I had been assigned to cover an event – the W100K Wounded Warrior Bike Ride – on George W. Bush’s 1,400-acre Prairie Chapel Ranch outside of Crawford, Texas. The idea was to bring awareness to soldiers injured in the wars since 9/11.

W100K Wounded Warrior Bike Ride

Fourteen soldiers were chosen for the W100K Wounded Warrior Bike Ride that would take place over three days. Suffering young men with missing arms, legs, intense facial scars and then there were those with the wounds you could not see – brain damage from a rocket attack in Falluja, post-traumatic stress disorder from watching a buddy bleed out in the back of a Humvee.

For every mile of their ride our smiling president, in the best shape of his life, blazed the trail.

When did I first see the man? We were standing in the cordoned off knoll, looking over rich green, ungrazed fields planted with sunflowers not yet in bloom. In July, they would make his river road a yellow Wizard of Oz-like scene, perfect for presidential photo ops.

They call President Obama, “The President of Cool.” He calls himself the “Cowboy President.” I call Bush, “The Casual President.” On this day he wore Crocs.

It was around 7 a.m. when Bush came driving by on his Gator at the W100K Wounded Warrior Bike Ride, an off-road style golf cart with a plexiglass windshield. My photographer nudged me.

“That’s him,” she said. “The President.”

I followed the Gator on foot down a stony trail towards the refreshments area.

Using an excuse to an aide that I was looking for the bathrooms, I hid behind the campus of air-conditioned port-a-potties, each alone larger than my apartment and probably cooler in the summertime. The bathrooms were arranged behind the powerbar tent where now Bushy, as he is often called, was mingling with a group of ne’er-do-wells and Secret Service agents after a long night of beer drinking.

“Old (so-and-so) here is still nursing off a hangover,” he said, “Heh he, he,” and lunged the Gator toward the table of attendants as a sort of crude joke. The veterans at the W100K Wounded Warrior Bike Ride were mortified. “Should I take it easy on ’em today?” he asked, “Heh, he, he.”

***

The day of the W100K Wounded Warrior Bike Ride was overcast. Clouds seemed to capture the air in an unnatural stillness. Like a 1930s Hollywood studio scene, the ranch was set up in a series of confined spaces perfect for the camera lens. It didn’t fool me.

I come from Uvalde, Texas, the land of John Wayne and gunslinger Kingfisher. My family has operated a ranch in Zavala County since the 1920s. That Texas is considered part of the Chihuahua Desert, some of the roughest country in the western hemisphere. As my late grandfather, Brandon C. Janes II, used to  say, “If it doesn’t scratch you, bite you, sting or stick you, it is probably a rock.”

Sitting on the dirt, waiting for the press conference to begin, I was sure I was not in that Texas.

“Play It To The Max.”

With a drumroll-like clamor of photographer shutters and videographers shuffling their gear, Bush rode up on his mountain bike to the microphone bouquet. The press conference had begun. Straddling his Trek, sweat soaking through microfiber moisture-wicking technology of his t-shirt, the Casual President spoke to those in attendance at the 3rd annual W100K Wounded Warrior Bike Ride.

“Here the thing about life: You’re going to get dealt a hand you didn’t want to play. And the question is, How do you play the hand when you get dealt,” Bush said. “You play it to the max.”