in Victoria hosted the 3 CAV rally, which was attended by members of MORO (Vancouver), ANCHRE HEIGHTS, (North Vancouver Island), REICHSWALD (Fort St. John) and others from across the country.

While I was talking with the president of 3 CAV, Mike "Mikey" Horobin, on the ferry ride over from Vancouver, he made it starkly clear just how important the military bond can be. "Our priority is for veterans helping veterans. We're just here to get the guys that are sitting in their garage with the gun in their mouths about to eat a bullet, to come on out of the garage and stop getting down on themselves," he says , adding that a lot of veterans find it hard to re-adjust to civilian life because they no longer have the brotherhood experienced in the military. "We try and offer that to them, support them, and get them through their shit and back into society."

One of the first CAV members I talked to upon arrival at the rally was 29-year-old Sean Loucks, a veteran who served three years, did two tours of Afghanistan, and now spends as much time as possible gripping the apehangers of his Harley Softail. His bearded face is cherub-like, yet mischievous, and despite coming off as the official joker of 3 CAV, he was thoughtful and open when speaking to me about his experiences in the military and the CAV.

Loucks joined the army in early 2000, when it was still "pretty quiet in the world." He had been working at a bar near a base in Winnipeg and the stories he heard about throwing grenades and shooting bazookas made the military seem like an exciting alternative to paying rent at his parents' place or applying for school. A year after he enrolled the September 11 attacks changed everything, and he was soon posted to Afghanistan. After finishing his service he sought to continue the military camaraderie and became a CAV member 2 years ago.

When asked about dealing with the unimaginable distinction between civilian and military life, Loucks says, "Everybody joins the military as one thing, but they leave the military something completely different. It's basically like picking somebody out of a war zone and throwing them in downtown Vancouver in the middle of a peace protest - it's a completely different world."

I, on the other hand, felt a little like I was experiencing the opposite at the CAV rally. I was coming from the bohemian Main & Broadway neighborhood in Vancouver, where the bulk of my acquaintances would no doubt risk imprisonment rather than go to a war zone. And here I was spending the weekend with red-bloodied, patriotic men and women who are somehow able to eschew personal politics and fight wherever our country sends them, no questions asked. At first, it boggled my mind.

But two things become clear to me during the rally that helped me understand. Firstly, joining the military is a job, and like many other jobs in the world, sometimes you have to do things the boss tells you to do even if you don't agree that it should be done. The second thing I realized was that accepting the military decisions of our politicians are politics in themselves - and patriotism can be a hell of a lot more respectable than not giving a damn at all.

Time and again, when I asked people their on various missions, they would reply, "I'm a soldier, not a politician" - though some members were more openly critical of decisions made by government. At any rate, the veterans aren't oblivious to the controversial nature of their work.

Mike Lacharite, who just got back from serving 13 months as Chief Warrant Officer RSM in Afghanistan, joined the military 35 years ago at age 17, primarily for the unique challenge. He says that while controversial politics surround Afghanistan, there are still many Canadians who, despite their opposition to the mission, still support their troops. He believes the CAV is essential in raising public awareness of the many thousands of veterans who have suffered both mental and physical injury during their service in peacekeeping and war zones.

While events such as the rally's 100 motorcycle CAV convoy to a local branch of the Royal Canadian Legion or the afternoon ride to Cowichan Bay - a picturesque fishing village north of Victoria - certainly garner public attention, this is merely a by-product of CAV's larger goal of providing veterans with a place of refuge as they reintegrate back into society.

"For the first month I was back (from Afghanistan), personally, I had a fear of crossing bridges and culverts because that's where the Taliban would place explosives," says Lacharite. "It's a bit of an adjustment and every person that comes back from something like that has their own way of dealing with it. Some folks have a harder time doing it and some need help - and they get it professionally - but the other side of the therapy is something like the CAV."

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was largely unrecognized until recently, dismissed in the past as "shell shock". Though many CAV members told me that Veterans Affairs has gotten much better at acknowledging mental trauma, many veterans are ashamed, and if they do try to get support they still encounter all sorts of red tape.

Debbi Ferguson recently retired from 20 years of service and joined the CAV in 2006. Her 24-year-old son is an eighth generation military veteran who recently returned from his third tour in Afghanistan with PTSD. Ferguson is a wonderfully friendly and feisty blond, and she was one of the first females in Canada to serve in both combat arms and the navy.

"They don't pay our troops enough for what they do. There's got to be a lot more support for mental injury," she says, thankful that she and her son can work through their bad days together. "We shouldn't still have to fight for the military sending us away and breaking us." Despite the demands of the military and the time she's missed with her kids over the years, she says serving her country was a personal decision that she doesn't regret.

One night in the Legion in Langford, which is one of 13 municipalities comprising Victoria's Capital Region District, she explained that the military is like an international extended family, a subculture with its own lingo and unwritten codes of conduct. But she found it necessary to add that the military "also creates alcoholics, druggies, smokers and broken relationships."

Another at the table, an Avionics Tech known as "Fuzzy Ball", said that compared to bureaucracy-laden veterans organizations, the CAV "saves lives."

It struck me then that all these people, who are willing to give so much of themselves for the benefit of all Canadians, have come to accept that veterans must look after each other rather than expect adequate post-service care from government services. The closest thing to a reasonable explanation was that troops are taught that, no matter their rank, the most important thing is to "look after your men" - an ethos that carries through to their daily lives, even after retirement.

I first noticed Ferguson as she was riding ahead of me during the 100-bike convoy on a banana-yellow, custom Pro-Street rigid chopper - with a matching yellow jacket. A biker for more than 20 years, she was recently trained in air-brushing as part of a military re-education program for retired veterans. Her latest project was her own Kill Bill movie-themed bike, complete with splashes of blood and a samurai sword.

"I think the whole Kill Bill themes of revenge, death, survival and starting a new life, that's kind of what I'm about," says Ferguson, who has studied martial arts, served several tours and beaten cancer.

While her father was serving he taught infantry to assemble and ride military motorcycles. The regular use of motorcycles by the Canadian military ended when Jeeps largely replaced them during WW11. However, since 1913, there have been thousands of Canadian military motorcyclists that have carried dispatches, escorted convoys, directed military traffic and done advance reconnaissance during operations. The CAV crest is the image of a dispatch rider from a WW11 recruiting poster.

Dave Munro entered the military in the 1950's at age 16 and is now the Deputy Zone Commander of the Royal Canadian Legion. Though he isn't a member of the CAV, he's worked with them to fundraiser for a veterans housing program in Victoria and took part in the CAV's wreath-laying ceremony during the rally. Munro told me a story from an old sergeant of his who was a dispatch rider in WW11. It's a tale that seems to represent the unspoken connection between motorcyclists that we still encounter on the roads today.

"He was driving along a hedgerow on his motorcycle delivering some message to headquarters and saw a German dispatch rider on the other side," recounts Munro. "But by the time they saw each other they were too close - they had drawn their weapons but they were too close to shoot - so they both nodded at each other and kept going."

In a time before satellite communications, motorcycle couriers were the fastest way to pass messages between battlefields. By WW11 Canada and its allies produced 700,000 motorcycles for the war effort, despite a prevailing negative perception of motorcyclists in North America at the time. In 2008, due to a CAV national initiative, this little-known history of motorcycles in our military was recognized and awarded a place in the Canadian Motorcycle Hall of Fame.

"I was thinking today when we were standing on parade, that there's a connotation for a lot of people with motorcycle gangs, but (the CAV) is certainly 180 degrees from what people think," says Munro. "When (the military priest) spoke about the roar of the motorcycle, going up the road thinking of your comrades that have passed away and aren't able to ride, it brought a tear to my eye to hear him say that. These guys are making the motorcycle community look good."