From Stephen Parker

My freshman year at Middlebury in 1979 I was introduced to an amazing group of people through my older sister who was in the class of 1981, Ricardo was one of them. It might have been at a Black and Red party where the floor broke from heavy funk, “everything is on the one y’all and don’t forget it” (Weybridge House?). Or it could have been oozing down a hallway late at night. The smile that drew you in, the energy that made you move, too. I was young and impressionable and impressed.

An early indelible ski memory was that of riding up the chairlift at Sugarbush North (Glen Ellen) with Kim Holtan. It was the last of the slush bumps but the lift was open. Below us bumping and grinding butt naked Ricardo and Rich Lennon showed their stuff and it was a proud site to see, “rotor-router baby bubba”. Many memories flash and move, some fuzzy in a funky groove, George Clinton and P-Funk at South Lake Tahoe? “Something smells like a skunk and I want some”. Some are as sharp as this morning, early, even though I couldn’t drag myself out of bed for the early breakfast at Proctor Hall; I wanted to, just to be there. Early powder at Hatcher pass, Ricardo waiting at the Eagle River exit already up for hours jammed with java, waiting for the Alaska winter light. Denali in that late October light from the ridge, the cold and dry turns dropping into Eldorado Bowl. Angelic Kudjo in the Audi après ski at Alta. Sharing stories of Stacia and Lambert, Helicopter pilots we both flew with, rocks and remote locations. Scary stuff, turbine powered flying rocks.

Waves of grief hit me at random intervals. Even a hemisphere away the swells roll in from the pacific. When talking about our current trip to South America, the smile flashed the beta began to flow, he knew this land, Chile, Argentina, Bolivia these are stomping grounds, bread and butter, Tierra cognita.

Still the waves roll in. It’s happened before. An acquaintance, a near friend, another friend, a parent even, the shields of youth and time eased the pain. But this time it is so close to home as a knife to the heart. How many times have I been the bearer of this news, holding back the tears of empathy, sharing the hurt but still distanced, not as raw and real. A subtle distraction and it hits.

I look at the Forecast center website. I see the pictures. I’ve seen them before, with other people. I’ve been on a breaking slab. The crown face is over head high. The slab looks hard. All the other tracks to skier’s right are still intact.

The best get fooled, the avalanche forecaster in Cordova last year. Robson ski cutting was carried into trees resulting in a fractured femur. With Ricardo you feel comfortable. There is a plan. It is sane and rapidly but well conceived. This is how it goes… Then it all changes in a second. Life changes either imperceptibly slowly or in a fraction of a second. There is no middle ground. You think you can plan, prepare then it’s gone. He never changed. Despite my lack of hair, neither did I. We could call each other doctor but we are the same despite all the imperceptible changes that others may perceive. There is constancy. Ricardo will never be far and sometimes he will hit me, the boom box background beat on the ridge. Time to get down and boogie baby.

-este

From Roger Gallagher

We were lucky to coordinate schedules during our visit to the Olympics, to see Ricardo in Salt Lake. My two boys were then 10 and 5. He talked effusively about Caroline, her horses, the dogs. Over a few beers, he caught us up on backcountry skiing, his geologic triumphs and adventures, and I remember my kids’ wide-eyed admiration of this man who was part James Bond and part Indiana Jones. To this day, one of their most vivid memories of the 2002 Winter Olympics was meeting Ricardo. He came up often in conversation after that meeting, brief as it was, and my boys would invariably exclaim, “Oh, he is THE MAN.”

Both my wife, Martha, and I were at Middlebury with him, and we have many memories of parties there and adventures in the surrounding woods. We did a downhill race on the snowmobile tracks of Snake Mountain – on cross country skis. We funked so hard at Weybridge House that we collapsed the floor.

One of my best memories is a cold hike through the dark Vermont night up to Stark’s Nest, toting skis and brown death. It was so cold that the cider froze, so we just sucked the 151 out of it. We stayed up late, telling stories, playing cards and laughing ourselves to sleep. I had so much fun trudging up the damn mountain (accompanied by the usual chatter, of course) and freezing in the cabin overnight, I was stunned in the morning by the realization that we got to make fresh tracks in the sparkling powder on the way down - oh yeah - the FUN part!

Somewhat coincidentally, Martha recently handed me Forrest Church’s Love & Death and in it he writes, “Whether or not there is life after death, surely there is love after death. The one thing that can never be taken from us, even by death, is the love we give away before we die.” Ricardo leaves us with a mountain of love, and for that, I know my kids are right – he is THE MAN.

From Kim Holtan Lang

Songs in the Key of Ricardo

The Reverend Doctor Ricardo Davis Presnell. Ricardo. Card. Rico. Ric. The Wiggler. Ricky Dee. Boo Boo. The Man. The Boy. The Reverend. The Rev.

I knew Ricardo by many names and am sure there were many I didn’t know. He was expressive and multidimensional, and not just in name. His life was crammed full of high level experience, people, love, adventure, profession, passion, and vitality. He was our Ricardo. The man I loved to share. Sharp, funny, beautiful with an infectious laugh and insatiable curiosity. He had many faces and voices: robust laughing Ricardo- rubbing his hand back over his head and giving me THAT look; straight faced Rico- with perhaps just a curl to his upper lip; the wiggy wiggy woo woo silly Ricardo; early morning Ricardo, caffeinated, focused, and planning the day’s mission; crisp, clipped professional Ricardo (the little bitty piece I saw); dancing his little skip wiggle dance Ricardo; outdoor Ricardo, too vast to describe; and the god forbid if I’ve had the misfortune to displease him Ricardo, ruthlessly silent and stonefaced. My Ricardo. Our Ricardo.

I can’t believe his life is complete. Mine is now so fragmented and disrupted. My memories flow, a small pulse in Ricardo’s vast song. Our collective memories are Ricardo’s symphony. He may be gone, but we keep his song.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on Ricardo, skiing at Mad River Glen. I’d never seen anything like him. He was fast, really fast in that point ‘em straight alpine boot 205’s javelin skis kind of way. He was the most beautiful, baddest, blackest skier I’d ever seen in my life. Not a common Vermont sight in 1978, to say the least. For those of you unfamiliar with Mad River Glen, it is a small ski area nestled in the Green Mountains. Hard, steep, narrow, and gnarly with abundant trees, stumps, rocks, and hunks of random ice. The kind of terrain that beats a body up, 20 year old Ricardo’s kind of place. Back in those days the tree skiing was not as known or popular as it is today, still Ricardo knew the shots. We bonded as skiers that first day, skiing hard until the very last chair. That night I ran into him at the Alibi (Middlebury’s dive bar). We drank beverages, we danced, we shared stories and friends. Sound familiar? Like so many of you, it was the pattern our friendship was to take for the next 32 years. Can he really be gone?

That first spring of our friendship he took me on my first ski hike after the lifts closed for the season. Skis on my shoulders hiking straight up the mountain, I quickly realized I was in trouble. I was skiing strong, but this task required some mental fitness that I had not previously considered. I eventually fell into the rhythm of his gait and boot pack. A new part of me began to sprout. Ricardo was a pivotal, powerful influence in my life. I discovered much about myself through him.

Our friendship deepened with many college exploits. Ricardo had the best music. A bunch of us would crash some normal people’s party usually wearing funk outfits and the omnipresent sunglasses (“ya gots ta have on your sunglasses”). They’d be milling about, probably bored, no dancing. Ricardo would swiftly yank off whatever was droning on the stereo and replace it with one of his notorious “bad tapes.” The mothership landed and everybody must dance. It was contagious so dance they did, no longer bored or normal.

I loved Ricardo, always will. His friendships were a communal inspiration. We weren’t satellites in Ricardo’s orbit, we were stars in the same constellation. The beat goes on. In places I can’t imagine. Molly Stevens said to me, “You can’t die in your bliss if you’re not living your bliss.” Life is movement, a pulse, a beat, a dance. If you’re not in it you’re not living. Show up, do it, be it, feel it, relish it. Dance it!

I want to my finish my piece with my happiest day. Ricardo became a minister of the Universal Life Church so he could marry Gil and me. Reverend Ricardo noted in our ceremony that a circle of friends is a family. We know this. Ricardo’s friends were his family. And through Ricardo we are all family. The Reverend married us outdoors, Vermont’s fall foliage blazing beneath Mt Mansfield. During our vows I swept my arms towards the mountains and said, “This is my Cathedral.” It felt so right having wild-hearted Reverend Ricardo officiate! He ended our ceremony with these words: ”I pronounce you man and wife. And may your single track be endless and powder bottomless. You may kiss the bride.” That winter we went to Utah and skied with Ricardo. As we skinned up a gorgeous ridge on a bright sunny day Ricardo turned to me, smiled broadly and swept his arm out across the Wasatch and said, “This is my Cathedral.”

Ricardo gave me my happiest day in my Cathedral, and on my saddest day he left me forever from his.

Peace be with you.

Kim Holtan Lang, Burlington, VT

October 9, 2004

Stowe, Vermont

Steve Rosenfeld, The Bad One, Peter Walker. 1980

1980

Ricardo, P. Scott Russell, Molly Stevens

Rico in Daddy Presnell’s Tux.

With Phebe Jensen and Kim Holtan

New Hampshire 1981

Molly Stevens and Ricardo

Big Ol’ Gagger Tour 1988

Camel’s Hump

Rich Lennon, Kevin, bad Ricardo, Kim, Charlie and Mima Tipper

Middlebury 20^th Reunion Hike 2001

Doug Rich and Ricardo

Umbrella Tree March 2004

‘Chard, Wad, and ‘Card

March 2005

The Rev & The Newly weds

March 2006

Boo Boo and the Wee Man

Nelson 2007

Ricardo’s 50^th

Moab 2009

Last Visit

From Sarah Lloyd Bennet

Hi All, I have made numerous attempts over the past week and a half to reach out and let you know what has been going on here, but I have whipsawed by grief and despair, some pretty desperate lows but some pretty amazing highs as well. As I write this my exhaustion is almost complete. Went for a skate to the top of Millcreek Canyon today. I must have been aided by the energizer bunny himself because I felt like I could go forever, despite the exhaustion. It was, as Ricardo would say, a "jungle skate," which means a combination of challenging conditions (bullet proof at the bottom and soft and lumpy at the top) and both two and four legged wild animals constantly darting out in front of you. It was one of Ricardo's regular outings and one he loved. Always a good bonding experience with the canine kids and a good aerobic thrashing. And who didn't love a good aerobic thrashing? As I came down I passed Search and Rescue personnel heading up on snowmobiles. The parking lot had turned into an emergency command center. Another avalanche. Later (now Tuesday a.m.) I found out this one had wrapped a skier around a tree that saved him from the full 1000 foot ride and burial, but resulted in double compound fractures in both legs. Being able to get a helicopter in there under clear skies saved his life. There were two other large avalanches Sunday, one on a slope that had been skied by many skiers the day before in area known as Gobblers Knob, and another one in Millcreek that resulted in a shoulder dislocation of the skier trying to arrest himself on the avalanche bed. He survived and skied out. All involved very experienced backcountry skiers. The dragon is still out there. The weekend following the accident was a blur of sad faces, bonding, and beautiful snowy woods. As many of you know Tom and Khristy Gavigan drove from Tahoe and Natalie and John McIntosh flew from Minneapolis. Having those guys here was incredible and helped many of us pull through those first really difficult days. More on that later. Scott hosted us Saturday night for what was an essential group hug. We tried to douse the shock with tequila with limited success. Sunday around a dozen of us straggled back to Scott's and headed up to Solitude and the avalanche site. in lightly falling snow we put on boots and skins and began a slow march toward the base of the Meadow Chutes in the Silver Fork drainage. The banter, and the laughter, and being together was incredible, but as we approached the site the group fell silent. As we arrived there were only sobs and hugging for what seemed like a long time. Several people walked off in different directions for a moment of solitude. I skied up to the tree where Carlos had erected a picture of Ricardo the Friday before and hung a lei that Blair and I had made around the portrait. Scott also carried and wedged in alongside the photo something Caroline had given him. Tom and Khristy taped a Canadian Loony to the photo a few days later. Undoubtedly there will be more tokens of affection for the man who came to rest in such a beautiful spot. Here he faces the slope where he took his last turns.

The Monday after that weekend was one of the darkest days of my life. Getting back on the merry-go-round of life was an impossibility. I was imprisoned in the present by grief and wanting to do nothing but wallow there. Others had the same experience on that day. Finding something to do for Caroline, for Ricardo, was critical. I pulled myself together and went over to the house. Natalie and I took Caroline downtown to get her passport expedited for travel on Wednesday to Vancouver. We got that accomplished, the passport would be at the airport for her to pick up on Wednesday morning, but at the last minute Caroline decided not to go. It was too soon and she made the call, one that enabled and empowered her to refocus on the mounting pile of decisions before her. Khristy, Natalie, and neighbor Laurie England hovered over Caroline seeing to her every need during those days, while Tom and Johnny got busy sorting through and organizing stacks of bills and paper work in Ricardo's office and even tackled the garage. We all had to chuckle as it became apparent how Ricardo was able to find so much time to get out and play. Johnny and Natalie pushed off on Tuesday but Tom and Khristy stayed, committed to getting Caroline on her feet and aiding in the onerous task of putting Rico's affairs in order. I have helped where I could but have needed to still be a mother to a concerned 8 year-old and take care of the maddening and relentless details of day-to-day life. The caring and attention Tom and Khristy gave to Caroline and others, including myself, while they were here for a week-plus, was nothing short of heroic. It was so incredible to have the Gavigans and Macs here to completely devote themselves to Caroline by being physically present. Laurie and Carlos too, living across the street have been caring and watching over Caroline almost constantly. I can't adequately express my respect and gratitude to these folks. Their love and caring is testament to the incredible friend that Ricardo was, and the unwavering friendship he fostered in others. The days have worn on...I am both grateful for this and abhor it. I can't help that feel that everyday that does by takes me farther from that day and my friend who I will not see again. While I can read the paper or sit clear eyed and absorb what is being said, I still have moments of every day where I am blinded by tears of regret, pain, and worry for a future missing that gleaming smile and hilarious commentary. Still processing, still processing. So thankful to have had a few days on the hill with Tom, Khristy, and a host of others to make some turns and feel both the presence of the man and a hope for shared days in the future. Getting to connect and reconnect with so many has been so very sweet. The calls and emails I have received over the last almost two weeks now, offering up kernels of wisdom and encouragement have been lifesaving. Thank you. I will look forward to seeing, skiing, and sharing with you in March. Leaving you with two more pictures...One from the top of the Meadow Chutes two years before and from Moab last spring. Miss you Rico. Love you, man. SSsss

From Catherine Harris

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

From Leslie McCormick Tate

I first met Ricardo after graduating from Middlebury in 1985 and coming to work at the Alta Lodge. I didn’t know him at college, but he was a huge part of the Middlebury family that welcomed me to the Wasatch and helped me decide to make Salt Lake my home. Several years later, my brother Bob received the same welcome, and soon became part of the Boy’s Club. I remember vividly how Ricardo was always the life of the party. For someone who tends to be shy, I was in awe of Ricardo’s exuberance. But like Ricardo, I cherish connections to people first and foremost. He is The Connector! Sadly, I realize that I saw a lot more of Ricardo BC, before children. In fact, the last time I saw Caroline, my 11 year old, was in a stroller! Without making a conscious decision, I’ve definitely been in the “family zone.” Since having kids, I’ve toured the backcountry very little. One of the last times I saw Ricardo was skiing at Alta. I called to him as he loaded the chair. The wind was absolutely nuking, and I was astonished that I got to the top he and Tom Gavigan were waiting for me. “Eagles Nest,” they called to me from the abyss, and then they were flying over the high traverse. It was a great run, but I can’t honestly say that we skied it together. It sure touched me that they waited, though. The big life lesson I’ve learned from Ricardo is that it’s way more fun to be a participator than an observer, and every time I’ve forced myself to leap into a situation, I’ve been glad that I did. Ricardo never even had to think about it. He was The Initiator! I will hold dear these lessons learned from The Man, and try to live them as he would. And do the best I can to stay connected to all of you.

Carpe Diem!

Love, Leslie

From Neal Lischner

Ricardo was such a presence. The loss is unbelievable and feels infinite.

My first memory of Ricardo was during my first year at Middlebury on a very early season skiing day at Glen Ellen (now SugarbushNorth) with his roommate Rich Lennon. During the drive to the mountain from Midd, I was simultaneously introduced to P-funk, espresso (the Mag-D) and some green leafy substance that caused me to forget how to put on my skis. I don’t remember how I got connected with them, but it was a memorable day of skiing the same run over and over, faster and faster, and more and more, until they poured me back into the car at the end of the day. There were many more like that over the years and I never was able to quite keep up with Ricardo, but I was continually inspired to try. One year ago Eileen and I met Ricardo at the bus stop at the foot of Little Cottonwood Canyon with the snow coming down. He drove us up to Alta for a powder day to remember. He taught us the importance of getting up the road early to beat the inevitable closings behind us. He taught us how to do “laps” at Alta, which basically meant starting at the top and racing to the rope tow while stopping as little as possible. Eileen giggles and calls it the best day of skiing of her life whenever we talk about it. I noticed he wore his avalanche beacon despite our day of inbounds, life-accessed skiing. He was always planning ahead and aware of the situation. He consistently knew the exact direction on the mountain to take to find the best fresh tracks, saying ”stay high for optionality.” to me when we got off the lift.

When I heard the terrible news, I could not quite believe it could be true and that this could have happened to him. Sometimes life and death seem so random and unfair. Not being someone who believes in a heaven, I think I have determined where Ricardo might be now. An expert geologist, I think it would be fitting that he is probably now a part of all the rocks and mountains we all visit or live on. I’ll think of this every time I am out there.

We will miss you.

Neal and Eileen

From David Burnham

How does one start? What can you say that his wonderful wife and friends have not said already? Every time I think I'm done crying, another phone call, shared moment, or image pops in my head and brings it all flooding back. Strangest of all are the breakdowns when the call is from someone who never met him but knew how much I cared for him and had heard at least one Ricardo story (it really only takes one to fall in love with the guy).

I met Ricardo freshman year at Middlebury. Very soon we found ourselves members of a breakfast club (a small group of people who despite what happened the night before would always be the first table formed at breakfast) . Would any of you be surprised to hear that he was always there first? Invariably, the contagious smile was only matched by the hilarity of his story from the night before or the beat of the tune he was still humming.

We took Baldwin's History of Geologic Time J-term freshman year: we would make lunch at breakfast, (toasted pb&js) and drive to class so that we could head to the Snow Bowl directly...friends for life. I skied 51 days that winter, Cards invariably more than that. Once we discovered Mad River we never looked back and 6 laps on Paradise was considered a perfect afternoon.

Skiing was a shared passion that tied us together over the years. I remember visiting him at Tuckerman's the winter he was there: his posse was anxious to get going. Cards suggested we all start up Hillmans and that he would finish his chores and then catch up. We were over half way up before he started but he passed us...never stopped once, we were all winded and sweating when we got to the top but there he was all smiles ready to lead us on an adventurous day.

Epic ski days followed Cards wherever he was but once he found the Wasatch he knew he was home. His love for the back country was only matched by his love for sharing it. I think he gained as much satisfaction from sharing his adventures as living them, so generous with his time, knowledge and expertise. Living at sea level, I am one of those lucky people who as Caroline put it Ricardo pushed to "their physical limits" without ever leaving behind. Thank you Ricardo and thank you Carlos for putting up with me.

Ricardo's love for life washed off in showers on anyone who came in contact with him, every moment with Cards was a wake up call, a reminder that living large and doing what you love actually makes you a better person, husband, father, friend. I look forward to seeing all of you in March, hearing more stories and celebrating his legacy. In the meantime, I am going to let Ricardo lead me one more time as I recalibrate what is truly important: family, friends, fresh air and the combination of the same.

David Burnham

Fishers Island

From Steve Schueler

This picture is from a hike back in April 2007 around Twin Lakes Pass. One of many great Wasatch hikes over the years.

This pic is from last fall in Moab. A beautiful weekend in Southern Utah.

Rico my friend, I will miss you dearly.

Steve

From Molly Stevens

I met Ricardo at Middlebury sometime between 1978 and 1979. Kim introduced us because, as she tells it, she wanted her friends to be friends. Whatever her reason, it worked (thank you, Kimmee!), and, ever since, my life has been unquestionably brighter, bigger, louder, richer and more fun for knowing and loving Ricardo. Looking back, I can’t imagine my college years without the force of Ricardo’s energy and heart. From the start, it was obvious that Ricardo was always moving, and so being his friend meant trying to keep up—or better yet, wanting to keep up. It was not one of those situations where I felt unwillingly dragged along (I’ve been in plenty of those); instead Ricardo’s forward motion was contagious. I wholly wanted to be swept along for the ride wherever we were going. Whether it was a dancing with the pre-lunch-funk-bunch in my dorm room at Hillcrest (“Don’t stop till you get enough, don’t stop...”) or a pre-dawn drive to the New Hampshire for a marathon hike, Ricardo amped up the energy wherever he went. He was a force unto himself. An absolute original. I will be forever grateful that I was lucky enough to get caught up in the wake of his radiant vitality and power for even a short time.

In addition to his infectious enthusiasm, I learned several important life lessons from Ricardo. First off, he turned me onto the pleasure and necessity of strong coffee (ah, the Mag D). He introduced me to the White Mountains. He showed me the way down Paradise. He made me understand how having a solid beat playing in your head can carry you all the way down a bump run. And most of all, he helped me see that everything doesn’t have to be spoken, and that sometimes—most times, really—dancing is enough. And yes, there was the funk. Always the funk.

After college, Ricardo and I went separate ways but loosely stayed in touch. I will never forget one particular phone call in the autumn after graduation. I had returned to my parent’s house after a few months wandering around Alaska. Ricardo was in Denver working at a real job. I had no job, no prospects and I was floundering. “You’ve got to get out of there, Moll” was all he said—once again, urging me to move forward, to point ‘em downhill, and he was right. I did pick myself up, get out of there, and took up the reins of my own life.

From then on, we saw each other only a few times before falling out of touch for about a decade. Happily, life events eventually brought our orbits closer with occasions like a college reunion (that ridiculous hike to Stark’s Nest in the thick fog and rain), my teaching trips to Salt Lake (where I so happily met lovely Caroline), Kim and Gil’s wedding (the Rev), and, of course, our somewhat irregular Utah ski trips. And each time it was always an electric happiness. That same powerful spirit and smile. That sparkle. And the funk. Always the funk.

In the present moment, I find myself fighting back feelings of regret—regret that I didn’t call more, didn’t email more, that I didn’t plan our ski trips better around his schedule—but then I realize that none of that would change anything. It wouldn’t make me miss my friend any less. It wouldn’t ease the pain in my heart. And, most importantly, it wouldn’t change the connection and love that I feel toward such an amazing and brilliant individual. I feel honored and blessed to be a part of this extended tribe of people paying tribute to our dear friend. Ricardo taught me to keep on moving, and I hope that one of my first steps forward out of this abyss of sadness will be to travel to Utah to celebrate with you all. Peace. Love. The groove will always be in the heart.

Molly

Vermont

An Ultimate Frisbee Situation at Middlebury