Back then BD was called JB, the hardest working man in the communications business. He had the moves and could lay down copy like carpet. A wizard on two wheels as well as a keyboard, his specialties were pure power sprints and superior bike handling. My only hope was a long breakaway or to surprise him with a surge at the end. The latter was never especially effective. The points on the Bee Tree sprint line were usually due him.
I was not on the line the day he became BD. I was with the majority of the old gang downtown. Between games of cornhole, we wondered where he might be. He, of course, had no idea. It sort of creeped up on most of the rest of us. Bad news can be hard to hear. Not just difficult emotionally, but I think we literally deny what we are being told to the point of not taking it in. I was lucky. As the magnitude of what had happened sank in, I could share it with other people almost at the same time. We could share it with each other and the weight would not bear down on any one of us too hard. I got to share it.
Eventually, I got to share it with BD. He got better. More or less. In some ways, I think, better than the starting point. I also saw that the sharing thing was what I had. Not something I can really hold onto, eh? Something that needs to be given. But to whom? When and why? A year later, I still don’t know what I’m doing here. When the brother hits the pavement, though, I hope I am ready.