HOBBIES

SKIING

I took up skiing in the mid-1960s, a little late I will admit but I approached it with my trademark enthusiasm and optimism.

We created the Flatland Challenge Races which of course excluded cities like Denver. We eventually prevailed upon Budweiser to underwrite our parties. In Crested Butte our forerunner was none other than David Gorsuch.

Unfortunately for David he was a recipient of my typical enthusiasm when I won my first skiing medal:

David eventually opened Gorsuch's in Vail and ultimately in Aspen. Our ski club grew as did our races which eventually became the world's largest downhill skiing race of over 500 racers.

I was known to be a very aggressive skier and no one cared to ski in front of me. Gorsuch sold me a pair of Fischer Imperator skis that were guaranteed to be unbreakable. I made it a habit to jump over and off of anything that seemed exciting. After I broke the third pair of skis David told me Fischer was no longer willing to offer me their guarantee.

And I sometimes pushed the limits:

This brings up the interesting story of my medical treatment in Vail, CO.

According to eyewitnesses, I took a face plant at 60+ miles per hour and did and eggbeater fall for 70+ yards. I was unconscious for over one half hour. While I was in the hall at the hospital I asked a passing nurse about the identity of the best seamstress since I knew I was going to require some stitching. She gave me the name of a doctor and while I was in the surgical suite being prepared I asked another nurse for the same information and was given the same name.

A distinguished looking gentleman examined my wound between my eyes and prepared to go to work on it. I quickly learned that this was not the doctor I had been told about and requested that person work on me. The doctor was offended, told me that he was Chief of Staff and quite capable of sewing me up. I informed him that I was the customer and insisted on having the other doctor work on me. The doctor became angry and instructed the nurse to wheel me out of the room. I raised my voice and told the gentleman that if they moved me I would sue him and his hospital and he scurried from the room.

Some time later a younger doctor appeared and laughingly said that he heard that I had been looking for him. I was under a local anesthetic during the procedure so we visited. It turned out that this doctor was a former lineman for a Big Ten team and we talked football while he took approximately 27 stitches instead of the probable 6 to 8 that would have been used. I raced for the K.C. Ski Club day the following day at Vail.

A month or so later I visited the leading plastic surgeon in Kansas City, Dr. McCoy, who was pleasantly surprised by my appearance and told me that I would need no future scar revision.

THE MORAL OF THE STORY: Know what to ask for and never give in.

ENDEAVORS: It is time to share my theory of how to excel in life's endeavors. I have proven that with a modest amount of effort one can rise to the top 5 to 10% of any chosen endeavor.

When I wanted to move from Silver to Gold in skiing I went to Pepi Stiegler's ski racing camp and accomplished my goals.

As a racquetball player I wanted to move from a B to an A player by attending Steve Strandemo's Camp. I became one of the best players in the state in my age division.

As a sailboat racer I paid attention to Dennis Connor. I raced Lightning's & Snipes all over the country and could always finish in the top 5 to10%.

HOWEVER, if you want to be the best in the world at something you really regard as important, you must give it all you've got. These are the Vince Lombardi quotes I kept in my office:

If you can accept losing, you can't win.

Success demands singleness of purpose.

The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.

Winners never quit and quitters never win.

FLYING

In 1965 I purchased a 1966 Cessna 210. This was a high wing retractable gear aircraft with a range of just under 1000 miles at a cruising speed of about 180 mph. I bought it after about three hours training in a Cessna 150.

At a time when I had less than seven hours flying experience I was at the downtown airport shooting touch and goes in my Cessna 210 with my instructor Eddie Holloway in the right front seat. My son Scott was in the rear seat. We were taking off on runway 18 when I noticed what I thought were bugs on the windscreen and as we gained a little altitude the entire windscreen became covered with what turned out to be oil. Holloway panicked, grabbed my right leg and screamed what are we going to do? I took his hand in an iron grip and told him to calm down. I told the tower I was declaring an emergency and we were coming around to land on 21. The landing gear was still down and by peering through the far left side of the wraparound windscreen I could see the runway. I made a perfect landing and taxied over to the hangar. On investigation I learned that the line boy had neglected to replace the filler cap when he added oil to the engine. I made some inquiries about Eddie Holloway and learned that he had panicked with another student with smoke in the cockpit. I saw to it that his instructor's license was revoked.

There were at least two occasions when Mr. Lucky cheated death while flying Cessna 9477T.

In the mid-60s Judge Horn and I flew a couple of young ladies and all our ski equipment to a small airport near Sun Valley, Idaho. By habit I told the line boy to top off the fuel. Some days later on departure I realized how foolish this had been as we were running out of available runway on take off because of the altitude/weight problem. The control wheel was mushy and I was not getting off the ground. Horn was in the right seat glancing nervously at me, the girls were obliviously chatting in the back, and I was sweating bullets. We lifted off at the very end of the runway and I immediately raised the landing gear as we were running out of valley. I then gradually banked the airplane. Now as you bank an airplane you lose lift. The wheel was still mushy and as I made my white knuckled turn, the belly of the plane scraped the trees.

Some years later Judge Horn, Gwen and I were flying back from a weekend in New Orleans. As it grew dark we realized that we did not want to deal with the mountains to the north so we landed at an airfield near Tupelo, Mississippi. My charts did not show any obstructions for the approach but as an added measure of safety I lowered 40° of flaps which steepens the angle of approach. The next morning before takeoff we observed electric power lines on our approach path the night before that we would have surely have hit with a normal landing approach. I observed that we had cheated death once again.

LW/JUDGE JIM HORN

Normally, the times I've faced death were singular events. However, on November 27, 1967. I was quite sure that I was going to die three times that day. Judge Jim Horn and I flew my Cessna 210 to Florida for the Notre Dame-Miami football game. We flew out the next morning for Nassau where we planned on some fun and frivolity.

We had adjoining rooms and I remember hearing Jim arguing with Sunny South Aviation about whether an inflatable life raft would be furnished as promised. We had made the flight a number of times and you always rent May West life jackets along with a raft. I chimed in that we did not need the raft, but fortunately Jim prevailed [familiarity breeds contempt?].

Our normal procedure was to gain altitude over Florida and start out across the Straits of Florida at 8,000 to 10,000 feet and fly directly to our destination of Nassau. This particular day we decided to fly southeast over Andros Island and thence northeast to Nassau. There was a 3,000 foot cloud cover and we were flying just under it. We were about 70 miles out from Miami passing over an island called Riding Rock when the engine quit. Horn was hung over, and asleep in the backseat and he suddenly came awake and asked what was going on. It seemed rather obvious that the propeller had stopped and I was busy switching tanks and activating the electric fuel boost pump. Interestingly, when I would pull the throttle the engine would fire and when I pushed it in for power it quit. I later learned that there were two fuel injection systems on this engine, one for taxi RPMs and another for full power.

I turned into the wind by heading southwest and set up a controlled rate of descent. The landing gear stayed retracted. I realized I was going to die, but I kept saying to myself, "They're not going to get me." To this day I have still not figured out who "They" were.

We had lap belts but no shoulder harnesses so I pushed the seat all the way back. I could not reach the rudder pedals and was controlling the wheel with my fingertips. I was playing with the mush of the yoke and the stall indicator warning horn and I knew it was important to keep a fixed rate of descent. I did not find out until later, how important.

I am convinced that my disciplines learned as a boxer and a trial lawyer kept me alive. When my instincts told me I was about to hit the water and that I should pull back on the wheel, my intellect told me not to and a long time passed before we hit. I later learned that they get less than 5% of pilots back out of these situations primarily because they stall out and plunge into the water nose first.

I neglected to mention that while we were descending Judge Horn opened the right door and wedged it open with the life raft package. He did the same with the left door and wedged it open with a copy of the Wall Street Journal. When I asked him what he was doing, he told me that he did not want the doors to be jammed shut if the fuselage buckled. [Amazing, all the little things that can go wrong].

Horn kept saying that we were going to skip like a flat rock, but instead it felt like I had run into a brick wall. I was totally doubled forward, but did not strike the instrument panel. This was a high wing airplane with the fuel tanks in the wings and very little fuel had been burned. Thus, the cockpit was immediately underwater. The plane had big wide aluminum doors so Horn used his legs to open the right door and went out with the life raft packet. This caused the plane to list precipitously and the only injuries I suffered that day came from banging my left shoulder into the door that refused to open. If I really was the cool dog I imagined myself to be, I would have simply waited for the water level to rise, taken a deep breath and exited the door. Instead, I panicked and lost consciousness when I became trapped under the 40° of flaps I had lowered for the landing and I drowned. Since I drowned that day I count this as the second time I faced death that day.

Judge Horn later told me that he came around the tail with a partially inflated raft and saw me on the under the wing, got me into the raft and somehow revived me. Of course this had a very large effect on our life long friendship, because whenever we became involved in a heated argument he would say, "What is it that you owe me?"

We went into the ocean about 40 miles due South of Bimini Island. The Gulfstream and the south westerly winds drove us northeast. We drifted about six hours and during that time I formed my "Life Raft Philosophy". As the sun was beginning to set in the west I complained to Horn that since we obviously were not going to be rescued that we would probably die in the damn raft. I observed that my ex-wife and her new husband would probably get everything I owned. Horn wryly observed, that probably meant my tabletop stereo, records and charcoal cooker which lightened my mood considerably.

I then decided that if I made it I would start saying no to people and I would get rid of the "Takers" in my life. I was handling all manner of cases wherein people simply needed my help, always thinking I would find some way to help them. Lawyers would ask me to have a drink with them at the Lincoln Inn, discuss their case with me, ask my advice, and then not refer the case. It would come back to me later that the lawyer had used the threat of referring the case to Lantz Welch in order to get it settled.

When I returned to my law practice I got rid of about 60% of my cases and concentrated my efforts on the balance. I started saying no to the "Takers" and my fortunes changed dramatically.

As the sun began to set in the west we saw what looked like a small boat coming our way from the crash site. It turned out to be a very small boat that resembled the African Queen, about 25 feet long, which held two Cubans. It was powered by a small two cycle engine, had a tiller that was a tree branch and did not have a compass. It took us approximately 30 minutes to fly from Miami to the crash site, and approximately 12 hours to return to Miami in our rescue boat. Being apprehensive, I told Horn that I would take the young guy and he old man. Our fears were not justified as they turned out to be two fine human beings. They indicated that they had seen our airplane fall into the ocean.

Having cheated my way through college Spanish we communicated through sign language. We asked to be taken to Bimini but they were afraid of "la policia". It seems that they were in the business of catching "langosta" illegally and suggested we stay on the boat for some unknown period of time. We countered with "Take Miami. Mucho pesos." They went to the front of the boat, conferred, and agreed to go to Miami.

At about 4:00 AM I was sitting in the stern with the old man who asked how many "anos" was I. Remembering "anos" to mean years I held up three and five fingers. He nodded solemnly and replied, "No, uno". This turned out to be rather poignant since my father later gave me a birthday card celebrating my 1st birthday.

Horn and I carried several thousand dollars each and when we arrived in Miami we each held back a $20 bill and gave them all our money along with our gold watches. We later chuckled about the fact that if we were so apprehensive when rescued, we should have simply given them all our money at that time.

We caught a ride back to Kansas City in an airplane that had been chartered by some of our friends who had flown down for the football game.

After losing my Cessna to the Bermuda Triangle I rented a Piper Comanche from a lawyer friend of mine for about a year:

In the late 1970s I went for an airplane ride in a Great Lakes biplane that was owned by a pal of mine named Dr. Pat Hunt, a radiologist. He let me take the controls and I flew a roll and a loop and I told him over the headset that I was going to have to own his airplane. He told me that he did not think so.

As fate would have it Dr. Hunt was sued in a medical negligence case seeking punitive damages for which he had no insurance coverage. He pleaded with me to take his case and save him. I did and he turned over his treasure to me. I flew the Great Lakes for about three years.

It turned out to be a perfect seduction tool for a certain beautiful young secretary who worked for my law firm. She later became the Queen of Camelot.

One of my hanger partners was Dr. Merle Kline who flew a Christian Eagle. This was a kit aircraft that took Doc a number of years to build.

It was designed by Frank Chrstensen.

I flew to Oshkosh one year with Doc and he introduced me to Frank Christensen. It turned out that a 2-hole Eagle, 24HR, had been donated to the EEA by Tom Watson Jr.

Soooooooooooo, here was Mr. Lucky at the right place & at the right time. In return for a substantial donation to the EAA and an additional payment to Christensen Industries for all the current upgrades, I came into possession of one of the finest aerobatic aircraft of its time.

Incidentally, my pal John Denver flew an Eagle, but more of that later in the story.

I flew the Eagle for approximately 5 years and gave rides to many happy people.

Including my son Rick.

And my mother Evelyn, shown here in her 80's.

Sometime in 1982/1983 my pal John Denver and I were at the Aspen airport watching an air show. We were at 8,000 feet and saw an Extra 300 performing gyroscopic maneuvers a couple of thousand feet above us. This was the airplane of choice for the US Aerobatic Team. It was designed and built by Walter Extra in Germany.

I told J.D. that we should split the cost of one, but because of his divorce and other problems he was not able to. Instead, he purchased a Long-EZ and I will now insert what caused his untimely death:

"PERSONAL & CONFIDENTIAL

Mr. Lantz Welch

Re: John Denver, Long-EZ N555JD Air crash on 12 October 1997

Our File AV-MCM-7233

This is just a short note to thank you for thinking of us in the above referenced matter. You told me over the telephone that you didn't want a referral fee, but let me express my thanks by giving you a short synopsis of what happened.

The case was settled (confidential settlement) for $_____________, most of which went to the minor child, at the end of September 2000. Only last week, have I disbursed the final funds on this case. We wound up representing John Denver's only heirs, namely his mother, two adult children, and minor child, pursuant to the California wrongful death statute.

The cause of the accident was the malfunction of the fuel selector valve which was stuck between the left tank and the right tank, "as found" after the accident. The NTSB never disassembled this valve, but we did. The evidence that it had become stuck was apparent

to even a layman, as deep scour marks were evident on the respective mating faces of the valve body and valve plug. Although the valve had been taken apart and lubricated about 15 months prior to the accident, an improper grease had been used, which was antithetical to a brass valve. The seizure of the fuel selector valve resulted in fuel starvation (not fuel exhaustion), as the fuel was exhausted from the left tank. Tragically, the fuel in the right tank, of which there was about 10 gallons, could not be reached. This caused the engine to lose all power and control of the aircraft was lost at about 100-150 ft. above the water, as John evidently tried to force the valve and inadvertently hit the right rudder pedal with his foot.

The responsibility for the seized valve was placed squarely at the feet of the valve manufacturer and the retailer of the valve for selling a defective product without adequate instruction on the proper grease to use during periodic maintenance of the valve. In fact, there were no maintenance instructions ever published for the valve by either the manufacturer or retailer. This was particularly poignant, given that the chief engineer at the manufacturing facility at the time this valve was manufactured testified that they were aware the valve had killed a couple people and had made recommendations to all their customers at the time that the valve not be used in airplanes. Despite this fact, the valve manufacturer was sold, resold, etc., until the valve, after various mergers and acquisitions, worked its way back into the aviation market.

Perhaps the most difficult aspect of this case was tracking down the actual manufacturer of a valve without a serial number, that had been manufactured since 1930, and had been through about 20 mergers and acquisitions. Fortunately, I was able to find the builder of the aircraft, who retained the invoice for the purchase of the valve. With the date of purchase and a unique logo on the body of the valve, we were eventually able to pin down the date of manufacture within a three-year period prior to its retail sale. This is how we were able to get the right defendants.

It was a very interesting case from a technical standpoint. An engineer at NASA was finally able to identify the grease with an infrared trace of what little was left. I truly enjoyed the opportunity and the challenge. It was a privilege to be of service.

Thank you again for thinking of us. Good health and best wishes in all of your endeavors. If we can return the favor in the future, please depend upon us to do so."

JOHN DENVER MEMORIAL HIDDEN ON A SKI RUN ON ASPEN MTN.

A PHOTO I POSTED IN THE MEMORIAL SPOT (We had both owned Christen Eagle aerobatic biplanes)

MATT MORRISEY/PERRY PEREZ/L.W./"DOC" CLINE

Three very important men in my aviation life:

Matt Morrisey, one of the top aerobatic pilots in the world. Matt helped me fly "Excalibur" from St. Augustine, FLA to K.C. MO.

His father is Col. John Morrisey, coach of the U.S. Aerobatic Team.

BTW, the team flew the Extra 300.

Perry Perez: Who flew B-24s in WW II & became one of the best flight instructors in K.C. area. Taught me to fly: Great Lakes; Christen Eagle; and Extra 300L.

Merle "Doc" Cline: Survived the Kamikaze attacks of the Battle of Midway to become a famous big game hunter, medical doctor and aerobatic pilot.

This is the extra 300 L that I purchased and flew for about seven years:

Matt Morrisey helped me fly Excalibur to its home base in K.C. from Florida.

This was created by my graphic artist, Ricci Racela, by placing an actual photo of Excalibur in front of a Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria.

FISHING

A Buffalo River float trip in the famous John Boats.

Afals

Larry Gepford [the Prosecutor] trying to make off with one of my secret fishing lures.

My Cessna 210 airplane. Stan Zeldin/Judge Horn/LW

Judge Horn

Steve Millin

A day's catch in Canada

Alex Peebles [my old boss], his son & son-in-law & my father in Canada

My three best pals: Larry Gepford, Judge Horn & Max Foust [my only competition as a plaintiff's trial attorney in K.C.]

Max Foust & his son and Art Stoup [A thank you trip for Art's representing me in my continual legal battles with Diane]

A young Lantz had time to catch a tuna.

Another Buffalo River float trip with father & sons.

It was cold in the mornings on the river.

Greg does some ocean fishing.

As does Diana.

Rick was not to be denied.

There were bass to be caught in Weatherby Lake.

And then there were the Striped Bass to be caught in the Atlantic Ocean. One of my good pals, Bill Lucchesi, an ex-professional ski racer:

He has a place in Rhode Island where we go fishing with his brother Mike.

This is Mike telling me I should not get on board his boat with my tiny Weatherby Lake fishing rod. That to catch the big stripers I needed real equipment with 120 pound test line and a huge rod. I told him that was for sissies and real men give the fish a fighting chance. He relented and let me board his boat.

In the morning much to everyone's amazement I landed a 31 pound Striper in a little under one hour. Mike asked me what I intended to do for an encore and in my typical self-confident fashion, I told him I was going to catch a 50. Understand that after thousands of hours the biggest Striper Mike had landed was a 46 and his first mate Bob a 43. He told me I was crazy and laughing said I should get off his boat.

Guess what Mr. Lucky did that afternoon.

YOU GUESSED RIGHT!!

This is the 50 pound Striper that hangs above my fireplace in my Aspen home.

And just when you thought this fishing story could not get any better I will now put the icing on the cake.

I took everyone to dinner at the Olympia and we were joined by legendary fisherman Al Golinsky.

Al and Mike were to go out at some ungodly hour the next morning to participate in the big Striper tournament. During dinner Mike asked Al what he thought about some Midwestern fisherman claiming that he caught a 31 in the morning and a 50 in the afternoon. Al opined that man was a damn liar. Mike gestured to me and said, "I would like you to meet a damned liar." Mr. Lucky had his camera with him and I showed how the picture of the 50. Al's face turned red and without another word he left the restaurant. When I asked Mike what the problem was he said that Al no doubt figured I had cost him many thousands of dollars by catching his potential winner for the next day. Of course this was silly and Al returned and we had an enjoyable evening.

Aspen has some great fishing:

Caught in a lake. Not a lot of fight.

Caught on my birthday. Largest ever caught on the Frying Pan River by a non-professional. The photo usually hangs in window of Pomeroy Sports across from the Gondola.

SAILING

In the mid-60s Judge Paul Vardeman helped me select a Lightning Sailboat which I named "Footloose" as I was single at the time.

This is a model of the Lightning I raced that was built by my father.

Judge Vardeman raced a Lightning at Lake Jacomo and the Annual Trophy bears his name more than any other racer. I will never forget his advice as he began to teach me the intricacies of the Lightning: "Lantzer, I will teach you all you need to know in ½ hour about how to sail this boat, and then you can spend the rest of your life learning how to race her."

Boy was he right. I raced Footloose every Sunday during the season and at regattas around the country for many years & could never do better than the top 5%-10%.

"One design racing offers the immediate gratification. If you are ahead of a boat, you are ahead, and if you are behind, you are behind. Simple. One small error or one beneficial tweak of the sail can change the outcome.

In one design racing, just as the name implies, a single boat type is used by all competitors. These designs are termed "classes"; some are quite large, others very local in number and character. All have in common a design standard and class organization to maintain an even footing.

One design sailing puts the premium on crew work, sailing skill, and racing savvy rather than spending money to go faster an thereby win. "

A Jacomo race: Gwen & Rick are crewing.

When I bought the house at Lake Weatherby in 1970 it needed extensive work. I hired George Croasdale and one of his requirements for new customers was that they purchase a Snipe and race it:

A SNIPE RACE

I later purchased a Sonar and named it "Excalibur". I later sold it to a neighbor, Scott Wedman.

Sunday was race day at Weatherby Lake.

Another fun sport at the lake was ice boating:

This was a homebuilt DN called "Blue Max".

Shown here with Judge Paul Vardeman.

I later graduated to the Nite.

This is known as the Skeeter Class:

SKEETER: Todays Skeeters evolved from a design dating back to the mid 1930's. Since the formation of the class association in 1939 the 75 sq. ft. sail area has been the only limitation of the development of this class and boats are both homebuilt and professionally made.

These boats are very swift and graceful and can reach top speeds of 140 mph.

Sometimes the ice wins.

SCUBA

Myron Wang, Alaskan Fur, got me involved in diving at about the time the double hose regulator went out. He also taught me underwater

photography:

Housewarming gift from Myron.

Status Galleries in K. C. sold my work.

SON GREG

DAUGHTER DIANA

GREG & TIGER SHARK

RICK & TIGER SHARK

BICYCLING

I grew up on a bicycle & earned my early living by using a bicycle. As an adult I bicycled over much of Europe, England, Ireland & Nova Scotia with B & R. I even helped them design their Liability Release Form:

PARTIAL WAIVER OF RESPONSIBILITY AND CONSENT TO ASSUME RISK

I, ________________________________, hereby acknowledge that I have voluntarily decided to participate in one of the trips conducted by Butterfield & Robinson Inc., ("B & R") as described in its brochure or other material ("the Trip). I acknowledge that the Trip may involve certain dangers and risks, inherent in the form of transportation, physical exercise and other activities of the Trip. I take full responsibility for my own conduct, health condition, decisions and actions.

In return for my payment, I expect that B & R will exercise reasonable care in providing all of the arrangements connected with the Trip but I accept that B & R (including its employees, officers, directors, agents and assigns or other personal representative) CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE for any claims or loss arising out of risks or dangers inherent in the nature of the Trip, or the willful or negligent acts of any other Trip member, or other act or event, BEYOND THE CONTROL OF B & R.

I have carefully read this document and all relevant items and conditions outlined in the brochure (especially the Cancellation and Refund Policy) and other materials. I UNDERSTAND THAT IT IS A PARTIAL WAIVER OF LIABILITY AND ASSUMPTION OF RISK on my part in advance of my taking the trip. I am aware that this is a contract between me and B & R and that it is only in reliance on this agreement that B & R permits me to go on the Trip.

____________________________________.

PARTICIPANT'S SIGNATURE

You will notice that we do not give them a carte blanche free ride if they negligently injure one of us.

DO NOT EVER SIGN A RELEASE THAT DOES SO.

N.B. Our SCUBA group was on a 10 day dive trip in the Pacific Ocean when the Captain passed out Release Forms that we were to sign before diving. They were the usual that would relieve a wrongdoer for all legal responsibility for negligent misconduct [and legally enforceable]. We were told we could not dive unless we signed them.

I took the Captain into his cabin & told him we would not have booked the trip had these "Releases" been required up front. That if he & his company persisted in this madness I would sue him personally & everyone else involved: I would take their personal belongings, their bank accounts & all their future earnings. I gave him 5 minutes to decide & left his cabin.

He emerged with a big smile & said there was no problem.

THESE RELEASES ARE ENFORCEABLE AND YOU ARE A FOOL TO SIGN THEM. ANOTHER GREAT EXAMPLE OF HOW THE CASUALTY INSURANCE INDUSTRY TAKES IN PREMIUMS AND ELIMINATES THEIR RISKS BY SCREWING THE GENERAL PUBLIC [YOU].

Back to bicycling:

Parma Italy: I am drafting on our Leader with my front wheel tucked 6"/10" into his rear wheel [We had a 20/30 mph headwind]. A gust hit Tony [huge guy] and he gave way and I swerved left & hit the pavement at 25/30 mph. Serious road rash. First day of the trip, so I was liberally painted with iodine & finished the trip. No lawsuit against anyone!!!!

I have had a number of bike accidents in Aspen:

My neighbor boy [who raced for Aspen Velo] took me on a single track across a couple of mountain ranges to Lenado. As he would come to logs in the narrow trail he would simply launch is bike over them. I did not know how so I would be launched off the trail into nearby trees.

When we got home Laura was aghast and ran him off. BTW, he is the grandson of Friedl Pfeifer, one of the founders of Aspen as a Ski town.

I used to ride around Weatherby Lake & try to improve my times. One day I was at the north end looking down on the Welch Family Bridge & noticed a number of dirt clods on the pavement. In my usual "patient" method of solving problems I decided to power through them. My last memory was 35 mph over the bridge.

When I came to I was laying downhill with my head to the south in a ditch and a man was looking into my face. I asked him to help me up since I was going to meet Laura & Joyce for lunch. He said, "Bud, you're not going anywhere." To which I replied, "O.K., I'll help myself."

He told me that he was an ambulance driver, off duty, and had witnessed the incident from the nearby intersection. That if my neck was not broken, it was no doubt severely damaged and the only way I should move was on a body board. I surveyed him a few moments & decided he might be correct so I said, "O.K."

When I got home from St. Lukes later that day [after quite a few stitches] I had Laura take this picture to remind me to be more patient:

I have one of these at each of my bike racks in K.C. & Aspen to remind me to be more careful.

HUNTING

There were two hunting adventures in my life that bear mentioning.

First there was the duck hunting trip I was invited to join in Mound City. Larry Gepford was quite insistent that I buy a pair of chest waders for the trip. I noticed as we all walked out to the blinds in the morning that I was the only one wearing waders. When I asked Larry about this he simply said that the other guys had screwed up and forgotten theirs. However, when the first duck was shot and landed in the water about 30 yards away I asked Larry how got the dead ducks got back to the blind. He shouted out, "Did anyone here remember to wear their waders?" I quickly realized that the joke was on the new guy and I retrieved ducks all morning.

When I was practicing at 1111 Grand Ave. there was a lawyer named Hank Bittiker who was quite a seasoned hunter. He invited me to go goose hunting. Hank knew how to call them in and he offered me the first shot at the flight. I took my three shots, killed two and wounded the third. The third fell into the water some distance away and as we proceeded toward it I noticed another goose circling low making noises and Hank told me that was probably its' mate.

The next day there was an article in the Sunday supplement about geese and how they mate for life and that was the end of my interest in goose hunting.

PING PONG

My table tennis days started at Central High School Teen Town that took place on Friday nights. In the girls gym the girls all danced with each other hoping that an occasional boy would dance with them. In the nearby boys gym the boy shot hoops and there were four ping-pong tables at one end. The rule was quite simple, you stayed on the table until you were beaten. I got to the point that I could stay on the table all night.

Intramural athletics at a large university like M.U. were quite competitive because there were a number of great athletes that were not playing on the university teams. My skills were such that I always came in the top 2 to 4 spots.

Fast forward 50+ years to October 2008. I had a stroke which resulted in diplopia [double vision] so I Googled "stroke therapy" and the answer was that I should play table tennis. It was also suggested that this therapy was good for Alzheimer's.

I purchased a table as well as a robot. Within five days of practice my double vision disappeared.

Table tennis is back in my life and I have a table at Camelot as well as at our Aspen home. I can beat everyone that I play with the exception of Pete Pierce and Scott Wedman, but they are next on my list.