Driving a truck to Ukraine

Conrad Brunner

This all starts with my friend, Conrad Brunner, who I worked with at PokerStars, back in the early aughts. I will leave the initial description of Conrad to Victoria Coren-Mitchell, a grand dame of British journalism and TV. Vicky and Conrad played in home poker games together back in the day, and she remembered him when she wrote her poker memoir, For Richer, For Poorer:

But Conrad always says thank you. Conrad is awfully polite, very pukka. I think he might be related to an earl. He is easy-going and smiley, possessed of a genuinely optimistic temperament. God knows what he’s doing playing poker. Must have taken a wrong turn one day. He runs a charity tournament every Christmas, to raise money for a cancer hospital. He’s the nicest guy that ever comes here.

I mentioned him to a mutual colleague, who said, “What I remember about Conrad is that he always wore a sport coat.” Which was true, even when everybody else was in hoodies and trainers. I follow almost nobody on Facebook, but I continued to follow Conrad because, well, because Conrad was a breath of fresh air.

Then, when the war in Ukraine broke out Putin invaded Ukraine, Conrad Brunner and his family took a Ukrainian woman and her son into their home. Ms. Coren-Mitchell’s keen poker eye was also a fine judge of character.

One thing led to another, and then Conrad fell in with an organization called Pick-ups for Peace, made up of Scottish farmers. Mostly ex-military. Now, if you ever wanted to Get Shit Done, starting with a bunch of ex-military Scottish farmers sounds perfect.

“P4P” purchases used pick-ups – mostly 4×4’s. They fill them up with medical supplies, and then they drive them to Ukraine. They hand the entire package, pick-up and all, over to the Ukrainian military. So far, they’ve delivered 338 pick-ups, all packed with life-saving supplies.

They reckon that every pick-up saves at least one life.

[Post-convoy note: our convoy contained vehicle #400. The trucks just keep coming.]

In March of 2024, Conrad’s wife, Cecily, and a co-driver, Katie, collected donations, purchased and outfitted a 4×4, and drove it to Lviv, Ukraine.

In April, Conrad himself, and his co-driver, James, raised money to purchase a pick-up, loaded it up, and drove it to Lviv.

More than money

Over the past decade or so, I’ve decided that the way I best help change the world is send money to places where it can make a difference. I’ve been absurdly fortunate financially, and I can give far more than most. And I seem to be pretty good at making more money. So rather than canvass during elections or work on phone banks, I spend time trying to make more money, then send it to the most effective organizations.
But I’m an old man now, and I’m feeling the need to get my hands dirtier. To put my boots on the ground. As I watched Conrad, and Cecily and all those ex-military Scottish farmers, I thought…

“I want to drive a 4×4 to Ukraine.”

It seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. I’m retired – I don’t owe my time to The Man. I don’t think it’s particularly dangerous, but…

I was out for a hike with my friend, Jennifer, whom I’ve known for over 20 years. I told her about Pick-ups For Peace, and my plan to drive one of these 4×4’s to Ukraine. She paused.

“Is it safe?”

“I mean, probably…”

Jennifer stopped me. “That’s not really the point, is it?”

No, that’s not really the point. Life makes no promises. The county in which we live, Alameda, in the San Francisco Bay Area, has a per capita freeway gun violence rate five times higher than Los Angeles County (per this report). Three days ago, a woman driving to her shift as an emergency services dispatcher for Alameda County was struck and killed by a drunk driver, less than a mile from our house.

I have a great life and would like to continue it for a good while longer. But if it’s going to be cut short, far better it be while driving a pick-up to Ukraine than driving home from the poker club.

The details

I’m confirmed for Pickup For Peace’s August convoy. In a stroke of unbelievable fortune, Conrad has volunteered to be my co-driver. Obviously I immediately accepted. Also, after some soul-searching, I decided to raise external funds (rather than pay for it out of my pocket). I am persuaded that inviting people to donate raises awareness. Hell, somebody might go from getting out their credit card to driving a truck. If I make one person do that, then the fundraising will have been well worth it.

You can donate to my trip here:
[Post-convoy note. We went above and beyond our dollar target – something that still blows my mind. If you wish to donate, please do so directly to Pick-ups For Peace.]

If you donate at JustGiving (the link above) they’ll ask for a “generous” tip. There’s a small “custom tip” button next to the slider, feel free to adjust to something you consider fair. I considered $1.50 fair. If you want to send crypto, get in touch with me and we’ll work something out. I’ll be happy to take your crypto and make a credit card donation on your behalf.

Whether you send money or not, thank you for your support – every good thought you send my way is felt and deeply appreciated.
Best, Lee

Monday, July 29, 2024

The money flowed in

The response I got to the fundraiser was absolutely overwhelming. Amounts large and small came in. Some of the small amounts were particularly overwhelming because they came from donors that I know aren’t awash in discretionary funds. People dug deep – I am humbled and honored by that.

Your truck, sir

During the intervening time, Conrad has done the heavy lifting. P4P had located the correct vehicle and purchased it. They also painted and did maintenance on it.

That’s Conrad and our Toyota HiLux truck. Think good thoughts for me driving a truck with (a) right-hand drive, and (b) a clutch. The good news is that I did both with relative ease when I was living in the Isle of Man, so it’s not as dramatic as it might sound.

Fill ‘er up

Conrad also took the truck to the supply depot somewhere in the south of England, where it was provisioned with medical supplies by Valentyna and her team. I’m being a bit vague about this for reasons that you can probably work out. If you can’t, read this article about Putin sending agents into the UK to poison a former Russian spy and his daughter.
One thing that I can be specific about is a supply that is being distributed across some of the trucks in the convoy – body bags.

War is body bags

This request came into the convoy’s WhatsApp group:

So I’m no expert on war, but I know one thing: war is not the cool hip recruiting ads for the Army and Marines that you see on TV. They make war look like a video game, which is bullshit.

War is body bags, and our convoy is taking body bags to Ukraine.

Getting on an airplane

I’m flying to the UK in less than a week. I have a couple of days to get over jet lag and see some old PokerStars friends. Then Conrad and I throw our backpacks in the truck and head east.
Your good wishes will mean the world to me.

Friday, August 2, 2024

The trip has begun

I won’t be providing specific details here – they’re not terribly important. My wife knows where I’ll be day by day, and I’ll be updating here whenever it seems interesting.

By the way, if you’re reading this, there’s a decent chance you have my contact info. If you don’t, reach me on the contact page and I’ll get back to you.

Tuesday, August 6, 2024

Load it up

I got to Conrad’s house today at 5:00pm. We hadn’t seen each other in ten (?) years. We spent about 30 seconds saying our hellos, then he, his son Isaac, and I started loading the truck.

I had to look it up to be sure – a “theatre pack” is a special package of clean “linen” to surround a surgical operating site. I know what a syringe is.

By 6:15p, the truck was all loaded.

I’m good at this

One of the most heartening comments I’ve gotten from a few people, whose opinion I value, is that this is my lane. So far, there have been a couple of spots where I thought, “My nature, and my experiences over the last 67 years, have made me well-suited to this gig.” Even something as mundane as figuring out how to release a ratchet strap – it’s some combination of physical problem solving ability with a persistence to continue at it until I unravel the issue.

I’d like to think that loading this truck up and getting it to Lviv is something for which I’m a natural choice. I’d also like to think that my dad, were he alive, would be proud of what I’m doing. He would have raised an eyebrow at my struggling with the ratchet strap, rather than finding a diagram or instructions, but all roads lead to the same destination.

Tight fit

Everything is in the truck. Almost. Our suitcases are not. I think there’s room for them in the back seat. There’s some chance I’ll have to jettison everything but the absolutely necessary, leave the rest of it at Conrad’s house, and come back to Brighton to pick it up on return. I hope that won’t be necessary, but I have complete clarity that if that’s what’s needed, then my suitcase, not a box of syringes, stays back.

[Post-convoy note: I ultimately strapped my suitcase under the tarp with the boxes. Then we had a tarp failure at 80 mph in Germany. We pulled over at the next service station – my initial assessment was that my suitcase was gone. I then saw it had shifted but not gone out. Fortunately, two of our fellow trucks were at the station, and one of them had room for the suitcase in the actual cab.]

Bound for France

We leave tomorrow. Think good thoughts for us. Those of you who know me from the poker world know that I don’t wish poker players good luck. I wish them good decisions – the luck will sort itself out one way or another. So wish us good decisions, good planning, and determination.

See you from the road somewhere. If the laptop makes the packing cut.

Wednesday, August 7, 2024

And they’re off

My suitcase went under the tarp in back and then everything fit. We left on schedule and had an easy trip to the Chunnel. British customs checked our passports, and waved us through. French customs checked our passports and waved us through. But then the French police wouldn’t give us no peace – they claimed that we were nasty persons.

Not exactly, but they did pull us over and ask what was in the truck. So we got out and told them. Then they went through our luggage, took a big knife and cut open a few boxes at random. At some point I described the events as them “tossing the truck.” Ever thereafter, that’s the phrase Conrad used to describe the delay.

We were both persuaded that the olive drab military spray paint job didn’t do us any favors in terms of getting pulled over.

They asked if the vehicle was staying in the Ukraine, and I thought,

“FML. This is where they impound the vehicle and the supplies and maybe us.”

They asked if it would be used for military purposes, and we said we didn’t know – we just left the stuff there.

After 25-30 minutes they sent us on our way, but the head guy said (in French) to 2-3 trainees in the group, “If I wanted to be a bastard, I could impound the truck.”

We repacked the truck in the most haphazard way imaginable –I told Conrad we could sort rainproofing later but I wanted a lot of gone between us and the sidearm-carrying gendarmes.

We’re under the English Channel as we speak, sitting in the car, which is sitting on a car-train. First challenge level achieved.

If it’s 9:00pm, I must be in Köln

There’s really not much to say. We zipped across France, Belgium, and into Germany. Google Maps took excellent care of us at every turn, though to be fair, there weren’t that many of those.

We stopped for “lunch” at a service station in Belgium, where we filled up the diesel (74 EUR), and then ate in the Shell Cafe. Which is called the Shell Cafe because it’s in a Shell Station, so it’s everything you’d expect from that combination.

We made it to our hotel at 5:00pm, relaxed for a bit, and then had dinner right in the hotel restaurant. This enabled Conrad to get wiener schnitzel, and me to kick his ass at Open Face Chinese Poker, despite never having played the 2-7-in-the-middle variant. And yes, the deck picked me.

We’re having an early night tonight – we hit the hotel breakfast at 7:00am and then get on the road. I think it’s going to be a 12:00 hour day – 9.5 hours of driving and a couple of hours of leg-stretching. We spend the night in Poland tomorrow night, and then things get really serious.

This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco

Our WhatsApp group is filled with reports (and live location tracking) of the others in our group. Obviously, every one of them is a star. But what I don’t get is that many of them are taking side trips, either to historical sites (including some brave enough to visit Buchenwald), or scenic detours.

I don’t get this. If ever there was a “You had one job” situation, this is it. Every minute we’re out on the road, it’s another opportunity for Something to go Wrong. For instance, one team lost a tire in a fairly spectacular way.

That’s certainly not their fault, but it seems that taking on extra risk for side trips, even socially and personally important ones, isn’t keeping our eyes on the one goal each team has. That’s to deliver the truck and supplies to Lviv. Everything else can wait.

[Post-drop-off update: I need to note here a pair of our drivers who left on Sunday, planning a leisurely five-day drive to the rendezvous point in eastern Poland. Early in the trip, the vehicle all but stopped running, limiting them to 20 mph driving. Taking the “You had one job” mantra far beyond the call of duty, they limped across Europe, sleeping by the side of the road, living on the snacks they had brought, and getting temporary repairs when possible. Somehow, they kicked and dragged that truck to the Polish/Ukrainian border Friday night. The Ukrainian military will no doubt drop a new engine in it and then that truck will save lives. All because they refused to give up. They are absolute rock stars.]

This ain’t no foolin’ around.

Thanks for reading, and good night. See you in the morning.

Thursday, August 8, 2024

Get in the truck and drive until something makes you stop

Oh yeah, the driving. Piece of cake. We listened to a couple Nate Silver and Maria Konnikova “Risky Business” podcasts, and three episodes of the “Criminal” podcast. Both highly recommended. This isn’t a poker blog, but if you’re a poker content consumer (Conrad and I both are), Charlie Wilmoth’s “Third Man Walking” is a must-listen. Conrad and I basically nodded and agreed with everything he said throughout the episode we listened to.

Conrad also made the mistake of asking for a bluegrass sampler. I gave him “Ballad of Jed Clampett” (seemed like a good introduction to Scruggs banjo), then “Uncle Pen,” and “Old Train” – Tony Rice version. He told me how his mom, a professional classical violinist, fell in love with Jay Ungar, whose old-time fiddle playing became the soundtrack to Ken Burns’ Civil War documentary series. I knew of Jay Ungar through his work on Jerry Douglas’s Transatlantic Sessions albums.

Given that we were in that vein, I gave him a brief history of old-time music (old-time is not bluegrass is not old-time). If your mom’s a violin player, you’re probably a sucker for good fiddling, and Conrad was. I dropped Little Billy Wilson on him, and we just grinned at each other for the next five minutes.

The kilometers flew by and we stopped only when the fuel tank or our bladders demanded it.

I also want to give a special shout-out to T-Mobile, whose service has been absolutely rock solid from the UK to Ukraine. Generally the only way I knew we had crossed an international border was because my phone would ding with a text from T-Mobile saying, “Hi Lee! Welcome to Belgium. Free texts, 5 Gb of data per month, and $.25/minute for voice.” I rarely praise big multi-nationals, but T-Mobile’s service was integral to the success of our trip.

The Polish forest

The whole team spent the night at a hunting lodge in Poland – one of those places that time has forgotten. There was literally nothing memorable about it, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to get a decent night’s sleep and be on the road early the next morning.

Friday, August 9, 2024

And damned if we weren’t. Vince said breakfast at 6:30am, group photo at 7:00am, last truck off the grounds at 7:15am. I noted that Conrad and I were pulling out at 6:58am.

I should spend a moment on Vince G. He runs the show. He is relaxed and easygoing, right down to the shorts, no-peek socks, and leather moccasins. Sitting with a cappuccino and a cigarette, reading his phone, he looks like a well-to-do businessman taking a holiday but not quite able to escape the office. In fact, Vince is the nerve center of the P4P ground operation.

And children, I’ll tell you another thing: my one super-power is an uncanny ability to spot the smartest person in the room. When Vince G walks in, that title is spoken for.

Our destination was a store parking lot in eastern Poland, near the Ukrainian border. Apparently Conrad had it from Vince that we were supposed to be there at 12:00pm, 1:00pm latest, with a 2:00pm departure for the Ukrainian border.

I looked at Google Maps and said, “Conrad, it’s five and a half hours of driving from where we started, to that store. If we literally didn’t stop, which we can’t do, we’d be there at 12:30. And that’s assuming we hit no traffic, etc.”

Part of the problem here was James Martin. I got to visit briefly with him once we were in Lviv, and it’s clear that he has distilled the “You have one job” mantra down to its absolute essence. Within the WhatsApp group that the convoy had, we could see on a Google map where everybody was. And way out there in front, hours ahead of everybody else, was James Martin, and his driving partner, Patrick.

“Do you think,” I wondered, “That they’re not real people? Like – they’re NPCs created by Vince to exhort us to faster, more efficient driving?”

I am now persuaded that James and Patrick are real people. But I will lay odds that you won’t see them in the group picture that we took Friday morning at the Polish hunting lodge. Nope, I bet they were out at first light, hauling their truck east. Superstars.

We made it to the store parking lot around 1:30pm, which I thought was very respectable time. The lot filled with P4P vehicles was a beautiful sight – and there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Onto Ukraine

From there, it was a one-hour drive to the Ukrainian border, and Vince wanted us all together. They had an arrangement with the border authorities to get us to the front of the line as a group (this is how P4P rolls) so we couldn’t have any ringers in the pack.

It was a humbling, beautiful sight to see all the trucks finally rolling along together toward the border, but the best was yet to come.

The hour flew by and soon we were at the border crossing. As I’d later understand, first we had to clear Polish customs, then drive 10 meters to Ukrainian customs.

On the Polish side, the border guard checked our passports and had us flip back the tarp (Dad, I am now a godd*mn master of ratchet buckles now), but just a handful of minutes and we were through. Neither of us, at any point, saw a Polish border guard actually inspect our load. This was deeply appreciated, compared to the French guards tossing the vehicle.

Hurry up and wait

Ukrainian customs was a whole different matter. It wasn’t so much that they were inspecting the cargo as the paperwork. They took our passports and vehicle registration, and disappeared inside the building. So there we sat, in no-man’s land, without a shred of useful documentation, waiting to be allowed through.

Careful where you choose to pee

While we waited, one of our fellow drivers, Emily, told a story about her previous P4P run (yes, there are angels among us). She was sitting in this no-man’s land, without her passport, and needed to pee (finding good times to pee was always a bit of a struggle, especially if you were James Martin’s co-driver). Emily saw a big open gate with a restroom on the other side (pointing to it as she told the tale), so she did the obvious thing – she walked through the gate, went in the restroom, and peed. Then she came back out and saw that the gate was closed. And now there were armed Ukrainian border guards yelling “Що в біса ти там робиш?!?!” at her.

“So you were f*cked, right?”

“Very f*cked.”

Emily had literally crossed the border back into Poland. Without her passport. Some amount of chaos ensued, but the right people stepped in, and she was let back through the gate. Emily’s WhatsApp avatar now has the “International Incident Challenge” badge on it. And yet, she re-upped for another trip. What a rock star.

The Right People

When I say the “Right people” stepped in to rescue Emily, there are three specific names that come to mind – the aforementioned Vince, Iryna the Translator, and Oleg the Ukrainian lawyer.

Vince, as I said, is charge of the whole operation. He’s British, has a Ukrainian wife, and has various enterprises in Ukraine. When the war started, he threw everything he had into helping the Ukrainians.

Iryna manages a company in Lviv (I think that’s correct) but spends her “spare time” acting as a translator for P4P and similar organizations.

I think I spoke to Oleg for maybe a word or two, but man, I am glad we have him and his shoulder-bag on our side.

As a guy who worked for The Man for 40 years, I’ve been around a lot of organizations. I’ve seen good ones, great ones, and awful ones. P4P is a Swiss Ukrainian watch. Every single person I dealt with across the organization was focused, efficient, and competent. After experiencing the team first-hand, I felt I’d made an excellent investment of my time and money.

Anyway, Conrad and I were some of the very last ones to get our passports back. I don’t know how Conrad felt, but as long as I could see Vince, Irina, and Oleg in my field of view, I had absolutely no concerns.

There was a guy in jeans and a t-shirt who was the Willie Wonka of the whole situation. He was the person who would ultimately show up with your passports, and a piece of paper the size of a credit card, that had a stamp on it.

Vince: “When they give you that piece of paper, do not lose it. You will drive 100 meters and hand it to a guard with an automatic weapon. They will let you through. Without that piece of paper, you will not go through.”

Conrad was driving, so I had to hold the piece of paper. No pressure.

Just a few meters past the piece of paper hand-off, all the trucks were lined up beside the road, waiting for the last of us. Finally the last few came in, and a Ukrainian police car pulled in to act as the back of the convoy.

We drove another 100 meters and there was a blue and yellow sign, with one word on it:

Ukraine

I got a chill down my spine. This was actually happening. But the chills were just beginning, because another few hundred meters ahead:

They had blocked traffic coming toward the border, and many people had gotten out of their vehicles to wave and cheer at us.

I am rarely lost for words, but both at the time, and at this moment as I write, I cannot express the emotions I was feeling. I know I said to Conrad,

“This made it all worthwhile.”

Headed into town

It was a 70-minute drive to Lviv city center, and Vince had warned us that people would try to cut into the convoy. We had been told to stop for nothing, including red lights. Conrad had a harrowing tale from his previous trip of narrowly missing a young woman pedestrian who had crossed through the middle of the convoy.

Somehow, none of that happened this time. I was worried exactly zero because we had the address of the town hall where we were supposed to meet and Google Maps (“Hello Lee, welcome to Ukraine…”) had it locked and loaded. But it was an undeniable rush to be in the middle of an actual convoy.

Halfway into town, the Universe gave us a big double thumbs-up too:

We made it to the Lviv town hall with zero issues – and I’ll admit your adrenaline pumps when you’re running red light after red light. Clearly the traffic skids had been greased – there were cars pulled onto the shoulder going in the opposite direction.

Mission accomplished

It was all a bit anti-climatic. We pulled into the parking lot in front of the “town hall.” A few people were standing around guiding us into parking places, and Conrad backed the truck in with me outside, giving guidance.

Conrad turned off the engine, and a wave of relief and joy came over me. At that moment, I didn’t care about anything else: we had one job – and we’d done it.

People stood around and took some pictures, but I just wanted to be in the moment – to look at over three dozen vehicles and see the happiness of not only our fellow drivers, but locals who were attracted to all the commotion. Most of the trucks, including ours, had been painted a drab olive green before the trip, so there could be no mistaking their purpose.

Random people walked up to us and gave us a thumbs-up, or said thank you.

Our orders were to get our personal belongings out of the truck, leave the keys in the ignition, and be on our way. I threw our remaining snacks in the front seat. I had kept my computer backpack with me, and thought I should find the truck with my suitcase in it. Turns out it had already been loaded into a small bus that was going to the hotel, so I’d be apart from it for a bit longer – never had I cared less about the possibility of losing my luggage.

Some trip veterans said that the hotel was a 500-meter walk through the center of town, and wouldn’t that be more fun? I mean, is that even a question? Conrad had already been caught up in another group, so some multi-trip vets took me in and we had a glorious stroll to the hotel.

They ultimately realized they weren’t fully sure where the hotel was, but I fired up Google Maps – it and T-Mobile got us there easily. On the way, we passed by a blind busker expertly playing a lute-like instrument, and singing beautifully in Ukrainian. It was as if Doc Watson had come back, and decided to settle in Lviv, rather than Boone. If you know me, you know that I had to stop and take it in – my little group was so gracious about letting me spend a few precious minutes there. I put a €10 note in his jar, and on we went.

Decompression

The little bus was unloading as we arrived at our hotel, and I saw my suitcase come out of the back just as I walked up.

The Leopolis (think “Lion City”) Hotel is less than 20 years old, and thoroughly modern and luxurious in every respect. A young woman was standing at the entrance issuing room keys to everybody, and within a couple of minutes, I was settling into my excellent room, overlooking a bustling square in the city.

They told us on the WhatsApp group that there were sandwiches waiting for us in the hotel bar, and I realized that I hadn’t really eaten since our 6:30am breakfast. It was going on 4:00pm, and yeah, I could eat a sandwich.

The rest of the evening was socializing and hanging out. There are some great stories of friendship, community, and experience from our 36 hours in Lviv, and I may write those down sometime. Mostly so I’ll remember them.

But I want this narrative to be about us taking the truck to Lviv, and why we did it.

Saturday, August 10th, 2024

Cemetery

We got up for a great buffet breakfast, and the bus left at 9:00am for the cemetery. Ocsana, our tour guide, talked a little bit on the 15-minute drive, and then we went around a corner…

We all got out of the bus, and Ocsana began telling us about the cemetery, its history and so on. She is a fine guide and was doing a great job, but I couldn’t listen any longer.

I had to walk up into that field and hear what they had to tell me.

There were one or more photos on every grave, making it all the more heart-rending. At some graves, there were mothers and/or widows. Most were in black track suits, and were meticulously tending to the flowers, electric candles, and other decorations.

The ages ranged from sub-20 to 60’s, centered around mid-30’s I’d say. My younger son is 37.

Stalin once said, “When one person dies, it’s a tragedy; when a million people die, it’s a statistic.” But you need to hear some statistics:

• The 2023 population of Ukraine was 36 million, down about 15% from the 2021 population.
• From an August 2023 Congressional report (exactly a year ago): “In just a year and a half, Ukraine’s military deaths have already surpassed the number of American troops who died during the nearly two decades U.S. units were in Vietnam (roughly 58,000).”
  
  For context, the U.S. population in 1970 (the height of the Vietnam war) was 200 million. The current population of Ukraine is 36 million.
• The official number of civilian deaths in Ukraine is 11,500 – everybody agrees that the actual number is much higher.

In short, the unspeakable sadness and misery before us represented a tiny fraction of the total, spread over a country with a tenth the population of the United States.

A stanza from a Stephen Stills song came into my mind, and hasn’t left since…

I think I see a valley, covered in bones in blue.
All the brave soldiers that cannot get older
Been asking after you.

They tell us that they figure every truck saves at least one life. If the truck that Conrad and I drove over saves one life… if it’s one less grave in that field, one less widow (or widower) and mother tending to flowers and candles, then I am content.

Ocsana said we’d be there 10-15 minutes. We were there for half an hour, and they had to drag the group away. As I walked out, I passed by a handful of new graves that hadn’t been “fixed up.” But the headstones were there, fresh from the past week or two. The last thing I passed was a new, empty grave, still being dug.

We next visited a memorial to the “Heavenly Hundred” – the people who died in the uprising of 2014. This was the push by the Ukrainian people to align with Europe, rather than Russia. Ocsana argued that that uprising ultimately led to Putin’s invading in 2022 – if the Ukrainian people could overthrow a corrupt dictator and align with free Europe, what was to stop the Russian people from doing the same?

Handing over the trucks

At 11:00 that morning, we had a little ceremony to hand over the trucks to the military. As we’d been alerted, all the cargo had been removed within hours of the trucks arriving, but the vehicles themselves were still there.

Some of the Ukrainian soldiers were there, and I’ll admit, I was in awe. These men are risking, in many cases giving, their lives for the independence of their nation. And not in some theoretical indirect sense. I am a child of the Vietnam War – do not try to sell me a narrative that our involvement there informed American freedom.

But these men, in their camo pants, and olive shirts – they are the only thing that stands between Ukraine and subjugation to an unspeakable dictator and despot.

A few people gave short speeches. In the group, there were three Americans, though I’m the only one who lives in the States these days. They asked me to give a little speech on behalf of the American contingent. I don’t remember much of what I said, though a handful of people came to tell me I’d done well.

I do remember saying that right now, it didn’t seem that the U.S. Congress could pass a law stating that the sky is blue. But somehow, they came together and passed aid to Ukraine. I paused, and the other two Americans, Tim and Doug, in unison, finished the thought for me: “We only wish it could be more.”

Then we took more pictures. They wanted a group photo of all the drivers. I knelt down in the front to make getting all of us in-frame easier. Then I was suddenly aware of 2-3 Ukrainian soldiers who had knelt down next to me for the photo op.

When the photo op was over, we would head back to the hotel, where they had a nice lunch for us. Then we’d wander around the city, maybe find a cappuccino in one of the many sidewalk cafes.

Those soldiers, they’d get in our trucks, and drive them straight into Hell.

Reflection

I am sure that the reflections will continue and morph for the rest of my life. I remember when Ed Bradley, the legendary 60 Minutes correspondent, passed away, his long-time colleague, Andy Rooney, said, “I won’t live long enough to stop missing Ed Bradley.”

I won’t live long enough to forget what I experienced this past week.

Young people

Most of the drivers in our group were older. This makes sense – we elder folk generally have the money and time to do something like this. But we had a handful of young people in their early 20’s. Kids using their school break or precious early career vacations to do something truly amazing. Harriet, who drove with her dad, Andrew – she turns 18 next month.

I went out of my way to tell them how proud I was of them, and how they’d set a terribly high bar for the rest of their lives. If they go up from there, there’s no telling what they might do for the world.

Heroes

Some of my friends have very generously and graciously said that I’m a hero for doing this. I try hard to accept compliments as given – it’s a pet peeve of mine when people pooh-pooh away a genuine compliment. But allow me a bit of nuance here…

Standing out there on the cobblestones in front of the town hall, I shook hands with heroes, and got to take pictures with heroes. Out in that infinitely sad field on the edge of town, I looked into the smiling eyes of heroes, in pictures, mounted on their graves.

Maybe David Bowie was right, and we can be heroes, just for one day. But some words – some words you want to reserve for select occasions. I have now seen and touched real heroes – I’ll never use that word lightly again.

Another trip

Will I go back?

I don’t know. My life seems to have infinite possibilities and permutations, even as I claim to be “retired.” So I’m unwilling to say that yes, I will go on another P4P convoy.

Would I go back?

In a heartbeat. I met some truly extraordinary people – the goodwill and desire to serve was palpable in every single driver I met. From the kids on break from university, to the retired couples who used it as a great excuse to get out of the house. From the ones who took side trips (including to Auschwitz and Buchenwald) to the James Martins, who set land speed records for crossing the European continent. Every one of them meant to Do Good, and did so with a matter-of-factness and humility that made me deeply proud to be included in their group.

Me, maybe I don’t want to be labeled a “hero,” but yeah, I Did Good. I think the best thing I ever did was, when Lisa and I first got married, I kept coming back, no matter how much her sons, David and John, tried to push me away. The therapist, she said, “You have one job: show up.”

“That’s pretty straightforward.”

At the time, I didn’t understand why she chuckled at me.

But I’m a simple man, and I could follow one-job instructions. So I showed up, and yes, it was a lot harder than I expected it was going to be. But I did it.

Last week, Conrad and me, we had one job, and we did it. I guess I’m just a one-job guy. And that one job – driving a truck full of medical supplies to Ukraine – that’s probably the second best thing I ever did.

What can you do?

Don’t stop reading.

Pass it along. Look up in the address bar of your browser. There’s the address for the blog entry you’re reading right now. Pick the right three people and send a link along to them. Tell them it’s an instant cure for doom-scrolling.

Send money. If you have the funds and are interested, you can always donate to Pick-ups for Peace. Look, there are hundreds – thousands of organizations out there Doing Good in the world, and they can all use your help. But none of us can help every one, and we have to choose. What I can say is that of all the organizations I’ve ever given to, I feel as good or better about this one than any other I’ve ever supported.

Make America do the Right Thing. Donald Trump, as President of the United States, literally withheld aid from Ukraine, to extort Ukrainian President Zelensky into doing an investigation into Hunter Biden. Let’s be very clear, the blood of those young Ukrainian heroes is on Trump’s hands. If he is elected again, he will no doubt spurn Ukraine’s needs so he can curry favor with his idol Vladimir Putin. And he will have to answer some day for even more Ukrainian deaths.

His vice-presidential pick, JD Vance, quoted in this Politico report, said, “I gotta be honest with you, I don’t really care what happens to Ukraine one way or another.” I encourage you to read the full Politico report – Ukraine is not all roses and rainbows. And they are at a huge disadvantage on multiple military fronts. Sure, they need trucks, but what they really need are anti-aircraft missiles and F-35s.

Get involved in the election. You can be very sure that a Harris administration will give much more aid to Ukraine than a second Trump administration. There are a hundred good reasons to vote for Kamala Harris instead of Donald Trump, but this is one of the better ones. Simply put: do you believe that, if Putin takes control of Ukraine, he’ll stop there?

Become an informed voter, and do what you can where it makes a difference. This election is going to come down to Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and Michigan (though omg Georgia and North Carolina may be in play now). Be smart about where you put your money and time – let’s make this a relative landslide.

Go on a convoy

Wait, what?

Go back and look at that group picture. Housewives, retired people, university kids. The entire spectrum came together to do something extraordinary.

Remember my story about the pair of drivers whose vehicle died right out of the starting gate? Yeah, here’s the rest of the story: those drivers were two women who had met in high school, fifty years ago. Those tough-as-nails grandmothers refused to be beaten by a recalcitrant truck. Now, somewhere down the road, one or more Ukrainian soldiers are going home to their families because of those two rock stars.

So please don’t tell me you can’t do it. Drop a letter to Georgia ([email protected]) and tell her I sent you. Then start packing.

All the brave soldiers that cannot grow older
Been asking after you.