Pool Noodles and Lizards

It’s cruel clockwork. Every few years someone I know dies unexpectedly. It’s part of life to bear witness to the aftermath of sorrow.

Dave Salovesh died on this day, Good Friday, last year. A day or so later I stood in front of the tree where he was killed. Friends started gathering. Telling stories. Crying. Hugging. Nearly all of them younger than me, probably dealing with this sudden death thing for the first time in their lives. Looking at me with tear-filled eyes. And all I could think was “I can’t fix this.”

I was stunned and felt helpless when Patricia died. And Arthur. And Lorena. And Dave. It really doesn’t get any easier, this sudden death thing.

All we can do is remember them with fondness.

Dave was such a truly lovely human being.

I miss him.

Last summer, an out of control driver nearly killed me on the side of a road outside Saint Louis. My mind immediately flashed to Dave. A couple of weeks later I was in a cafe in the tiny town of Toronto, Kansas. The cafe was called Lizard Lips. The proprietor gave me a little plastic lizard and I zip tied it to my bike.

Every bike tour needs a mascot.

I named mine Dave.

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