A Worthy Hero (Who No Doubt Doesn't Think of Himself that Way)

Photo of Wesley Barrientos in Bakersfield, California. Photo by me, digital manipulation by Katie Hannan.

Now that’s I’m finally coming out of the fog of pneumonia I can reflect on the people I met while out on the road. There were several who touched me with their stories and their kindnesses but there is one who motivated me every day and who will continue to motivate me every day—and that person is Wesley Barrientos.

Since 1989 I’ve dealt with my back injury and its impact on my life, what it’s taken away from me. All of my life I’ve dealt with bad knees and with every step I take worry they will stay underneath me. Both have stopped me from doing so much. I wish I had been a better physical specimen, sometimes angry about what I’ve never had and what has been taken away from me.

Until I met Wes.

Wes is a year younger than my daughter but an old, wise soul. I don’t know the kind of person he was before he lost both legs to an IED in Iraq in December 2007—his third tour of duty in that God-forsaken place. I do know he is a man of action and a man who says “Why not? Let's do it!” instead of “I can’t.”

Wesley volunteered for the United States Army as soon as he graduated from high school. He wanted to be infantry and insisted that be his job. He wasn’t signing up for military service to be a cook or a supply person or a paper-shuffler—he meant to fight, and fight he did.

Wesley was wounded a total of three times—he is the recipient of three Purple Hearts. Seriously, in his chest beats the heart of a lion that simply doesn’t understand the words “no” and “can’t.”

To listen to him talk about the act of war that took away his legs is chilling and usually brought tears to my eyes. He was near the end of tour #3 and he and his squad were heading in for the day when Wes’ vehicle found a roadside bomb. The explosion took off his left leg and right foot right off the bat. He recalls waking up several days later in Germany, with fluorescent lights on the ceiling and a pretty nurse standing over him saying “Thank God you woke up!”

His reply: “Thank God I woke up!”

“Do you know what happened?”

Knowing that he wasn’t in Iraq anymore, and knowing what it took to get airlifted out of there, he replied, “I got blown up.”

That’s Wes. Why mince words?

The nurse went on to explain that he’d lost his left leg, and would probably lose more of his right leg, too.

“Is that all?”

She explained he also had a broken back and broken jaw.

“Is that all? I expected you to tell me my guts were all hanging out and that you were waking me up to say goodbye!”

When he was transferred to Walter Reed Army Hospital, the doctors there asked him his goals. Nobody told him he couldn’t walk or eventually run, so he said he’d be doing both in 6 months.

The doctors tisked him and said more like 18 months, son.

Wes made a liar out of those doctors and was true to his words.

I watched Wes walk anyplace he wanted, places I wouldn’t go. He motored up stairs as if he were a 4-year old on two good legs. There was one day, stopped in the middle of nowhere in the Mojave Desert where he and his riding partner Jeremy Staat looked up at a rocky mountain and wished they had time to climb it. Thing is, I have no doubt Wes would have.

Wes talks about the one time he parachuted from a plane and how he landed in a tree, breaking an ankle. He talks about not wanting to have it x-rayed, and how frustrated he was to have to have light duty—and in a bit of foreshadowing, how he stopped using his walking cast long before he should have.

I never heard Wes complain of pain. The only time he complained was when he was hungry after a day’s ride, and he really didn’t whine a lot. He was in the process of treating some blisters that were developing on his hands where he pushes and pulls the crank that powers his bike. He wasn’t really complaining, just doing preventative maintenance.

He and I had a conversation about his rehab, and how the doctors were giving him oxycontin for pain. He felt the use of oxycontin was holding him back, and he’s not one to be dependent on anything—so he quit cold turkey after taking the meds for four months. He takes no narcotics for pain today.

The day we visited the Nevada State Veterans Home really gave me the opportunity to see what a quality guy Wes is. There were around 30 veterans in wheelchairs, perhaps 10 ambulatory, waiting for Wes and Jeremy to come in with their bikes. While waiting, we spoke to some. I was enamored of two gentlemen right in front—a pair of WWII and Korean War Navy men.

After a brief time at the podium, the riders worked the room, so to say. I watched Wes sit down with Army veterans and just listen to them—not moving his eyes off their faces, really hearing their stories, taking their words to heart. As each conversation came toward an end, he’d call me over to take photographs. He smiled, but the smile of the veteran he’d just conversed with had an even bigger smile.

He later remarked how much he’d been touched by the visit. I saw that there is a bond connecting our veterans of all ages—their “wars” may have been separated by decades, but the experiences touch them the same, and remain with them forever. There are few experiences in life that do that.

(A quick aside. The Nevada State Veterans’ Home is just that—a home. The staff are all mission-oriented and if I were still working as an RN I’d be proud to be working there. The mission is the care and respect due to the residents for serving this country—there are no patients there.)

When the 100-day ride is over—and I have zero doubts that Wes will finish—he will come back to Bakersfield and continue the paperwork to have his “Life Over Legs” Foundation become a 501(c) charity, and begin to fight the VA for his education benefits so he can attend Bakersfield Community College and eventually finish a 4-year degree. (Yes, our veterans have to jump through hoops to get their education benefits, and the VA just loves looking for loopholes to deny those benefits. If a veteran wants to attend college, he or she must start the paperwork a semester before, and that's no guarantee the paperwork will go through or be approved. Shameful.)

Wes’ goal for “Life Over Legs” is to fund visits to military hospitals, clinics and rehab facilities, to give hope and inspiration to wounded soldiers. Watching Wesley stride into any room on two titanium legs is certainly inspiring, and it is a sure thing that anyone watching Wesley, or hearing his story and seeing him today, will think “If he can, certainly I can too.”

I will try to pay attention to when Life Over Legs gets its non-profit status—a donation will certainly be an investment that will pay dividends in the lives of so many of our physically and mentally-wounded soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. Wesley Barrientos is the guy who will make a difference long after every single serviceman and woman is brought home from that fleapit.

Day Six: Twentynine Palms “Day Off”

Photo: Arm patch right off of an Air Force general and a Coin of Excellence from a Marine Corps major. My treasures.

Thus far my sore throat hasn’t progressed very much.

Up and fully dressed by 8 a.m.—and I mean fully dressed by wearing a dress—business casual—for a pair of speaking engagements at Twentynine Palms Junior High and Twentynine Palms High School, followed by lunch at the officer’s club on base, another speaking engagement to newly-graduated from boot camp Marines, and then a “what do you want to see” tour of the base.

Jeremy spent time on base—specifically the semi-isolated, self-contained Ft. Nelson—before he was deployed to Iraq.

Kelly O’Sullivan, a civilian communications specialist for the base, met us in the motel parking lot. She was our personal chauffeur for the day—the base did not allow our vehicles of caravan on base, so Jeremy, Wesley, Heather and I climbed into Kelly’s borrowed mom van.

The first stop, at Twentynine Palms Junior High, was a group of students who were exploring the military as a career. The kids ranged from eager participants to kids who were put into the program because they’d gotten into trouble. Again the guys made their presentation, and then opened the floor for questions.

I was genuinely surprised at the football-related questions asked by some of the boys. It was as if all they’d heard of Jeremy’s talk was “NFL.” But Jeremy’s a trooper and answered the questions—no, I don’t know that guy, yes we beat that team.

Afterwards a line of kids asked Jeremy for his autograph, and he happily obliged.

Next, a quick trip to a mom-and-pop taqueria for breakfast burritos for the guys. Then we were off to the junior high—a group Jeremy most enjoys, at-risk kids.

As the kids entered the small classroom, you certainly could tell these kids needed plenty of guidance. Some of the girls dressed provocatively; the boys spoke loudly and schlepped in as if they’d rather be anyplace else.

After the talk Jeremy remarked about one girl in the audience who wore heavy make-up and a crop top. Part of Jeremy’s talk is directed to young women—you have more power and influence than you think: get your education, go to college, be self-sufficient and rely on no man. He could tell she was not only hearing but also listening, taking his words to heart. Perhaps she will be the one kid his talk saves on this day?

We were then off to the Combat Center at Twentynine Palms for lunch with the second-in-command major and base sergeant major, and the communications specialist. I was astonished at how nice the officer’s club was, and how good the food was. I had spicy shrimp tacos. Yum. The conversation was great and I learned lots about the military way. I also received my second on-the-road treasure.

When I was a kid, Ft. Hunter Liggett in south Monterey County and Ft. Ord in Marina/Seaside were both open. Both were Army bases; today Ft. Ord is a California State University location and Hunter Liggett is a minimally-active base. Located in the Santa Lucia Mountains at the edge of the Ventana Wilderness, Hunter Liggett is a dusty rural post—I don’t recall seeing the equipment being gleaming clean. At Twentynine Palms, also a dusty place, the equipment is clean—trucks, artillery, even parked tanks.

As we drove up to the next location, we noticed a group of around 100 young soldiers sitting on the asphalt in 80 degree weather. Jeremy called the group BOOTS—an acronym for Barely Out Of Training. This talk was slightly different—the message, take your training seriously, seize the opportunity and be proud of the family you now belong to, the USMC, a very selective family with a 250-year tradition. A short question-and-answer session followed, and off we went for a base tour.

Jeremy wanted to visit Ft. Nelson. He remarked that it had grown quite a bit since he’d been there. It’s build to resemble a military outpost in a desert environment. I am sure he felt pride and the eagerness of a child who gets an insider look at something that was important to him. Once a Marine, always a Marine.

We expected to be done early in the afternoon—best-laid plans but I wouldn’t have missed a minute. Back to uploading photos, and to bed in preparation for the 100-mile ride the next day.

Day Five: Barstow to Twentynine Palms

Eight a.m. comes early, and off we went toward Twentynine Palms, a 100 mile ride. It was already no-coat weather, so there was no doubt the day would be quite warm. We drove to where we ended the ride the day before—at the top of that “We’re not going there” hill. Jeremy and Wesley got onto their respective bikes, and headed on Route 247 toward Twentynine Palms. The van and I stuck with the guys for about half of the day. Right off the bat was a climb—naturally! The combination of the heat and the gentle hills sucked the hydration right out of the riders, and I was sent ahead to get fluids as they went through their usual day’s stock.

I am simply amazed by the amount of wide-open spaces in this part of California. I am reminded of the rugged individualism that abounded in the early California settlers. At first blush there is really a whole lot of nothing out here: monochromatic browns, tans and dusty greens. But there is also very clean air and deafening silence.

For those who have never been to Twentynine Palms, the “city limits” sign is pretty far away from the actual town center—it’s a stretched-out town build on gentle hills overlooking the Marine base which is obviously the city’s main industry. We had been instructed to set up at Luckie Park and there was a speaking engagement for Jeremy and Wesley at a town center.

Luckie Park is named for a Los Angeles physician who referred World War I veterans suffering from lung problems secondary to mustard gas exposure to the clean dry desert air. It’s a cute little place, with nice green lawns and shade trees scattered all over the park. There is a nice community swimming pool, too. We waited for a representative of the city to tell us where she wanted us to set up, but she never showed up. So the traveling circus set up, and visitors trickled by.

I’m not certain of the exact time, but as the agreed-upon time for the speaking engagement approached, it was clear there was no meeting hall nearby. There was a bit of a flurry and a scurry when the person who was supposed to meet us at the park came looking for us: she’d described the meeting hall as being “at the park” but the truth was it was above and across from the park—we did not see it. The guys of course knocked it out of the park, and the highlight of the event was when Jeremy shushed a man who was standing at the door and carrying on conversations during Wesley’s presentation. We later learned the shushed man was the city manager!

I managed to upload some photos but it was soon off to bed for a guided tour of the Twentynine Palms Marine Base, named the Combat Center at Twentynine Palms, tomorrow, our “off” day. So much for catching up with work.

Worst of all, I am getting a scratchy throat, typical for me when I’m exposed to extremes in weather.

Day Three: Anything But a Down Day

Our house while we were on Edwards Air Force Base. Sweet, huh?

Day three began with breakfast from Burger King—something we all really wanted to avoid. In the house the first night were two girls (Heather Haro, he operations director of the Jeremy Staat Foundation and moi) sharing a bedroom, Jason in one bedroom (single bed), Kevin (bike mechanic) in the master bedroom and Wesley on the hide-a-bed in the living room! When I went to bed I expected to have Jeremy in the master bedroom in the king-sized bed—don’t you agree that a 6’6” man deserves to be in a king-sized bed?—and I sure would have thought Wesley deserved to have a bedroom with an actual bed. But that man simply does not complain and he’s tough as nails. He’s breaking in a pair of new neoprene sleeves for his stumps, and he very matter-of-factly says breaking in new sleeves is tough, and that chafing and blistering is expected.

The first morning I learned Jeremy had slept in the motorhome. That’s where he wanted to be, too.

After inhaling breakfast, we went to the staging area to set up for the day’s festivities which consisted of making Jeremy and Wesley available for passerby. Unlike the day before when the commissary was closed for Presidents’ Day, the parking lot had plenty of activity and visitors to the Jeremy Staat Foundation’s information table, a traveling veterans’ center, and Healing Horses and Armed Forces (Charisse Rudolph and Penny the mini-horse).

There was work to be done though. The van has joined the caravan, and the three Foundation vehicles needed to be outfitted with CB radios. Because we had the luxury of a fully-equipped kitchen, I elected to volunteer to cook dinner and asked Wesley for his meal preference. He said he’d enjoy lasagna or spaghetti, so off I went to the commissary store to buy the ingredients for a green salad, lasagna and to bake a cake.

While I was cooking I took advantage of Edwards Air Force Base’s excellent Internet service. I still had photos to upload and plenty of other things to get done—like check over my media list and try to get information to some television stations, newspapers and radio stations along the way.

What I forgot to share with you all last night is that Dale left the house suddenly last night, saying he needed to check his house because a friend told him it had been broken into. He’d already claimed the sofa for sleeping, so God works in mysterious ways, giving the sofa and hide-a-bed to Wesley as his bedroom. I was not paying attention to what Dale was saying on the phone (he’d made numerous calls) and he suddenly just got up, grabbed his backpack and said “I’ll be back.”

Everyone converged on the house at about 7 p.m. Even Dale had returned. I had overestimated the eating ability of our party which consisted of the three riders, lead vehicle driver Jason, chase truck/bike mechanic Kevin, Dave the RV driver, Heather and myself. But everyone chowed down to their satisfaction and no one went to bed hungry.

Dale grabbed the sofa for sleep. We had a lot of work left to do; there was laundry and we needed to organize our first aid kits for each vehicle. It was a late night, and we finally went off to bed at around 11 p.m. I am pretty sure we are still running on adrenaline.

Day Two: Tehachapi to Edwards Air Force Base February 20, 2012

Wesley Leon-Barrientos (far left) and Jeremy Staat (far right) with the Edwards Air Force Base Fire Department, February 20, 2012.

Day Two started under gray skies but despite the early morning gloom, there was good news—after a quick breakfast at the Apple Shed (and if you ever find yourself in Tehachapi, you simply must stop there and have a meal or partake of the homemade baked goods or the bakery’s specialty fudge), Tehachapi Mayor Ed Grimes announced that $10,000 was raised for the Jeremy Staat Foundation as part of opening day’s citywide benefit events. He then presented the Keys to the City to Jeremy, Wesley and Dale, along with a special “Tehachapi” city pin. Around two hundred people were out on a gray morning to see the riders off.

It is surprising just how cold the high desert can be. More than one Tehachapi resident remarked that had the circus come through a week earlier, it would have encountered spring-like weather instead of the brisk 40 degrees from the day before. But the cold weather did not deter the five cyclists (two civilians elected to ride with Jeremy, Wesley and Dale) from donning their cycling gear and heading east on Highway 58 toward the first stop in the town of Mojave and a drive-through the former military base. With a quick snack and replenishing of beverages, the caravan headed toward Edwards Air Force Base and the final destination of the day and a docket of activities.

Because Edwards Air Force Base is an active military base, taking photographs is highly restricted. A one-day stopover is planned, with rest and recuperation for the cyclists, setting up our radios, impromptu visits to active-duty military who work and reside on base, and a day to catch up and send out media alerts! We are housed in a very cute 3-bedroom house on base with a fully-equipped kitchen, and I’m planning on making spaghetti & meat sauce for dinner tomorrow if Jeremy lets me get groceries—why not have home cooking while we can? A nice meal of pasta before Wednesday’s 78.1 mile ride will fit the bill perfectly for the riders and road crew!