From Peter Frew

Cards

I met Ricardo at Middlebury the first week of school, September ’76. It took us two smiles and five seconds to realize we had way too much in common, and we bonded hard and fast over music, hiking, and a hedonistic devotion to make the most of every minute of life. Midd in ’76 was chock full of extraordinary people, and we reveled in the circle of wonderful friends that grew wider and wider. So many good people threaded that fabric; Dave Burnham, Rich Lennon (proprietor of the Simian Lounge), Chien Randalou Hagenstein, Cindy Buzby, Barb Yahr, and so many others, and it is hard to imagine a better time of life. Ricardo was always the axis of the centrifuge, beaming joy and kindling fun.

All freshman fall, the baby blue Volvo (later the brown “Arbito” as he called his VW Rabbit) zoomed in front of Battell North, and Cards hauled us up to the Greens for afternoon hikes through the orange and red leaves of Rattlesnake, the Cascades, and The Hump. In a pattern that would continue for decades, Cards would explain the geology of the mountains with incredible insight, and I’d throw in a line or two of Frost. Needless to say, his rock savvy became world famous.

After fall term in Allen and Batts, respectively, Ricardo and I moved into a tiny room in Milliken together, and cranked a lot of vinyl: Miles Davis (Dr. Presnell Senior purposefully gave his son a righteous middle name) Coltrane, occasional Beethoven, Francis Vincent Zappa, and early George Clinton (What’s happenin’ C.C.?). As the snow fell freshman winter, off we flew to ski at the Bowl, before we discovered General Stark’s gem of a mountain one hour north on the Long Trail.

Junior year, so many ridiculous memories from Lang emerge, including Peter Walker’s artful arrangement of Dog Doo Rockwood’s bills from the ceiling, but 98 in Rich and Ricardo’s room keeps bobbing to the surface. Did I say 98? Question penalty! 89 posed even greater challenges, and Cards would always be doing pull ups as newcomers to the game arranged their cards, and struggled vainly to understand the rules. Weather Report, Stanley Clark, and P-Funk cranked from Rich and Ricardo’s room, and spirits cranked even higher. As Rich memorized hundreds of characters for Chinese class, Ricardo maintained a brilliant commitment to geology, and his scholarship was inspirational.

From those funky roots at Middlebury, we chased graduate degrees, and Ricardo’s Mo’ (and his Mo’ was always Mighty) took him all the way to a PhD. During this time, I was lucky enough to spend countless days, the very best days, with Cards in the icy, tight-treed Greens, the fluffy Wasatch, the Tetons, and the Selkirks. No small bonus was getting to hang and ski (see pal Rich Lennon’s mention of the bro’s) with Card’s Western friends Lee, Lori and Carlos, Lars, Rich, Tom, Sarah, Scott, and so many others whose faces are strong, but whose names have faded thanks to long days spent chasing Ricardo up and down, too little sleep, and Ricardo’s infamous early starts. Best of all, I got to know Ricardo’s bride and soul-mate Caroline, who put up with way too many March weeks of Rich and me crashing there, of our late night antics, and our dawn pre-flight coffee scrambipulation. Calm and grinning her beautiful grin in the midst of our maelstrom, Caroline’s love for Ricardo was apparent not only in her tolerance for us, but in every stitch of the incredible, custom made Gortex clothes she made for him. I’m pretty sure it was Caroline’s perfectly tailored ski clothes, not Ricardo’s outrageous level of fitness, that enabled him to break trail for us in the deepest snow. Either way, Rich and I were frequently the beneficiaries of Ricardo’s lungs, thighs, and “great big bottom, up and up, a beat without a drummer…” Thank goodness for the spiritual bungee cord he threw to us as legs and lungs wobbled.

When Rich Lennon called me the afternoon of the avalanche, the third rock stopped spinning, both bindings released, wheels fell off. Inconceivable. It seemed like nothing could ever stop Ricardo. I can’t believe he is gone. I look back on so many of the best days of our lives, the deepest snow, the most outrageous rides in Moab, the most SHEER FUN on so many occasions (watching sunsets over the Addies, and yes, so many of you have mentioned Stark’s Nest) and I feel so lucky to have been there with him. May we always “Go big or stay home!” What a great, great spirit has passed through us.