The fire crackled low, casting a flicker of orange across the side of our machines parked just off the gravel trail. Beyond the tree line, the last bit of sunlight gave the sky a soft, amber hue. It was the kind of evening you don’t rush. Where stories come slow, steady, and honest; just like the folks telling them.
They weren’t talking about their new mods, or tire specs, or trail maps. No, not tonight. Camp felt smaller this year. Quieter. A few less laughs, a few more pauses between sentences. Dusty boots ringed the fire, the kind that had seen more than one hard season. Hands that had turned wrenches and gripped rifle stocks sat still for once. Eyes looked down more than usual, not out of sadness, but out of reverence.
"Lenny used to ride with us up here every May,” one of them said, nodding toward the ridge line. “He always had a flag flying on his rig. Said every trail ought to remember the ones who gave us the freedom to roam this country.”
They paused for a moment, not for drama, just for memory.
That’s how it always went. A story about someone they served with. A quiet thank you spoken in the form of a raised flag or a decal stuck to the windshield, and always a toast over the campfire. And when the fire burned down low, they didn't need music or noise. The wind through the dancing flames and the rustle of leaves said enough. It was nature's way of telling them the night was over. On cue, someone would raise a cup, not for ceremony but out of respect. One last swig, then their cups would hit the fire, sparks rising toward the stars. And in the hush that followed, they’d whisper a name or two into the dark, hoping the wind carried it far enough to be heard.
They’ll ride again tomorrow. Not for the thrill of it, but for the meaning of it. Through woods, past fence lines and faded crosses, carrying on the names of those who didn’t get the chance to come back. Out here, gratitude is in all we do. It’s in the stories passed between riders, the quiet nods at an empty chair, the way the flag still waves off the back of a rig without needing a reason. This Memorial Day, 3 Star UTV honors those who gave everything. Let their stories ride with us through every mile, every trail, and every season.
Lord,
Thank you for this land and for the freedom to live, work, and ride in it. As we pause this Memorial Day, we remember the brave men and women who gave their lives so we could enjoy quiet moments, open trails, and all the blessings of this country. We ask you to comfort the families who carry on without them and bring peace to those still carrying the weight of war. Help us live our freedom with gratitude and purpose, never forgetting the sacrifice that made it possible.
Amen.
