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Me and Bruiser. He was here on Friday to collect his new bicycle. His last one was picked up in 1982. He was a Junior on the very first few editions of the teams I sponsored. Bruiser raced with us for some three years and then went out into the world.

If for a moment I overlook the fact that he dropped in one day in 2001 (he reminded me) it’s 35 years since we were together at races, or team dinners, maybe a training camp weekend. On Friday it was easy to roll back the calendar. Effortless, really.

The first image was last week. Then it's us in 1983. After that it's Bruiser at speed. Another is a team shot from northern Quebec. One from a stage race in Connecticut. One shows a pile of letters I kept. There's one with Bruiser's son and the first RS.

Bruiser has a family, a career, and apparently wide interests including baking bread, open water swim competitions, tennis, alpine skiing, and serving on several community boards. Clearly he’s most proud of his three children, two of whom are at college.

This young man was barely old enough to drive when we first met. I wasn’t yet thirty. And in a perfect storm that swept up maybe ten of us, a thing started. And continued for four decades. I use terms like “pioneer status” too often. Bruiser is a pioneer.

I miss simpler times. And simpler things. The slower pace before everyone was connected digitally. Talking with friends rather than sending emails or texts (I don’t do the latter.) Finding out how people are really doing, without relying on autofill.

We spent four hours reliving the games we once played together. And the pals we played them with. And the places they were played. We had a long lunch on my porch while watching cyclists heading in both directions. And then we hugged again.

All This By Hand

More images here.