‘It’s like that saying, “Love your neighbor.” We’re just trying to be that neighbor.’

— DILBAGH SINGH SANDHU, president of Sikh Motorcycle Club USA

the group.

At a gas station in New Virginia, Iowa, they were approached by Dennis Meyer, 63, curious about their motorcycles and the trailer. He’d never seen motorcyclists with turbans. Club members told him about the purpose of the trip and the discrimination they face.

“It’s like that saying, ‘Love your neighbor,’ ” said Dilbagh Singh Sandhu, 39, president of the motorcycle club. “We’re just trying to be that neighbor.”

Meyer, who also rides a motorcycle, nodded and smiled before telling Sandhu he has traveled the world and has come to understand that people in general are “hardworking and trying to do the best for their families,” and those who discriminate are “silly people and have their own problems.”

A day later, Aug. 5, the Sikh Motorcycle Club USA pulled into the parking lot of the Oak Creek gurdwara, or Sikh temple.

A crowd at the entrance to the house of worship included widows of the men who were killed by 40-year-old Wade Michael Page, an Army veteran and white supremacist. Some of the women had been at the Sikh temple when the shooting occurred and hid in a kitchen pantry.

After the riders came to a stop, Sandhu raised his fist in the air as Saggu chanted a victory call and the crowd responded.

For the next few hours, they toured the temple, stopping to gaze at a bullet hole by the entrance to the prayer hall, left as a reminder of the massacre.

At a ceremony under a large tent, the group listened to speakers, including politicians and children of the seven victims. They listened to retired Oak Creek Lt. Brian Murphy, who was the first officer on the scene and was shot 15 times by Page, who killed himself after another officer wounded him.

Not far from the tent, children ran around a playground, and a U.S. flag dangled from the ladders of two firetrucks parked next to the gurdwara. Two Army service members, wearing turbans, spoke to police officers.

The ceremony concluded with a vigil by a flagpole displaying the Khanda, a symbol of Sikhism. The motorcyclists knelt and placed white candles on the ground. No one spoke; no one cried. There was only silence.

Today, as he looks back on his ride, Saggu likes to recall his encounter with Michelle Steuber, whom he met at the Four Corners Monument.

He spoke with Steuber and her family about the ride and the group’s message against hate amid a rise in white nationalism. Steuber, a 46-year-old eighthgrade teacher, told him she would share what she’d learned with her students.

It was a proud moment for Saggu. He figured that if one student had learned about Sikhs, then maybe other turbaned children wouldn’t be bullied — the way his son had been in Ohio.