Rebuilding a nation. It sounds like such a grand, impossible feat. But as the Chinese proverb goes, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.” The rebuilding of Afghanistan is underway. This is a story about one of those little steps.

A bicycle might not seem a likely instrument of international aid. Fifty seven bikes, maybe a bit closer. That’s how many bikes were loaded on board the gigantic C-17 jet that brought us here. Two tons of bicycles, donated by the cycle company Specialized in a giveaway — It would seem a simple thing to send a few bikes overseas. It isn’t.

Coordinating their arrival was a logistical feat; thank goodness for the military efficiencies of NATO and the US Air Force. Once the bikes were safe in Kabul at the ISAF (International Security Assistance Force) base here, another masssive task loomed: getting those bikes assembled.

The crew of four from Bicycling did most of the work, with help from various military personnel who stopped by to help. I pumped a few tires and installed a few pedals and seat posts; I’m good with a wrench, but the Bicycling folks are the artists. Hours and hours and hours of assembly later, the bikes were ready to roll.

It took a lot of planning just to figure out who should receive this gift.

Kabul is still in some respects a city of survival of the fittest. Power rules. Award these bikes to some deserving private citizens and, it was feared, they’d instantly become the target of thieves. Various plans were considered and scrapped. Finally it was decided to award the bikes to two national entities; the fifty new Specialized bikes went to a government ministry that runs orphanages throughout Afghanistan. Another seven bikes of various types were assembled for Afghanistan’s national cycling team–the riders who hope one day to compete in the Olympics.

Here’s a telling indicator of just how severe life remains in this country:

The Afghan team was asked whether they might like to have a few mountain bikes to ride; road riders often mix up their training regimen with some off-road work. The simple answer was no, thank you. We don’t ride the trails in this country. Too dangerous. They’re often pocked with land mines.

More on the award of the bikes–and my Afghanistan adventure– coming up….

We are six miles above Prague, more or less, about an hour into our flight to Kabul, Afghanistan.

Seven hours to go. This cavernous US Air Force C-17 Globemaster roars along at 33,000 feet—and I do mean roars. We’ve all been issued foam earplugs for the flight and I’ve topped mine with a pair of those noise-cancelling headphones. (Great packer and trip-planner than I am, I neglected to bring an Ipod to pump any music through them — but I do have some nifty headphones keeping my eardrums happy.)

Liftoff from Brussels, Belgium came around 7:30 this morning. Brussels, of course, is heaquarters of NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. I’m onboard a NATO flight and find myself in very esteemed company. Four-star General John Craddock—the Supreme Commander of NATO forces in Europe–is onboard. Gen. Craddock is responsible for roughly 50,000 NATO troops on the ground in Afghanistan, and of those, about 21,000 are U-S forces. He’s headed back to Afghanistan to check on his people and the progress they’re making in stabilizing a country wracked by years of war and hardship.

Also onboard are 18 members of the Council on Foreign Relations. They’ll shadow General Craddock as he crisscrosses Afghanistan to see for themselves this nation at the nexus of so many foreign policy debates raging around the world today. There’ll be briefings from NATO personnel and U.N. and Afghan officials.

And me? I’m onboard to report those stories, yes, but also something a little more concrete and perhaps even more meaningful for a dozens of deserving people—especially children– in Afghanistan. More on that in a moment.

Earplugs in, headphones on, nothing to watch out the window because essentially there are no passenger windows in this flying freighter. Not much talking because we have to shout to be heard; we’ve been warned we’ll be hoarse by the end of the flight if we keep that up. So I sit, and think, and type.

I think of what it must feel like to be in Gen. Craddock’s shoes, to know that 50,000 men and women are depending on the decisions he makes each day. I’m a guy who often finds it overwhelming to maintain a handle on our four children. Once I (temporarily) left behind our 8-year-old daughter at a park after her brother’s baseball game because I can be a scatterbrained doofus (who also forgets his iPod). To be charged with the care of 50,000 others? I’m in awe of the responsibilities of this general and the men and women like him who lead our forces throughout the world.

That gets me thinking about our oldest son, now almost finished with his “plebe” year at West Point. I’ve blogged about his experience before and I owe you some retro-blogging about how his year has progressed. Assuming he makes it through graduation, he could be leading troops somewhere in the world a scant three years from now. A couple of blinks ago I was battling with him to turn off the video game, clean up his room and finish his homework; a few more blinks in the future and he might have some young private’s life depending on his leadership. Pride, patriotism, excitement, fear — a father’s emotions are wrestling one another for dominance at 33,000 feet.

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