But where would the bikers all come from? "Ray said if we could set it up, he'd bring the bikers." And bring the bikers he did. The fledgling group split up the work, contacting the parks service, getting permits and printing up flyers. It would be some nine months later that the rugged Marine's dream became Rolling Thunder.

From as far away as Oregon and California they came, from back country dusty hollows and big bustling cities, some came alone, some rode in cycle convoys. Many joined up as they met on the long road to Washington, and rode the rest of the way together in one common goal.

Rolling Thunder had somehow struck a chord in the hearts of vets everywhere from all walks of life. That year the bikes first ran, it was hard to count the numbers roaring into D.C. from America's heartlands.

"We thought 2500 bikes on the first run was a whole bunch," Sides explains. Little could the Rolling Thunder's founding fathers know then the movement would grow each year to the expected 200,000 in 2001. "Each run it's gotten bigger and bigger and bigger."

As Rolling Thunder expanded, so did its support base. Where at first veterans had to stick their necks way out to demonstrate for their own, now a good part of the riders are civilian. Thousands of Americans come out to give very public thanks for the sacrifices of veterans like these, as well as those not yet accounted for.

So what keeps vets like Walt Sides from just packing up and quietly going away? According to him, it's pretty simple:

"If we turn and walk silently away, nothing will ever change," he maintains. "That's why we can never just turn and walk away."

All in all, pretty eloquent words for an old retired Marine, who doesn't give interviews.