Steve,
I felt a lump in my throat as I read your account. I have known some of this, but reading the full account leaves me stunned and not knowing what to say. Not a day goes by that you don't come to mind. Living in an old 8' wide trailer as I do is like living in a hallway on wheels. At each end is a bike project that you have had a hand in and next to my laptop where I spend a good bit of my time is the Villiars engine sitting in the Atco cradle from the old mower you hauled here from Vancouver. No doubt I spend more time than I should in a kind of virtual reality of internet where I read the words of friends of our forum which accounts for much of my social life, such as it is. It is always a treat to chat a bit with Annie in far off Kiwiland or closer to home with Curtis Fox, a fellow Minnesotan. I ponder problems which are not my own with CB2, bluegoat, measure twice, 2 door, Tinsmith and too many more to list. Old friends and ones newly made. For such a long time, years now, you have been at the center of that virtual life. Your voice less heard of late has been missed. When I think of you there are such good memories from bike camp and wherever I look here there are motors and wheels and bike frames, to remind me of past exploits at the welder, grinder and bench vice. And if not making sparks, then scheming the next day's activities. You have always been generous with your knowledge, skills and time at bike camp. It made something of these past summers for me to look forward to through long winters. Anticipation of bike camp is for me what a planned ship cruise is for others of my vintage, lifting me out of the daily same-as into something special. I joke about never having grown up, which has a seed of truth in it, as in my view growing up is part and parcel of growing old which has something to do with giving up and being done with... I don't want to do that and you have helped me fend off the inevitable. Thank you for that.
I understand that you may not be able to come to bike camp this summer, but I am going to plan for it anyway. I am going to believe that you will heal up. When you were a young fellow fresh from the automobile accident which destroyed your knees, you were not expected to live and when you did, you were not expected to walk again, which you did anyway because you wanted to walk, wanted to do things, wanted to make something of your life. You're a tough old fellow, my friend, and come from strong stock. With a mother such as yours, now well past the century mark, how could it be otherwise? I can only imagine how you may feel or what you may think about your current circumstance, but know that there are many of us urging you to fight back with everything you have, with every positive intent to heal and walk again without pain. To sit behind the wheel of your old Dodge van-go next summer and once more set out on a cross country journey to far off Minnesota for a bike camp for boys who never grew up, who refused to, delinquents each of them, disappointments to their teachers and parents, but true to themselves.
Please be well, my friend. See you at bike camp. Bring bug dope...
Silverbear
