Riding my motorcycle in 106º heat in early August of 2023, at my ripe-mature age, is not for the faint of heart. On this day, it is an experiment of my own human endurance. Could I survive this day? Could I be able to endure a six to eight-hour motorcycle ride on the high plains of Nebraska and Kansas? Travel the Highways/Interstate system, to live to tell of the ordeal? That was the question I needed to answer.

You see, I suffered a heat-stroke in August of 1983, on a forced march while in the Army’s basic training. It was Fort Dix, New Jersey. A hot, humid Sandbox of a hellhole. Great for a place to break young eighteen and nineteen year old boys. Yes, boys, none of us were yet men, not real men, in the truest discretion of the noun.

As terrible of an event as I had suffered in my life, perhaps ever, in the sense of physical suffering goes. On this day, we started out in the back of a two a half ton (a large truck called a ‘deuce-and-a-half’ or ‘Dus-n-haff’) truck, in route to the firing range. The firing range was always a great place to go to, because I grew up shooting and hunting. I was a very accomplished, as a shooter. This exercise, as they called it, was like entertainment to me. I found out later that day, the shooting range is not an enjoyable place to return from, when things turn bad.

So, upon our departure, the drill-sergeants informed us that, we are footing it back to the barracks. A nice “brisk walk, in the soft sandy forrest” of New Jersey that surrounds the Army base. Needles to say, we took the long scenic route, described to us as twenty-two miles of hell. It truly was.

The weather as to be expected was close to 100º, I really never recollected the exact temperature, other than my boots felt like there were at the point of melting just a mile or two into this horrible experience.

I am one of those never give up types, I learned this from my family and my middle brother, who shamed me for wanting to quit baseball as a little kid. I embraced this as a commandment not just a rule to live by. This has served me well all my life. Until this day, anyway. Starting out, this day was a day, when I should have done a couple things differently.

I should have drank more water, I should have realized that I didn’t need to keep up with those with a foot longer stride than I did. And I should have listen to the signals my body was sending me. Like dizziness, head-ache, and not sweating anymore.

What finally broke was my internal cooling system, and when it broke, it broke like a wave. In an instant, I went from striding along, to having every muscle in my body cramped and convulsing uncontrollably. I remember falling forward, still clutching my AR-M16 diagonally across my chest, I was tipping, like a tree that had just been felled. I crashed into the soft sand, face first, unable to stop the tremors that we’re trying to break my bones, to tear my tendons in every part of my body. I can still hear my screams through my clinched teeth, and squinting eyes. It happened so fast, I thought I had slipped into a surreal nightmare, one where I was going to, quit surely die.

It wasn’t but a few seconds or maybe thirty seconds, it’s hard to tell, that I heard the drill-Sargent screaming as he was coming from a short distance, to solders around me. “Pick that soldier up!!”. “Do it NOW, get him on his feet?”

The nearby soldiers didn’t know how to respond, they were as shocked as anyone to see one of their companions suddenly on their ground and in a desperate situation. The first thing I remember was the drill-Sargent, repeating his first commands, and then his big handed grip on my gear harness. He yanked me to a standing position while yelling at a couple by-standing troops to take over. I was still, stiff as a board. He made them waddle me, back and forth, to force me to use my Legs to walk forward. Then he started slapping me in the face to shock me back to reality. Then he screamed at me, to “walk if off soldier!”, “you must walk!”. After a few moments of me trying to move and shank the craps from my body, he told me to let go of my weapon. Because of our training, we are NEVER to let our weapon leave our control. I started to protest, and he said. “That’s an order soldier!” I let go reluctantly and kept moving my rigid body back and forth, sideways like a penguin’s waddling stride. After many long moments, perhaps even a couple minutes I was able to walk and bend my arms. The whole time cringing inside as column after column on troops passed us by. I was falling behind.

The Drill-Sargent walked up to me with another Sargent close behind, both with terrible concerned expressions drawn across their faces. The second Sargent, asked me a few questions, checking on my lucidity. Finding I was aware and alert to what had happened, he said I think you caught him in time, better get some water and salt tablets in him and give him a break on the dus-n-half. He turned and marched away. The first Drill-Sargent turned with a uncommon smile, as he said, get on the truck and drink a lot of water, take these salt tablet too.

I protested, “I am fine Sargent, please don’t make me set in the truck!” Confidential, I said quietly added, “… I don’t want to look like a quitter, like those guys.”

He smiled with a huge proud smile this time, “I like your dedication troop, but this is an order.” After a second or so, he finished with, “It won’t be for too long, I will be by to check on you soon. We see how you are doing then.”

About fifteen minute, perhaps longer, after I had drank two canteens of water, the Sargent come over to the truck as we rumbled along at our slow pace.

“How are you feeling Longnecker?”

“I am feeling ready to finish this forced march Drill Sargent, may I please get the hell out of this truck now?”

“Your my kinda soldier Private, get the hell out of that truck and go join up to your platoon. Take your time, we are not in a race.” As, I was jumping out and started to jog to see where my platoon was, he yelled at me.

“I said take it slow! Walk, you catch them in no time.”

I did finish that forced march, and, I did it without any more trouble. We walked into the barracks parade grounds after sundown around 9:30 p.m. We were released to clean our weapons before turning them into the armory, then off to bed.

While cleaning my weapon, the same Sargent came over to me as I leaned against the tree I was using as a chair back.

“How are you Longnecker?”

“I am as tired as I have ever been, Drill-Sargent.”

Well, I don’t hand compliments out very often, but I am proud as any drill-Instructor can be with you efforts today. And, how you fought to get back to your platoon. Exemplary behavior of any self-respecting soldier.”

I was shocked, up to this point of my basic training, this Drill-Sargent had rode me harder than most anybody in the unit, I thought he hated me. Of course, that was his job, but he paid particular attention to my shortcomings up to now. Always calling me out at the slightest flaw.

“Thank you Sargent, that means a lot to me.”

He then ordered me to go to sick-bay in the morning and take the next day off.

The next day the doctor told me, “You were lucky you didn’t die yesterday, that Drill-Sargent saved your life, your could have had a heart-attack or had brain damage.”. He then proceeded to inform me that the heat-stroke will make it difficult to take the heat as the years go by. He was right and I have always suffered from any time spent in the sun. It takes a toll on me, and if I do not regulate my core temperature, I will get heat exhaustion quit easily.

In the end, it has become a part of my life that I know how to maintain. Because it is a matter of life and death, literally.