The Brickyard lost a good friend last month.
I could tell a lot of stories about Bryce, but this one I keep coming back to.
On one of our somewhat aimless weekend breakfast motorcycle rides, we ended up in Hampton NH at their little airfield by the beach, in spite of the fact they had no restaurant. I think we hit every airport diner in New England over the course of those rides – Bryce on his Harley, me on my SRX, over a few summers in the late ‘80s and early ’90s.
I remember asking him what we were doing there, since there was no restaurant, thus no breakfast. He told me we were signing me up for a lesson in a Piper Cub. He had planned this “aimless ride” the whole time.
I was pretty much game for anything, and hopping into the cockpit with what looked like Tom Cruise’s little brother, I told the instructor I was just along for the ride. He assured me that wasn’t the case. After taking off, he gave me the controls and I executed my first climbing turn. We went through a series of maneuvers, and it seemed almost effortless. The instructor is sitting directly behind me, and at one point we were just flying straight and level, and he said, OK, now I want to relax your hands. I realized I had a death grip on the stick, not at all what you want on the controls of a light plane, and I still am not sure if that’s just a standard part of the instruction, or he could feel it.
After he landed the plane, he told me I did great. He said he was running out of stuff to do – I went through about 3 lessons in one – my first – flight. I was so thrilled, and thanked Bryce, and he said, well, you like running machines, this is just one of the coolest machines you can run, right? I think he got as much of a kick out of it as I did, and insisted I start my Pilot Flight Log.
He loved to teach, he loved watching people learn, and most, he loved to watch people grow. I often joke that my role at The Brickyard is “enabler” (after “janitor”), and that comes straight from Bryce.
…so many stories, and some regrets that we lost touch when we moved closer to Boston as our family grew, but mainly I just wanted him to see the shop. He would have loved it, and especially loved the vision – a place where you can try anything, with a group of people who want nothing more than to help you learn.
The last time I saw him, he was in his little garage shop working away on something, “making chips”. He’d sold his business and this was his retirement – starting a new business in his garage at home making parts. His face lit up when he saw me, and we spent a good deal of time looking at the tools in his shop, and kicking the tires on the Ducati. As the obit says, he was living life on his own terms.
I wish you’d known him. I wish he’d known you, but there is more of Bryce Larrabee at The Brickyard than anyone could know.
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