In 51 years, I have yet to post anything to a public blog. But this morning I'm reflecting on how much comfort and how many smiles have come to me through the sadness as I've read your stories that honor the man and capture the memories. So it seems that if ever there was a good reason to put aside my inhibitions about public web sites, this is it.
I met Ricardo freshman week at Middlebury. In a mix of people that seemed, to me anyway, to all be blessed with a mixture of athleticism, brains, wit, energy, and confidence that I could only dream about, Ricardo stood out - and only in a very small part because he was black at largely white Midd. I think much of it had to do with a quality that he never lost - he seemed happiest and most energetic when those around him were also enjoying themselves. And he always took the time to check in on others.
I never took part in Ultimate Frisbee, but I can see him flashing around the field, in more places than seemed possible. And he had mastered the trick of looking relaxed - I think it was his eyes - while being impossibly amped.
Our paths crossed only occasionally at Middlebury - we had different majors, and he, like me, took an extended and frequently off-campus course to a diploma. I have some vivid memories though - trying to keep up with him a few times at Mad River, and being right behind him one day when the single chair at Mad River broke down for way too long. It won't surprise anyone that he was better prepared for some chairlift sit-time than most would have been, and I'm not talking about the blankets ... I remember his dialog kept all those in earshot laughing and happy in spite of the cold.
We reconnected out in Utah in the 80's, where several others of that Midd generation ended up. We rejoiced about how much better the snow in Utah was than Vermont, and there were few who enjoyed their play-time as well as Ricardo. I found myself, once again, trying to keep up with him: at Snowbird, touring, or sometimes - even more impossible for me - mountain biking.
I never could keep up, and probably would have seen less of him than I did except for my boyfriend, now husband, John (Bird '82) who shared with Ricardo a seemingly endless energy, an enthusiasm for defying laws of gravity and momentum, and the love of mountains as well as passion for geology. I have heard from several people how Ricardo will be missed from a professional perspective - I can say from a "layman's" standpoint that his gift for sharing extended well beyond the good times of recreation - it was always a treat to hear him talk about his work and geology in general, and inspired me to learn more.
Looking back, I wish I had gone along on more outings - I was often held back by the thought that I couldn't keep up. Remembering Ricardo, I realize that he wouldn't have cared about that as long as I was having fun. On more than one occasion I saw him remind friends, both those who could keep up with him, as well as the rest of us,that it was the company and the fun that counted - not how good you were, how many days you had been out, or some of the other "notches" that we like to keep track of.
That said, whenever I ran into him around town, he always gleefully recounted how many days he had under his belt. But he was so happy about it, you couldn't help be happy too! We got so many comments that he was "best story-teller" at our wedding... I still sometimes wonder if it would have been a boring event without him!
The time and energy vortex of two kids and more conventional jobs, not to mention a slew of injuries and aches (which he seemed immune to), meant that in the last few years we enjoyed Ricardo's adventures vicariously more often than participated, and even social visits were infrequent. But he had the gift of making those gaps in time disappear whenever you did see him. For me, it was most frequently while driving home, up Emigration Canyon outside Salt Lake. He biked here often, and I always knew that if I took the time to pull over (in my soccer-mom mini-van) and crank the music, he would turn around - but never unclip! - and lean in the window, trade hugs with me, high-fives with the kids, and share a few stories about life and friends - how did he keep up with so many people? - and leave me full of laughter and more energy.
The thought that I'll never be able to pull the car over for him again saddens me more than I can write about.
A very bright light went out when Ricardo passed - I hope that those of us fortunate enough to enjoy its warmth can carry on his joy of living. I know if he were writing, there would be something about vibes, but I still have trouble using that word myself. I think it's enough that I learned to like P-Funk, although never as loud as he liked it!
It's a beautiful day here in the Wasatch, and Ricardo would no doubt be out enjoying it - so I'll close here and make him my example.
With love, Rin
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