PREV: Part 4 - The Tour

In the days leading up to the banjo delivery, Michael joked about all the things that could go wrong in the handoff. They might just open the door, give you a hundred-dollar bill, take the banjo, and shut the door in your face. They might live in a mansion and have ten fancy cars in a huge circle driveway. What if you saw the banjo for sale on eBay the next day? He enjoyed flinging his imaginative scenarios at me. 

I assured him none of those things would happen. He said there was no way I could know that. I said I met them and knew it was not in them. He countered, saying I only talked to them for a few minutes and could not possibly have any idea who they really were. At some point, I said it was going to be fun to get updates about the instrument's travels and all the places it will go; who knows, maybe it will go on to great fame. Michael scoffed at this, asking if I seriously thought these people would ever talk to me again. I said I thought they would. He predicted that once we left their house, it would be the last time I ever hear from them. 

Our conversation reminded me of a moment I shared with my other best friend, Matthew, years earlier. Matthew and I are co-founders of a business. We were working with a lawyer to create a partnership agreement. We were on a Zoom call, and the lawyer asked me a question, which I honestly can't tell you what it was about. Money. Insurance. What happens to my shares in the company if I die. Matthew interrupted the lawyer, saying he couldn't ask me that. The lawyer was struck by Matthew's objection, saying it would be highly unusual for Troy not to express his wishes here. To this, Matthew said, "I agree with you, but what you need to know is our job here is to protect Troy and his family. For all his gifts, he is like a child in this regard and cannot make these decisions, so we will make them for him to protect him, protect his wife, and protect his children." I felt Mike's caution skirted these waters, and I spent some of the next few days thinking about how sucky it would be if Michael was right. 

When we arrived at the house (that was not a mansion), the dad was packing a travel van for a trip they were taking the next day. He met us warmly, and we were catching up in the driveway. After a few minutes, the boy appeared on the edge of our circle, looking at me expectantly. I turned, said hello, shook his hand, and asked if he had ordered a banjo. He grinned and nodded his head. I pulled the case from the back of my car and presented it to him. He took it carefully, turned, and walked briskly into the house. We resumed our conversation with the father. About ninety seconds later, we heard the first signs of life from the banjo. One of us commented on how little time that took. The father spoke of how excited the boy had been about this moment. We moved inside. 

The boy was seated. We watched as he plucked individual strings in turn, bending his ear towards the instrument and adjusting the tuning knobs at the end of the neck. I commented that the banjo had been sitting in my living room for the last six months, so it was probably well out of tune. After visiting each string and returning to some for fine-tuning, he raised his head, straightened his back, and lit it up. Before getting there, I asked Michael if he had ever seen a good banjo player first-hand. He had not. I turned to look at Michael as he experienced this spectacle for the first time. We all then watched the boy's articulating fingers, of both hands, move in their hard-to-fathom choreography. 

After a minute or so, the boy paused and looked directly at his father. A full-body grin crossed his face, a grin that only parents typically get to see, and usually only see a few times in a child's life. I asked if it sounded like he remembered. He nodded, still smiling, and was off again, lost in the sounds. We watched and listened some more. The father thanked me for doing this. He said I couldn't really understand what it meant to his boy and to he and his wife, and how he couldn't believe this was happening based on a chance meeting years earlier. As he spoke, tears welled in his eyes. 

After a bit of listening to the boy play and chatting with the parents, I said we should be on our way and let them continue packing. The boy stood to say goodbye. When he shook my hand, he transferred a folded-up hundred from his palm to mine. I smiled at the sly move. I told him and his parents that, as far as I was concerned, their boy bought this banjo through his many thousands of hours of practice. I said that when I saw the boy coming back again and again and again to play it, and seeing the way he could play it, from that moment on, I considered this his banjo, and I was just holding onto it until it could be properly turned over. 

Our exit was rich with hugs and smiles. When we slid into the car, I turned to Michael and asked, "So, do you still think that is the last time we will ever hear from them?" A bit sourly, he replied, "No, I do not". And before we got out of the neighborhood, I received a text from the father with the picture he took of me and the boy. Since then, I have received multiple updates and photos of the banjo's travels, and each one leaves me grinning, grinning almost as big as the boy did when he first held his new banjo in his lap. 

Fin.

PREV: Part 3 - The Gun

Most people I told about my trip had things to say. Those things ranged from thinking it seemed like a stupendous adventure to thinking it seemed stupendously moronic. The most common feedback was, "Wait, you're doing what?" Or "How much is the banjo worth? Why are you giving it to a kid for a hundred dollars?" Or "Do you actually know how far away Oregon is?" 

When I told my best friend Michael about the trip, he responded with near reverence, saying it sounded like a fantastic road trip. I told him he was welcome to join me if he could get the time off work (and family). Weeks later, I received a message saying that if we could stop in Salida, Colorado, his favorite place in the world, and visit his aunt and uncle, he was in. Done!

Our initial plans were fluid. Aside from visiting relatives in Salida and passing through my hometown of Fort Collins, it was all a wonderfully free-form itinerary. Below is what ended up happening:

Mon	Mike flies from Charlotte, Nc to St Louis, Mo
Tue	Drive from St Louis, Mo to Hays, Ks
Wed	Drive from Hays, Ks to Salida, Co with lunch atop Pikes Peak and where we gave a ride to a priest, a pharmacist, and a dentist who were travelling together
Thu	Full day with aunt and uncle in Salida, Co including a personal tour of the valley from Aunt Sandy
Fri	Drive from Salida, Co to Cheyenne, Wy via Estes Park and the Stanley Manor via Fort Collins w/ a Troy childhood tour capped w/ dinner at Panhandlers Pizza (my 2nd favorite, remaining, meal in America)
Sat	Drive from Cheyenne, Wy to Jackson, Wy via the Vedauwoo Climbing Area and along the Great Tetons at sunset and again at sunrise
Sun	Drive from Jackson, Wy to Burns, Or Burns being a modern-day oasis where the nearest gas station, dentist, or Walmart was more than 200 miles away
Mon	Drive from Burns, Or to Depoe Bay, Or where we saw no whales but did dip our fingers into the Pacific this was the first time either of us had ever seen the Pacific Ocean
Tue	Drive from Depoe Bay, Or to Eugene, Or for the banjo handoff
Wed	Drive from Eugene, Or to Portland, Or via a bunch waterfalls & Mount Hood capped the day with a few hours at Powell's Books (my favorite bookstore in America) and stuffed salmon at Jake's seafood (my favorite meal in America)
Thu	Mike flies from Portland, Or to Charlotte, Nc.  Troy drives from Portland, Or to Missoula, Mt after spending 3 more hours at Powells and eating stuffed salmon for lunch before heading out
Fri	Troy drives from Missoula, Mt to Badlands National Park, Sd taking my Bronco to visit its namesake
Sat	Troy drives from the Badlands home to St Louis, Mo After watching the morning sun rise over the ridged terrain

Michael and I spent 61 hours in the car and only played ten songs (not over and over but just one time, on day five). And the only reason that happened was Michael had to hear the main song from the Anatomy of a Fall movie because he could not fathom what a German Caribbean band sounded like playing 50 Cent's PIMP. Well, his true interest was piqued when I said the same German Caribbean band also covered Crockett's Theme from Miami Vice—that is what truly ended the music fast. 

I spent an additional 35 hours going from Portland to St Louis. The benefit of this final leg is that I still got in some personal reflection time, though I found I didn't need it as much as I thought I might. Grateful for that. 

One thing not mentioned above is the shooting of the gun. To retain its Guns and Banjo designation, I told Michael that before we turned the banjo over, we had to find a place to fire the .22 rifle. I assumed that while traveling through the western states, we would see a gun range we could stop at and pop a few rounds off. While we passed several ranges, none seemed inviting in that way. 

Then one day, while traveling on a winding and rutted Wyoming road, we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere, though we did pass two guys skinning a deer a few miles back. I came upon an even more meager set of tracks that led off into some hills. I took the hard right, and we disappeared into the landscape. The road naturally terminated after a bit at some fencing that marked private property. 

I'm not going to detail how long it took Mike and me to figure out how to load the gun. All that matters is we figured it out. There were some hills in front of us that we could safely shoot into. I initially worried about the gun's recoil, but it turns out the kick isn't what I needed to fear. It was the remarkably huge sound the weapon made when fired. I had no idea that such a tiny bullet could make such an untiny sound. I was expecting a tad more than a BB gun pop, but instead got a grenade-grade explosion.

After this surprise, Mike and I looked at each other, eyes wide. I pushed the gun at him and told him to hurry up and shoot because I'm sure they heard that back in Cheyenne, and the authorities were already saddling up. Mike took the gun, lined up his shot, and squeezed off the round. He pushed the gun back to me. I pulled the clip, threw it in the case, hurled it into the back of the Bronco, and we raced Dukes of Hazzard style to our seats. On the run, we scanned the horizon for the law, laughing about and reliving our tale of lawlessness for the next two states. 

NEXT: Part 5 - The Delivery

PREV: Part 2 - The Banjo

I did have one other bit of estate business to deal with.  For as long as I can remember, a cousin of mine from central Pennsylvania has commented on how much he loved one of my dad’s hunting rifles. I called this cousin to ask which gun it was so I could set it aside for him. 

He first expressed his condolences at my father’s passing and then said it would not be necessary, as my dad brought him the gun a year earlier when he was up north. My father told him his eyesight was failing and he couldn’t shoot it anymore, so he wanted to pass it on now to make sure he got it. While they were not often public knowledge, I came to learn and was glad to hear that my father had a surprising number of thoughtful and generous moments on his life’s ledger.

I was thankful my cousin had the gun, but it created a small problem for me. In my mind, I had already worked out that after my father passed, I was going to get this gun to my cousin and then deliver the banjo to the boy. My working title for this endeavor was the Guns and Banjo Tour. The structure of the campaign was this. I was going to drive from Saint Louis, Missouri, to State College, Pennsylvania, to give my cousin the gun. I was then going to drive from State College to Eugene, Oregon, to give the boy the banjo. And then, of course, there was the return to St Louis from Eugene. 

All told, this was going to be about eighty-five hours of driving. My plan was to use this time to ruminate on this new parentless chapter of my life. Keep in mind, both of my parents have now passed, I have no siblings, and reasonably distant relationships with my extended family, as I grew up in Colorado and they all lived on the East Coast, which means I only saw them a handful of times. Given the sum of this, I thought I might need a minute, or eighty-five hours, to process my new place in the world. 

But now that my cousin already had his gun, it wrecked my multi-year vision. Realizing this, I scanned the other guns in my dad’s collection. I knew he had a .22 caliber rifle because my kids shot it once while my mom and dad still lived in the woods of Missouri. I located this gun and told the estate accountants this was the one thing I wanted of my fathers.

My modified plan was now, instead of driving a hunting rifle to Pennsylvania, I would find a place somewhere on my drive to Oregon where I could shoot this .22 rifle and, in doing so, save the Guns and Banjo Tour.

NEXT: Part 4 - The Tour

PREV: Part 1 - The Boy

In March of 2025, my father passed away while working on a John Deere tractor in the front lawn of his home. Marty and I drove south to help my father’s second wife and her family deal with the estate. Upon arriving, I found the home full of activity. I believe this is in part because my step-family has an unenviable amount of experience with death, and they were doing, once again, the things they knew had to be done. Further, I’m confident they were trying to be helpful to me, who has thankfully little experience in these matters. 

The banjos I feared would be mine to deal with were not. A family friend, the same I would have called for help, had already arrived and was knee deep, literally from his seated position, in stacked instruments, cataloguing the collection to be sold.

I dashed a quick email off to the boy’s father, asking if his son was still playing the banjo or if he had discovered girls yet. No girls. All banjo. I said I may be looking for a home for the boy’s banjo and wanted to see if he was still interested. He was. I explained that it would not be free and that his boy would have to come up with, one way or another, one hundred dollars to buy the instrument. With a smiley emoji, the father replied, saying he was confident the boy could make that happen.

I pulled the select banjo from the line and said I had a buyer for this one. Oh great. Who? A family I met at IBMA a few years back. Excellent. How much are they buying it for? $5,000. A note was made in the ledger tracking the sale of the instruments. I was next asked when I would have the money. Later in the year, after I delivered it. And with that, the banjo’s fate was set.

When I wrote the father and told him his boy was on the clock to raise the hundred. The father said they travel quite a bit from their home in Oregon in support of the boy’s playing and could meet me somewhere closer to my home in Saint Louis. I said that would not be necessary and I would personally deliver it to him because I was going to be in the area later that year. It is true that I was going to be in the Pacific Northwest, but what I held back was that I was going to be there with the sole purpose of delivering the banjo to the boy. 

While sorting the collection of instruments, I learned two more things about the banjo. First, I learned that of all the banjos my dad had, this banjo, labeled #5 on the inventory, was his favorite of them all. He said, and others, including the boy, seemed to agree, that it was one of the finest bluegrass banjos you will ever hear. The second thing I learned is that it was priced high because my father didn’t want to sell it. This insight helps explain my father’s earlier offense at my suggestion that he give banjo #5 to the boy years ealier. 

NEXT: Part 3 - The Gun

In the mid-90s, Marty and I visited the family home of one of her college roommates, Brigid. Brigid's family lived in western Pennsylvania in an old country farmhouse. Her father was the orthopedic surgeon to the high school football stars of the area. In the winter, they would ride snowmobiles to the grocery, and in the summer, they would take advantage of the wonderful outdoors that region of the country offered. One of those outdoor options was white-water rafting. 

As we donned our helmets and vests, the guide who prepared us to push off explained, "There's only three things to remember. One, have fun. Two, if you fall out, keep your feet up. And, three, if someone in your boat falls out, get them back in the boat IMMEDIATELY." I've never been known as a great listener, and fifty minutes later, I found myself exerting great effort to remember those three simple instructions. 

So things were going swimmingly. We were chatting and laughing and commenting on the beauty of the river. Then we came around a bend and found a shore-to-shore expanse of angry, churning water. Quickly scanning the options, we thought we saw a less-evil path through and paddled toward it, people yelling commands as we worked. But we got pulled into the one channel we were most trying to avoid. When the boat dipped into the swell, Marty who was manning the front right, got thrown backward and disappeared completely from view. Once through the worst of it, we saw her resurfaced and floating with her feet up. We quickly made our way to her, and Jim, Brigid's large and strong boyfriend, impressively hefted her back into the boat with a single arm.

Once in calmer waters we recounted the excitement, each person animatedly telling their side of the story. My version might have said something along the lines of, "I saw we were going to drop into that dip and knew Marty would fall out, so I tried lunging for her and just missed grabbing her vest before she fell backward." Everyone complimented my foresight and bravery, and we finished the float without any further mishaps. 

When we got to the end and were escorted out of the facility, the guide pointed us to a wall of televisions and said that some photos had been taken of us during the float and we could purchase them if we'd like. At this point in our relationship, I had known Marty for somewhere between six and eight years. In this time together, she has never, ever once been swayed by a memento of any sort, crazy-overpriced or even free, so I did not expect us to be getting anything on this day. When we stood at the counter and found our set of pictures, I studied the two-photo set and was struck by how clear and detailed the images were. 

The first photo showed us about to hit the swell that ate us whole. The second photo, this would be the one that should have shown me reaching for Marty and trying to save her from falling out of the boat, somehow, instead, curiously, showed me diving, sans paddle, toward the center of the boat to safety and possibly even laughing while I did so, as my girlfriend perilously fell backward out of the boat.

After taking in the image, I turned to Marty, who was staring not at the photo but directly at me. 

TROY
Hey. That's pretty great quality they got there, huh? I wonder how they do that.

MARTY
Yeah, it's great that we have a picture of you trying to save me and NOT of you diving to the middle of the boat, saving your own ass while I got thrown into a wild river. 

TROY
Yeah, I agree. It is a little hard to make out what's happening there.

The worker appeared in front of us and asked if we would be interested in buying a photo. I began to say thanks but no thanks, but Marty spoke over me and said, "Yes, I'd like one of each of those in an 8x10. Oh, and he's paying." 

And that is how these two custom-framed photos came to be hanging in our upstairs hallway, should you ever visit.

Everyone seems well aware, peril is at hand.
The question is how will you react?

I understand it might look like both Brigid & Jim are looking to Marty with concern. And it might look like I am diving to the safety of the middle of the boat, and, maybe, possibly, laughing while doing so. I get that is what it kinda looks like, but I think what we are really seeing here is an unfortunate camera angle.
Further, I would contend that what you should be looking at, instead of me, is Marty's impeccable form in entering the water. I mean, look at that pointed toe, and you can barely detect the splash!

Click photo for an enlarged version

Before season three of White Lotus made it a national conversation, Bookpimp and Dutch were testing the waters of brotherly affection. 

They, Bookpimp and Dutch, were driving cross-state in the night to a family event. They got a late start because one (or both) of their minimum-wage jobs had them working late. Given their meager means, they had the practice of sharing drinks and snacks at gas stops. At the last fueling, Dutch got a 32-ounce Big Gulp drink. This places our story in the early nineties, when both of them were in their twenties, because 32 ounces was the prominent option of the day. If this story happened now, it would likely be a 64 or even 96 ounce beverage and in a plastic cup instead of the styrofoam one they had this night. That it was a 32-ounce cup matters not only to date the story but also because this was a time when car cup holders could not yet hold these bloated canisters. Due to this, the accepted practice was to hold the cup between your legs to ensure it did not spill. 

They’d been going several hours and were talked out, making the only sounds in the car coming from the stereo. In time, Bookpimp was ready for a pull from the drink. Without looking, he reached over to grab the large cup from his brother’s lap. His mind did not initially register the information his fingers sent to his brain. I imagine his mind flickering like a home’s electricity pulsing on and off. Perplexed, he looked to his right. He saw the white of Dutch’s eyes staring back at him, the cup in his raised hand, and the straw in his mouth. Neither of them had to look down to know what Bookpimp’s hand was holding.

Calmly, Bookpimp returned his hand to the steering wheel, looked forward and with great equanimity, said, “When you’re done taking your drink, I would like some, please.”

Those were the only words ever said by the brothers about this shared moment in a car racing down a nighttime highway to a family event. However, I do believe at the next fueling, there were two Big Gulps purchased. 

For his Fall 2023 semester, Alex took advantage of a study-abroad program and spent the term in the Netherlands. Aside from him letting us know he successfully arrived at his destination, Leiden, we didn’t hear a whole lot from him for the first month. Then he sent an email saying that he had a problem—the university asked him if he would move out of his single room into a shared room so a new ...

Marta declared it the best summer ever. It was a pretty good one. Noting a few of the highlights for our records. 

Anfer 
Tony attended something called Boys State. It is an eight day experience where a few kids from just about every high school in the state attend. During the week they establish a complete community and government system (I think). Attendees are recommended via teacher referrals so it was a pretty high-caliber collection of young people. Anthony had a lot of fun. What he did not have was a lot of sleep. His first day back, he dropped his bags in the foyer, walked to his bedroom, and slept for fourteen hours. 

Aleo 
Alex was invited to help teach at a weeklong summer program at his university. There were two students from his Film School recommended by faculty. The experience ended up being significantly more challenging than he, or anyone else, expected it to be. Marty and I were both stunned at some some of the situations he found himself in. We were equally surprised by the grace in which he responded to each of them. This poise under duress is an ability he has repeatedly demonstrated in his young life.

Baya 
Bella is working on starting a non-profit (more on that later). While getting things organized, she has been doing a lot of social media work so when she's ready to open the doors, she has a ready group of people to invite inside. The other day, while shopping, someone yelled at her from across a store, “Hey! Yo! Kindness girl!”. She got recognized in the wild! AND she got called Kindness-Girl! It is hard to know which of those two milestones made her beam more.

Marta 
Marty and I took our first trip together without kids since having kids. And it was kinda great. The only bad thing to come of it was when I called my best friend, Bookpimp, to ask if it was ok for Marty to join me on this year’s visit, he replied, “The question is if Marty’s coming, why would we need you?”. In our travels, in addition to doing a record amount of kayaking (in her origami kayak), she did a few new things, namely trail bike riding (through a Michigan forest on dirt pack) and taking up tennis (she has even gotten a coach).

Troy
I’ve been going tent-camping in Michigan every July for the last ten years. Every year, I seemingly go a bit longer. For the last few years, I’ve gone for a month. This year was supposed to be five weeks, but an unexpected Secret Cajun Band concert caused me to delay my departure. When in Michigan I do a good bit of reading, play a lot of tennis, bike a lot of miles, and paddleboard just about every day (that's where I get my baths). Next year I will be adding snorkeling and open water swimming to the list of activities. This year I concluded my Michigan Julys are the summer camps I never got as a kid. I’ve been going to this same place for so long, I now know more people there (other summertime regulars as well as locals) than I do in my home’s neighborhood.

Those are the tippy-top highlights from the Marty-branded best summer ever.

Part 1 of this story is here

The new girl and the question were unexpected, so it took me a moment to realize what she was asking about, but when I did, I had a moment of panic. 

TROY
Oh. That over there? You saw that?

CAR GIRL
Yes. I was driving home from work and saw the two of you on the corner. I couldn’t figure out what was ...

It feels like a minute since I've had the opportunity to share a good story, so let's make the first post-restoration entry about one of the more unusual things to happen to me since being away. 

In 2021, I spent a week in my hometown, Fort Collins, Colorado. Midway through the week, I had to switch to a new Airbnb spot, so I found myself in a new neighborhood. I quickly noticed it was n...

A friend of mine wrote a musical. I knew he'd been working on it for a few years. I mainly knew because he asked me to go to some recording studio and scream into a microphone for a demo reel. After a few takes, they thanked me for my time and sent me home. Not a soul was surprised. I'm a writer, not a yeller.

Then one day years later, he mentioned, in passing, that his musical was being...

Marty turned 50 last year. Her main gift was passports for the entire family. I know that to your average person, that seems like a pretty lame present, but those who know Marty realize it is spot-on. First, she has been talking about getting passports for the kids (and renewing our own) for many years. Second, this has never happened because of the hassle and the expense.

So the kids an...

The above two photos, from a 2018 ski trip, were taken moments apart. And when I say moments, I'm talking like less than a 180 seconds from one to the other. I imagine Anfer and I were laughing from trying to match Baya and Aleo's runway stares.

Question is which side of the table would you rather be sitting on (or looking at)? ...

Leading up to all this Corona-mayhem sat our annual family ski trip out west. We saw the dominos stacking up as our departure date approached. Three days prior, I touched base with our Utah hosts. They said everything was good, and we should bring appetites for Sunday dinner. Two days out, our ski resort affirmed they were open and had thousands of nature-filled acres for folks to spread out on. And, on the morning of, the resort sent more assurances that all was well and the snow was deep. So we saddled up and headed west.

The two and a half day drive was smooth and uneventful. By the time we arrived in Utah, all of their resorts had closed. So instead of spending the afternoon renting ski gear, we spent it around our friends' kitchen table. During this lunch, dinner, and dessert campaign, their youngest son returned from a week in Banff Canada. Then their middle son returned from a week at Moab. We all caught up and watched the news feeds roll through. Our first fallback plan was to take advantage of the many hiking trails in Salt Lake and Park City. We thought we'd spend a few days doing that and then head back. But when the talk of stopping interstate travel began, I got a touch nervous. I'm usually the first to ignore such alarmism, but per my accounting, every measure floated up to that point had come to fruition, so that travel lock-down spooked me a bit. Granted, there are worse states to get trapped in than Utah (including the one I live in). However, I did not want to be an imposition to our friends, even though I believe they would have been thrilled to have us (the few that didn't have to give up beds at least).

To be on the safe side, we opted to head back in the morning. For those keeping score, that would be a full day of driving on Friday and Saturday. The first half of Sunday was on the road, and the second half we visited our friends. Then back in the car first thing Monday morning, where we drove twenty straight hours to get home at 5:30 Tuesday morning. I wanted to be in our state before midnight—we crossed the line at 11:55. I reckon few people have made that sort of trek for what turned out to be dinner with friends.

For the rest of the week, our family experienced our first staycation. This is something that has been on everyone's wish list but never punched. To see how each person fell into their own easy routine, you'd think they had already done this a dozen times. It wasn't skiing, but it was memorable.

TOMORROW: Part 2 - Homebound

we were driving home from our michigan camping trip. marty had bella and anthony in the van and alex was with me in my car. alex and i had just eaten dinner and were about 60 miles west of indianapolis.

as we were driving and talking i noticed a car had pulled up on my left and was driving steady with me. after a few moments, i looked their way. there was a college-aged guy in the passen...

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. the universal language

four years ago i received word that they were going to replace the college football stadium that was near my childhood home. while i wasn't a season ticket holder, i did have a respectable number of memories in the place, most notably sneaking in on weekend nights with my friends to play hide in seek in the sprawling facility under a moonlit sky, well, play hide and seek until we were chased out by security which was admittedly part of the sport and appeal. upon hearing the news, i made immediate plans to see one last game there in the last year the CSU Rams would play in the storied Hughes Stadium which butted right up against my Fort Collins foothills.

so i made a proper trip of it, and bookguy joined me, and we met up with boyhood pal snake and had some great laughs and panhandler's pizza and bookguy, and i biked a century up through estes park and into rocky mountain national park. in short, it was a lovely and memorable weekend.

then the next year i returned to fort collins to take in a game at the new stadium. no bookguy this time as he was out of the country but snake and i shared time, and i made the estes ride up the big thompson canyon solo. it was again a lovely and memorable weekend.

then this year snake reached out and asked if i would be coming out for another CSU game. i countered saying i thought those couldn't be very exciting for him since they were in his backyard and suggested he pick a game somewhere in the country he would like to see and we could meet there. he said he would get back to me. a few weeks later he sent a note outlining the following weekend. a few days of golf followed by a historic SEC matchup, Tennesee @ Auburn. then on sunday we would travel an hour north and take in some nascar at Talledegha. right away i could tell i should have put snake in charge of planning our weekends years ago.

part of the itinerary was influenced by snake's brother tommy and their long-time friend paul (who was the nascar guy). they have been golf buddies for lots of years. since i'm not a golfer, i said i would meet up with them on friday for the saturday game and sunday race. so i had a lovely drive down to alabama on friday. i imagine it has been said before, but i love driving. part of it is i love my car, a 91 bmw 318i (or an E30 for those in the know). i became its second owner in 1998, and it has brought me an unreasonable amount of joy since then. a slight problem i have is i have not driven to work for more than twelve years AND i live in a community where i can walk to nearly everything i need which means i can go long stretches without ever rolling it out of the garage. but another thing i love about driving, distance driving particularly, is the simple act of unplugging from the daily firehose (simple to do, hard to make happen). these cross-country treks are highly therapeutic and meditative for me. on these day-long drives, i cover lots of desolate mentalscape that rarely sees travelers pass through.

a quick aside to address the number one question people ask when they see my nearly 30-year-old car, how many miles does it have? i can't really tell you because the odometer broke about six years ago. when it stopped merrily rolling along, the dial read 130k miles. i reckon since i don't drive a whole lot locally, i could count up the trips i've taken and get you a respectable ball-park number, but those sorts of things don't really tickle me like some. it's like the price of gas. whatever it is isn't going to keep me from buying some, so i don't bother giving it any of my precious neurons.

back to our story. i put myself fully in their hands and was told just to show up as they would take care of all of the arrangements, right down to our lodging. marty will attest to my excellence on being able to follow that sort of plan and my travel day went off without a hitch, and i pulled into the hotel parking lot five minutes before the fellas returned from their double round of golf and the weekend was off and running.

tommy got us the football tickets and had us in the second row of the end zone facing their mega screen and just to the right of the visiting band. it there was a better seat in the house, i'm not sure where it might have been. tommy and i struck an immediate over/under bet on how many times the tennessee band would play Rocky-Top (not as many as he wagered by far more than i would have ever imagined). it was an excellent day with lots of blue skies and belly laughs. and i didn't learn/recall until after the day began that it was snake's 50th birthday. by my math, it would have been challenging to dial up a better celebration than what we were in the midst of.

paul was in charge of the nascar tickets as he had family in the south who were regular patrons. shortly after meeting paul i said i heard he was a nascar guy. he said nothing but held up a finger instructing me to hold that thought, went to his bag, rummaged a second and then turned, holding to his chest his very own ricky bobby wonder bread race suit. with my mouth still agape, he turned to his bag again, this time announcing that if you didn't want to be ricky bobby you could always wear his race team partner cal naughton's old spice suit which he held before him with equal flourish. yeah, i guess he'd fall into the nascar guy column.

but, it turns out snake had some nascar connections of his own and was able to get us passes into pit row. this is the racing equivalent of scoring backstage passes to your favorite band. while the race was going on and paul was texting with friends telling them where he was right now, his phone almost caught fire from all the envy and hate being sent in reply.

the only downside to this mega-weekend is what in the heck could we ever do to follow it up. and/because it will be followed up as i'm hoping to make this trek to some college rivalry/experience a new annual tradition. too many interesting places and cultures in this country to not stick your head in the room at least once and soak it up.


hughes staudium (2016)



new stadium (2017)



auburn game (2018)



talledegha 500 (2018)

as mentioned yesterday, i recently took a road trip. it is an annual trip east i have been taking since the kids got old enough they did not require a full-time staff of two. on this trek i visit friends and family and since starting the company, i mix a work stop or two along the way. the time for me is restorative and joyful and one of my favorite annual traditions (amidst many).

this year i got ambitious and over-planned the week, seeking to milk every day and hit every drivable connection. after getting home-sick i decided to trim a bit off the end and head home a full day early. in thinking on it further i thought i had a neat opportunity to surprise my family with a premature return (because we do like surprises: New Car Story).

so i planned my eleven hour drive out so i would arrive just before sunday dinner, fifteen minutes before to be precise. once home, i parked a few houses down the street to walk the last bit (so no one accidentally spied my car out front). using my cell, i called our home line and got marty. we exchanged hellos and then i said that i might not be home on monday night. there was a long pause. i knew her mind had already started thinking through the implications of me being a day late since the kids were to start school on tuesday. as she processed the news, i walked through the front door. i found bella knitting on the living room couch. on seeing me she dropped her needles shot her arms into the air and bellowed, "dad's home!!!".

i walked into the breakfast room in time to see marty hanging up the phone. she turned and gave me a wry smile. after separating from our hug i asked if i was going to find a shirtless college boy or two jumping out of our bedroom window. she said i would not, they left earlier in the day.

i recently took my annual friends and family tour back east. this is a solo trip i've been making the last few years, or put differently, since the kids have been old enough to not overwhelm a single parent. i am fortunate that a few of my closest friends and a portion of my family are clustered in a remarkably small area, an area i did not grow up in (but did finish college in) which makes it all ...

i'm a regimented person. so much so that people mock and ridicule me for the amount of structure in my life. i have talked to many people who say that sort of daily rigor is not for them--even if we have just discussed some challenge in their life where a routine is the exact answer to a problem they might be battling. this is most certainly my family's position on this matter. dad's schedules are...

a few years back our car broke down in sidney nebraska. we were en route to utah for our spring break holiday. we left sidney with a surprising number of good memories and warm feelings having made the most of our two days in the small town.

a perfect example. one day while out for a walk (to the original Cabelas superstore), we saw this statue honoring the pony express. as the family read the related plaques that circled the impressive monument, bella climbed onto the horse and then called to me to take her picture. as i set up, marty snuck into the background and photo-bombed the shoot. then the boys joined in. and then, well it is just how things tend to unfold around here ...






























in the end, we were able to pull out a decent family photo but those never seem to come at a simple trajectory.

and this episode reminds me of a story that marty tells of when she was a young girl. she grew up in a house with three older brothers. the few times she would bounce downstairs wearing any sort of makeup she would get mercilessly taunted by her brothers. a popular one was for them to ask who beat her up and if she would just give them their name they would go give them a good pounding. this constant jibing kept marty from ever drifting too far into the it-girl lane (it-girl/it-guy being what my family calls the fashion-governed, opinion-driven in-crowd). i'm thankful for this because i share marty's brothers sentiments about makeup on marty (but probably for different reasons)--for me it is not just that it doesn't look right on her, but i think it makes her look less beautiful, or rather, she is always more fetching without the 'enhancements', however minimal she claims they are. marty has no prayer with me because there has never been a day where i haven't thought marty looked her best in the first moments of the day where she is minutes out of bed, wonky hair and all. she hates my position on that but i stand by my claim. this is the life of a natural beauty.

but back to my other natural beauty, bella. i've seen some moments where bella has begun the slide into the it-girl world but each and every time our family tugs her back to the ground and keeps her from ever taking that part of the game too seriously.

we are soon to go on a trip and will be staying with friends. we have stayed with these friends, like a good number of times. they seem open to having us. eager to having us even. but every time we pull into their drive and five humans, who all seem much larger than the last time we were in their drive, spill out of the car the same thought runs through my mind--oh these nice, poor people. marty never thinks this way. neither does our hostess. but then when the first driveway-exchange anthony has with them is:

ANTHONY (9)
do you still have the popcorn machine?

MICHAEL
uhhh. yes, we do.

ANTHONY
is there already popcorn in it or do i have to make some?

MICHAEL
uhhm. ya know, i think it has some in there, possibly from the last time you were here.

ANTHONY
ok. i'll see if it's still eatable but if not i'll make some new stuff.

here michael will pat anthony on the head and smilingly say, "i see ole anthony hasn't changed". i smile in agreement and look around taking in the lovely scenery, certain this is the last time the dearmitt-walter clan will be invited to this zip code again.

but each year the invites and feelers go out. below is marty's email to the family this year.
the mention of sydney refers to a car breakdown we experienced during last year's road trip. this debacle led to the purchase of a new car (chronicled here). but ten days before our super-trip, there was a slight incident with the new van. it was bella's 16th birthday. she and marty were arriving home from school and had anthony and some friends in the back who were coming over to play. while marty was backing into her spot in front of the house, bella, excited to run in and check on the state of her steak dinner, threw her door open which, while the car was still moving backward, caught the edge of a largish tree trunk in our font lawn. before the sick bending of metal reached marty's ears and marty's brain was able to signal her to brake, the damage was done.

neighbor jeff, as i was out with aleo, helped marty bungee the door closed with the help of the headrest. marty threw a bike on the carrier and headed to the body shop her go-to mechanics referred her to so they could start assessing things as soon as possible so we had a hope of getting the van back in time for our trip. when bella told me what happened, as marty was off to the body shop, she said she had good news and bad news. always taking bad news first she told me about the van. when i asked what the good news was she meekishly said, it will make my 16th birthday more memorable in the future. i can't deny that as it is sure to go down in the growing list of dearmitt-walter family lore.

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. comfort-what?

during last years trip to michigan, bella was heard to proclaim, loudly and exuberantly: I LOVE THIS PLACE. WHEN I"M HERE, I'M THE BEST VERSION OF MYSELF! during this year's travels, bella made similar proclamations, even anticipating them beforehand.

if you sat down and spent thirty focused minutes of your life on seriously contemplating what you want more than anything, wouldn't it be t ...

when alex was young, like before he could crawl-young, if something caught his eye he wanted, he would reach for it. if it was slightly out of his reach, he might stretch for it, a little bit, and by little bit i mean almost imperceptibly. if his fingers did not easily and cleanly grasp the bauble he would straighten back up, return his thumb to his mouth, assuming he ever took it out in the first ...