From Bob McCormick

It was with great sadness that I heard the news of the loss of our friend Rico. He was one in a bizillion. When the news of his passing came, I was about to teach my high school students how important it was to conserve soil and water. Suddenly, saving the world didn’t make as much sense as dismissing my class and going for a walk. Like you, the memories came as fast as the tears.

I still remember the day when I first met Rico in the late 1980’s. I was immediately intimidated. He was smarter than most, he spoke too fast, and he seemed to expect quick answers. Watching him defend his Ph. D thesis in Geology did little to dispel my intimidation, but it didn’t take much time outside for us to find common ground. After a few tours and several big powder days at Alta, I found I could at least hang with him on skis. We had a mutual devotion for skiing great snow with great friends and for sucking all that was good about living along the Wasatch front. I learned what we all did: Good times were more easy to come by with Rico on board.

Like most of you, I loved Rico’s joy for slang and the lingo that arose while playing outside. After a really hard run, we “Talked to the Chief” (Chief Burning Thigh). If we overdressed, we were “Mohatma.” Long climbs left us “worshipping the Emporer Hirohurt-o” and “Gottaloopit” meant no out and back ski tours for us. We had to make loops! Talking about “Herman” (a term for his presumeably large manhood) was surprisingly OK among single guys, and when “the Vishnu Schist hit the Alluvial Fan,” we knew trouble was afoot. And then there was his music. How many of us would have ever have given “Dee - Lite” a second listen had Dr. Funk not forced Bootsy Collins upon us?

The last time I saw Rico was at Tom and Khristi’s wedding, way too long ago. He joined my then girlfriend and now wife Maryann and me on a short and mellow mountain bike ride. At a time when I was unsure about my life as a married man, he made a point to pull me aside after the ride and tell me that she was worth hitching my wagon to, and that I might want to get on that. As usual, he was right. He knew stuff before most of us did.

The common friends here seem to be an eclectic mix of souls from many different places and spaces, yet we all share a common bond: The man touched us all, and his loss came way too soon. We will miss the life-fueled calls from Rico at 5:30 AM telling us where the next adventure would be. We know it would be better out there with him, but we shouldn’t let his absence keep us from living it up. He wouldn’t have wanted it that way, and he’ll be there with us anyway. In spirit. Forever.

Peace,

Bob