The week has been a tapestry of life and loss. While still basking in the glow of a 25-hour race and all that entails, I have also been grappling with tragedy. It’s Monday, and I’m sitting here sifting through my email. One message stands out, bearing a heavy and suffocating weight. The subject line is “Life, Death, and Living.” It’s from my friend Paul, who recently stopped by my old workplace, Viking Ski and Cycle. He has news. My former boss, friend, and sponsor has lost his son. It happened a while ago, and I’m just now learning of this heartbreaking news.
On a crisp fall day in October, the 5th to be exact, in 2002, I donned my neck gaiter—an eccentric hat/ear warmer—and headed up Ampersand Mountain. I have many friends with children, and for some reason, there is this special connection. I am well-liked and can relate to each child, appreciating their uniqueness. I think Josh identified with me due to my unconventional choice of headgear. I identified with Josh because his soul was warm, unique, and full of strength.
Josh loved history, particularly war and weapons, if my memory serves me correctly. It was fascinating to hear his insights and anecdotes as we ascended this relatively small mountain. The details are hazy, but this hike left a lasting impression on me. Josh was unique in that he didn’t subscribe to the common tendency to see something on TV and strive to identify or be identified by it. He forged his own path and was a unique and valuable asset to all who knew him. He made this hike memorable, and now he is no longer walking this planet and making it a better place.
His father must be devastated. Jim always supported me throughout my career and was the first person to introduce me to clipless pedals and suspension forks. I empathize with Jim. I feel a loss.
Boneshakerbike 
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