When the alarm went off I could smell that the air (coming gently through the narrowly cracked window beside my head) was perfect for an early ride, and I met my chums at the bike shop before 7:30. It was just a bit nippy for May, but I was dressed appropriately, having poorly overcompensated on yesterday’s run. We completed 32 miles through Mercer County and back, and the only problem we had was blundering into a long stretch of chewed-off road surface near the Beaumont Inn.
Mombo is native to another beautiful county named Mercer, in Ohio. I got to thinking that I’ve never known anything about this Mercer namesake, so, since I’ve been thoroughly “Google-ized” over the past couple years, I checked it out. As usual, it didn’t take long to determine that both counties, like many in other states, including Pennsylvania and Illinois, were named after Dr. Hugh Mercer, Revolutionary War commander and physician who fled Scotland as a refugee after serving as an assistant surgeon at Culloden. He distinguished himself in America as a patriot, and, after Washington promoted him to Brigadier General, gave his life for his adopted homeland in 1777—
At the battle of Princeton, while leading the vanguard of the Americans, his horse was shot under him, and he was compelled to continue the contest on foot. He was surrounded by British officers, who ordered him to surrender. Drawing his sword, he was finally beaten to the ground with muskets and his body pierced with bayonet thrusts. With five wounds in his body and two in his head, he was left for dead on the field. He was carried to a neighboring house. When Washington heard of the fate of his old friend, he sent his nephew, Major Lewis, to watch over the final moments of the dying hero.
This was the price paid for my pleasant life… riding my bike like a carefree boy on a Sunday morning. This was the price paid by the countless souls who bought my freedom with their most precious coin—life itself.