For as long as I have known Eric, he rode this yellow mountain bike. It was a warrior pro bike. There were plenty of colorful bike stories and human injuries. He would set the bike up on a bike-tuning-contraption (which I am certain has a more proper name) each spring. With his shop apron on, he spent the whole afternoon in the garage and meticulously tuned up his bike. Spraying this, wiping that, cleaning every nut and bolt. The man loved his mountain bike. He loved bouncing his ass up and down the trails in the mountain even more.
Yes, collar bones were broken. Both of them. One time, I got a call while I was in class. "Hone? I'm in the ER. Kirby cut me off on the trail and I rolled. Yeah...I broke the left side this time. Yes, it hurts like a mo-fo. Can you pick me up? Yes, hone, from the ER!" I couldn't; I was in Seattle and he was riding in Idaho. Perhaps he suffered a concussion and couldn't remember we were actually in two different cities at that moment...I'm sure it was the painkillers talking.
The yellow warrior has been sitting in the laundry room for far too long. Its spirit deflated. It belongs to the trails. It begs to be ridden.
The yellow bike is the last of his four most personal items I want to release. It is time to send it to its natural habitat. Let it give joy to others. Let its spirit soar. Let it be free. Let it be a warrior bike again.
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| Eric bouncing his ass up and down the trail Circa 2002 |
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