HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM BEND, OREGON

Changes -  2013

Life begins where your comfort zone ends. If so, the Francis’ are livin’ the life. We’re learning the only way to make sense of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.

In January Brett changed jobs to Plant Manager, Certified Planes Division at Epic Aircraft in Bend Oregon.  He swapped autonomy and weekend climbing trips for manufacturing multimillion dollar planes and even flying them occasionally.

Since relocating to Oregon Jonell is changing her questions from “why are yoga pants so comfy?” to asking total strangers “would you join us for dinner?” and “so why are you in grief counseling, what happened?” or classic mom style, “You’re from Utah, are you Mormons? No. Oh (awkward pause), would you like to be?”

Lauren and Dallin (25) changed continents in August for jobs in Fusion I/O’s European office. In Egham England, many changes let them know they’re ‘not in Kansas anymore, Toto.’ Dal traded his Toyota Tacoma truck for a tin can on wheels and Lauren’s home décor changed from Shabby-Chic to ‘draped wet clothing.’ They’re looking into why clothes dryers are turned away at UK borders, especially during this cold winter season.

Tanner (22) is in that map-less phase of schooling where you learn that it’s good to decide, but it is also fine to change your mind. He’s changed majors from Sound Engineering to Business Management (after dabbling in Finance, Rec Management and Music Performance.)  Today Information Systems (web design) feels like home because he LOVES to create. Hey, change means ‘different.’ And until he hits that 4 year mark in college, different is good.

Megan (20) is changing lives in Salta Argentina by shedding the gospel of Jesus Christ abroad. This girl is on fire! She is stretching and growing into her true eternal self more clearly and defined each week. She doesn’t just believe in miracles, she relies on them, every day. We love that she’s there. She returns in July.

Nate (18) stayed in Provo to finish high school leadership commitments. Living with the Francis Grands changed his home life from chaos to quiet overnight. He fills the silence with mesmerizing oboe and English horn solos to the night as he prepares for auditions with the BYU School of Music next year. 

Lynley (15), exasperated said, “Tell me we are not going to be THAT family…that lets kids choose their own tacky clothes.” Because of her fashion influence we are all changing outfits more often than we did before. If we look good, it’s because Lynnie’s on task.

Isaac (13) changed sports uniforms. All club level sports in Oregon mean Sunday games, so to keep the Sabbath holy he’s playing anything city league he can sign up for... now basketball.  He also plays percussion in band and is playing hard to get with the Middle School girls. To which we say, “Good on ya, bro.”

Joslyn (11) is all over Unicycle Club at school. She can jump over objects, turn a tight circle and go up and down ramps on one wheel. Woot, woot! Mixing it up with family life at home means changing her “ride zone” often. Remember that one time Joss found out riding on the dining table was NOT a good activity?

Alex (8) thanks God for this planet and often prays that angels will help everyone who needs help across the whole earth. One time he threw in “And please bless Mom that she can get a calm heart again.” Thank you Alex. Actually she was getting a bit snippy and uncalm just then. Melting and changing hearts is one thing he does easily and who doesn’t need more love like that?

Ethan (6) got intense one day. “Mom, don’t say ‘corner,’ say vertices, okay? Instead of a not fancy work, than say it!” He’s enamored with words – reading them, understanding their meaning (“What means a nickel?”) and changing them up at will. He came tearing downstairs dressed like a ninja and belting, “Evy buddy is Kung Fu Friday.  Hoo. Haa!” and dove headfirst over the couch. He warned everyone, “Don’t try this. This really hurts” as he did it again. He can change the mood from neutral to high octane fun in a heartbeat.

We wish you JOY as we celebrate Him whose influence makes all change for good possible. We have a personal, powerful Savior, who is more powerful than the problems life will surely bring.

He changes souls, who then change their circumstances. And we praise Him for this miracle in life. He lives! He is Jesus Christ.

                                                      Our Love to you this Christmas,

                                                                             The Francis Family




New Address: 19766 Thimbleberry Way   Bend OR, 97702

TRUTH...ON A BAND TOUR

Our son Nate remains in Provo this year to finish out high school as drum major for his marching band. Two years ago when he became drum major elect he invited me to go on tour with the group his senior year …this was the trip that mattered most, and now I know why.

Within weeks of his election to drum major, Nate learned that Timpview's revered band director of 22 years, Dr. David Fullmer, would be moving on to coach University bands and that our family may be moving two states away for a new job. It pained Nate that so much change would happen at once and that he’d have to choose between finishing what he’d started two years earlier and having solid family support his senior year. What to do?  Fly off and restart in Oregon?  Or stay and see his hard work as drum major come to fruition? He made the decision to finish what he began.  

As a Mom, I’ve have had both kinds of tears over Nate’s involvement with Dr. Fullmer and his tightly run ship. At first there were tears of joy as my 14 year old son threw himself into summer band, waking early, sweating it to memorize scales, pass off music and work it in the hot summer sun. This was teenage military boot camp and what mother of teens doesn’t smile upon emerging self-discipline? None, I say.

My heart warmed as Nate chided our family with Fullmerisms like “to be on time is to be late Mom. The only way to be truly on time is to be early.” On the day of his first (and last) tardy, he was called to midfield with other late teammates and told to “raise your hand if it was someone else’s fault you were late today.” Those who did were told to drop and give him fifty pushups. “No one is responsible for your behavior or your performance but you. Is that clear?” Phew. So glad he didn’t raise his hand, Nate and the group began running laps around the practice field to let that life lesson sink in deeper still. 

But I think I may have cried a sad tear or two when I'm the one being taught by Dr. Fullmer thru our son. When he censures me in fluent Fullmer, I usually smile..but then sometimes not.  What seems preposterously impertinent one second melts into the raw awareness that, "wait a minute, wait a minute...he might actually be right. Maybe I do need to clean up my act or remember that 'it's not all about me.'

Timpview has been known over the decades as the band that enters a competition, sweeps the awards (even from much bigger schools), and then sometimes-- doesn’t stick around for the honors. It happens. They wow the crowd with difficult music, great show design, great musicianship, artistic elements and precision footwork. And they remain one of only two high school bands in the state to wear white shoes with dark pants because they WANT their fancy footwork to be seen and appreciated. Yep, they are THAT band.

The same was true of this band tour. Timpview, now under the direction of Jared Hearld and a completely new staff, entered the Red Rocks Band Competition in St. George, which is considered by Utah high school bands as the State Championship. They came, they blew everyone away…and there was no one left behind to receive the overall award or the caption award for best drumline.

No, the band was gathering back at their hotel for a night of reverie and honor. It was Seniors night (the bandimony meeting) where upperclassmen remember and share band wisdom of the ages with the rest of their band family. They laughed, they cried. It moved us all. 

The next day at the Las Vegas Invitational, an even bigger band competition, a family recognized our tshirts and asked why no one remained behind the night before to receive the awards in St. George. I was at a loss for sure. It seemed a little snobbish to me that we split the scene. I knew Nate missed Sadie Hawkins the weekend before to stay behind and receive awards at the Davis Cup Tournament, but this time there were even more significant honors to bestow back at the hotel. 

After a thrilling qualifier and then finals with schools from Utah, Nevada, and California, Timpview placed fourth with less than a 3-point spread from first to fourth. It was tight at the top. Parents and staff watched intently for each super-cool trick or stunt to come off well. We tried to anticipate what the strengths and weaknesses of this years show would be to the judges, and wondered what could be done to build the program for next year.

The next morning at breakfast, band members had the voice recordings of field judges and were listening for feedback. Being a personal improvement junkie myself I longed to be right there listening but was involved elsewhere in the room. I asked Nate if he’d like to go over and listen in and he responded, “No, it’s never been about the awards Mom or what the judges think.” WHAT? You kiddin' me? You reach this level of excellence and you don’t even want to know what the judges are saying???

“No,” he said. “There are really only three factors in winning any competition a person enters and two of them you have absolutely no control over. They are: 1) whoever shows up to compete with you, 2) the preferences of the judges, and 3) your performance. It was never about the awards Mom, just the performance. We do it all for the crowd…and that’s all that matters.”

He left me…in shock and awe. In another minute or two I knew the truth by how it felt. Yet it was uncommon truth. I felt that too. I batted the idea around in my head over the long drive home.

To pursue the marks of success (ie, awards, honors, $$$) resonated with something profound that Victor Frankl observed after years in a Nazi work camp.

“Don’t aim at success—the more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it. For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side-effect of one's personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself.

Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it. Listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge. Then you will live to see that in the long run—in the long run, I say, success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think of it.” (Frankl, Man’s Search For Meaning, p.xiv)

And so it is. Dr. Fullmer got it. Nate gets it. And now I’m beginning to understand.

Find your purpose, your inner “why” and pursue it with all you’ve got. For Timpview’s Band it is giving the crowd their very best show, every time.

Success in your endeavor and the encumbant happiness must follow precisely because you are so absorbed in your purpose that you’ve let go all thoughts of “am I happy now?” or “am I successful yet?”

Work hard to make the world a better place because of your gifts, and in time you’ll have both success and happiness… because you’ve forgotten to think of them.

Thanks for sharing with me!


Shameless Plug: Armed with my magical "dirt drink"  Exodus GI Cleanser, and Feel Good Foods Glutamine, on the first chilly night I administered to members of the Flute section who'd been sidelined by tummy troubles and closing airways. When Nate learned what'd happened, he apologized to his teammates for the gritty texture and added, "but it does work". Within about 10 minutes that hole in the flute formation was again filled and the band marched on. On day two I began getting requests to mix the drink for members of the trumpet section and then drumline. Even a few of the staff and band parents were blessed by these ready gifts from the earth to quickly relieve upset stomach and aching joints and muscles. Woot, woot for The Yeast Beaters Cleanse and Timpview Marching Band!

Nate’s favorite performance of his high school band career was their 2011 show at the Las Vegas Invitational, Sophomore year. Nate's the second Tuba (Sousaphone) from the right at the start. After that, good luck. Ha!

2011 Timpview Marching Band Show

Here is Nate's final show with marching band. Enjoy!

2013 Timpview Marching Band at Las Vegas Invitational

LETTING GO

Nothing like the seaside says to your whole soul, “let it go”. The rumble and roll of the ocean, then the calm of a retreating wave. And, wait for it… wait for it…another rumble and roll decrescendos to a flat, smooth,  “pshhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

When we changed home states in July my battle cry was “Life on Vacation,” and that went well all summer long. Hold the projects, productivity step aside, I’ve been all about playing with our children and making memories. The kids aren't getting any younger. Maybe I'm not either.

Now, three months later with school, work, and church responsibilities filling our hours, I’m scratching my head and wondering if the doubtfilled world was right after all about living life on vacation…year round… with 6 kids under the roof. And yet, I WILL NOT YIELD!

Drive it back into a corner, shave it close, reduce it to its meanest terms and then answer me, what makes a vacation a vacation? It’s giving yourself permission to leave it all behind. To let it go. It’s clearing your mind and your days in a few broad strokes of the deadlines and to do’s… to breathe first in, then out again, and then repeat. To observe, to laugh, become more mindful and love more deeply, just because you can. But it starts with letting go..

Repeat with me. “I effortlessly let go. I am free.” Then feel an ocean wave wrap up around your ankles, hang motionless for a moment, and then retreat, drawing with it all the bunched up tension, all hurry, all heaviness. For this moment…you and I are free.

As a recovering workaholic led by immense desire to pioneer a more funfilled life, I still carry a banner for “Life On Vacation”.  So, on the last holiday weekend before winter’s chill freezes central Oregon, I took the kids camping at the beach.

It began with a challenge from our eldest son Tanner to unplan the weekend.  “Pardon me, are those plans and expectations lurking up your sleeve Mom?" Let em go girl. Let. Them. Fly!

We took our sweet time getting there, (not our native mode of transport) stopping for snacks, brunch, 11’sees and late, late lunch. Whatever we saw that drew us we followed it; like a canine family chasing butterflies.  Living in the moment with the last fall berries along the roadside… playing on a rope swing out over a surprise lake, and exploring along it’s shore.

It was foggy, cold and just about dusk when we rolled into South Beach State Park to set up camp and bed down for the night. You never can tell with butterfly chasers, exactly when you'll get there.

It felt like we were Boxcar Children setting up a makeshift home in a strange land. Our site backed up to the ocean under towering cypress trees all knarled and hunched like giant loyal wild things protecting us from danger in the coming night. The boys went right to work setting up shelters while the girls made dinner, kale cranberry salad with sunseeds and gyoza dumplings. No popcorn and carrot sticks for dinner tonight kids!

Everyone was cheerful, even electric with excitement that for the first time in Oregon, we were at the ocean. We giggled more softly as neighbors shushed us. Hey, it’s 9pm and WE ARE ON VACATION!

We dove into the tent just as the rain began dancing on the rainfly. My sleeping pad was thin enough that I lay awake listening to the cadence of the rain.  And then of the fog horn. After half an hour I clocked it in my head. “One banana, two banana…Yep, 10 seconds”. 10 seconds on the warning blast about the rocky jetty into Newport Harbor. 

At 3am I was awake again with the sound of harbor sea lions barking on the beach. How cool was this? Campout AND a show! I unrolled two spare sleeping bags to get more padding and snuggled back in til morning.

At South Beach, nearly a quarter mile of dune separates the campground from the oceans roar. The dune didn't exist until Newport jetty was built blocking the natural movement of ocean sand up and down the coast. Over the last 50 years this 1/4 mile of new real estate has gathered and encouraged its own tundra; in the oldest part a cypress forest and then huckleberry bushes, merging down to a sea of tall grasses that carpet the dunes until at last they part and the white sand stretches out to the great deep blue. It is equal parts stunning and adventurous. We found deer, sea birds, a great owl and friendly red mushrooms hiding in the forest and grasses.

We needed no other diversion, and we really did nothing else but play in camp and on the beach. I cannot tell a lie, I DID gather a handful of cool local attractions to see and do from people in the know. But effortlessly letting go of that list made space for everyone to breathe in and then out, repeatedly…all weekend long.

We tidepooled around the boulders of the jetty, flew kites on the beach and chased the waves all day long, returning to camp only for want of food or sleep. Scratch that, we totally napped on the dunes and grazed on beach food when our people food ran out...wild huckleberries, seaweed samples and even some sushi (4 new inductees to the Raw Jellyfish Eaters Club. Woot, woot.)

Eureka! We’d recaptured the rhythm of life on vacation, and it’s stayed with us for several weeks now. And when life becomes a drill again, I’m learning the magic trick of effortlessly letting go the list.

Never say die my friends! Vacation is a gift you give yourself. But don’t wait a week, month or year to give it. If you are a dedicated “press forward” person like me, or even if you're not, go ahead. Power nap, stare out the window, sing at full throttle to the walls, do something that recreates you…heaven knows, the list will wait. When you return to what must be done you’ll be resonating at a much higher frequency, closer to joy, which is our native frequency by design.

So, here’s to a little more “life on vacation” for you and me both!

KEEP CALM...AND EAT BERRIES

Now that school is back in session, I’d give anything to preserve that carefree feeling that comes with summertime. Well….I figured it out. And I’m letting you, my friend, in on the juicy secret.

Shhh… EAT   MORE   BERRIES.

Blueberries, strawberries and blackberries are true super foods. Naturally sweet and delicious, berries are low in sugar and high in life preserving nutrients - they are among the best foods you can eat!

And every July and August in Oregon they are everywhere. Dripping and draping all over the landscape West of the Cascades, succulent blackberries line every roadway and riverbed and untamed patch of land as far as the eye can see. Blueberries can be hoarded cheep at “U Pick and Pay” places along the River cut canyons that tumble from the mountains of Central Oregon all the way to the coast. Organic strawberry farmers welcome picking your own delectable gems of juiciness along the McKenzie, and even Fred Meyer discounts huge clamshells of berries during the height of berry season for 4 quid apiece. It’s a veritable berry Barmitzvah!

Hard to be unhappy with that kind of gorgeousness going on all around you. I mean, how do you badmouth a fresh berry? Or anyone or anything, for that matter, when there are fresh berries in the house? It’s inconceivable.

Last week a fun friend invited us for a berry picking expedition. We loaded up the cars with kids, cups and containers and headed over the mountains to hunt for edible treasure.

6 hours later we rolled back into the driveway, tired, full of berries, purple fingered ALL, and still damp from our bridge jumping challenges on the McKenzie. After dining on all the fresh berries we cared to eat that week, a large berry stash is tucked away in the freezer to last until Spring or whenever friends come up for a little getaway (yes, that's you).

I especially love the random blueberry leaf or tiny stems that end up in my breakfast bowl, or the occasional greenish blueberry whose tartness reminds me that we did it ourselves…because we can.

You're invited, my friend. Add a few more berries to your life and extend the magic of summer wherever you are.

Favorite Banana Berry Smoothie (Serves 8)

4 cubes ice

1 cup frozen berries (Costco has our favorite Oregon Berry Blend for a great price yearround)

1 (13 ounce) can coconut cream

2 bananas (fresh or frozen)

¼ cup frozen OJ concentrate

Blend until smooth and dive back into summer!

AS MAY FLIES...

Last week Brett and I took the kiddie-winkies exploring along the Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway which begins just 10 minutes from our place. This highway cuts a path through the mountains, lakes, and forests of central Oregon where volcanism (not even close to what Mr. Spock had) and glaciation formed 150+ lakes for which this region is really well known. In the 30 minutes that we drove, we saw breathtaking examples of lava flows, alpine lakes, and soft grassy meadows.


But for the thin strip of asphalt threading through it, you could imagine and almost smell dinner cooking at the campfire of such mountain men as Kit Carson and John C. Fremont. All your wildest pristine wilderness dreams come true on this part of the planet, my friend!

On the backside of Elk Lake Loop we discovered a lilypad lake called Hosmer. The beauty and serenity were both stunning and unforgettable. We launched our kayaks into complete evening stillness, accept for the passing honk of a pair of Canadian Geese overhead.

After paddling around the lake exploring the lily lined inlets for an hour or so, the snacks were all gone. So we began to head back. Only now the sun had dropped at an angle across the lake that illuminated the 3 feet just above the water like a massive, well lit stage. And here a grand finale was taking place. Thousands of tiny mayflies were performing their great dance of life and one by one dropping into the water, motionless.


I learned in high school Zoology (go Bulldogs!), that these memorable insects spend a year as a naiad (a little like a mermaid), to be born into their adult form for a single day (think of Ariel, ‘with’ legs, but only a fraction of time to get the guy).

Just imagine it! Embryonic Mayflies watch and wait, day after day for an entire year, their big naiadish eyes pearing up through the watery surface to see thousands of upper classmen have their day in the sun and then pass on…fantisizing how earth altering their own big day will be, perhaps stepping off a few counts of 8, just a little choreography they put together while they’re waiting…for life…TO BEGIN!

It's true. Mayflies come from the Order, Ephemeroptera, meaning "short-lived" (literally "lasting a day" or "day-long.")

Right on their birthday, they're born, (I know, right?) with tiny fluttery wings and two pointy cerci for a tail. They learn to fly, find a mate, plan a wedding, get married and have babies all in one day before dancing over the water, bustin' every move they know and collapsing, motionless... not even a twitch. I mean, how did you feel the last time you completed any ONE of those tasks?


And then their tiny spirit floats off to the happy hunting ground of all creation, knowing the consecration to their purpose was complete. Talk about commitment… These ephemeral creatures don't dilly nor dally…No sir!


And I thought to myself…and then sang softly .. “Oh, that I were a mayfly.” And then more loudly, “Oh-oh, that I were a mayfly”...    "Okay, Cut!" (It was Isaac, at the back of my kayak.)

We paddled on, in smiling silence.  But still…my heart wondered.

PUMP IT UP

Early one morning I stopped for gas at a Sinclair on the North end of town. As I opened my door to get it done, I was startled by the sudden appearance of a raggedy, bearded man at my window asking for my credit card. He wore a crumpled gas station shirt over his street clothes which were also heavily soiled by dust and oil. He reminded me of Robyn Williams without any teeth.

I looked around the station for any indication this was normal and saw another homeless looking person in a different style crumply uniform, reaching in a driver's window for her credit card too.

"Gainst da law da pump yer gas, mame," he warned. Only it came out more like 'Gindalo da-bump ya-gath  mame' ...on account of the teeth. So I slowly handed him my card, wide awake for the moment he and his partner bolted from the station with two loaded credit cards. "What's that all about?" I asked. He leaned his face right down into the window and shrugged. "Hafta head over da borda if ya wanna pump yer gath." His blue eyes delighted at his own humor.  "Just somethin' people up at the capital thought of." He started the gas pump and began washing my front window. 

Suddenly I was in a time warp. How long had it been since I'd visited a full service gas station? Back in the days before seatbelts... I remember pulling up to the service station curled up in the back window, kids lying on the floor or sliding across the slick vinyl benchseat as the family car spun into position at a free pump. 

Remember a little later in the 70's when you got the choice to pay a few cents less per gallon at the "self service" pumps out by the street? And now it's all expressionless, "pump it yourself". This was cool!


"Whoa," I said, making light conversation with the man. "Do you remember the days when you'd pull up to a gas station and hear your Mom or Dad say, "Filler Up with Ethel, Lloyd." Somehow the parentals always knew the name of the guy at the station. And I don't know what else was on the menu, but Mom always ordered up the '"Ethel." 

In 3 minutes I liked this guy and wanted to take him home with me. Was it his Robyn Williamness that intrigued me so, or the neatnik in me that wanted to help clean him up? Here's a snapshot I snagged. Can you believe the likeness?

Ask around the State and you'll find, "strue!"  Since 1951 it's been against state law to pump your own gas in Oregon,  ...every inch of it. The statute gives 17 justifications for the self-serve ban. They run the gamut from protecting small children left in cars, preventing spills, or people blowing up the gas station, to keeping older drivers from "unreasonable discomfort."

But the justification that's cited most often is that the law creates jobs...jobs for people like Lloyd here. With state unemployment at 10% right now, it's a good thing. Or Lloyd may be driven to work as a stunt double for the silverscreen. 

So when you come up to visit us and need a fillup with petrol, just sit back and relax. You gotta relax when you pull up to a gas station. And let full service begin! 

OVERLAND ANGELS

A wise and experienced writer once told me that the emotion of an experience begins to dissipate within 3 minutes from point of impact. So, writing in the moment is key to capturing the essence of the experience.


"Just jump" I said to myself this morning. "In fact, I forbid you to shower ever again until you do it." So I'm here, in my jammies, at 4pm, starting the family blog... now, without rehearsal, no requisite props. "Out, out" with perfection as the aesthetic me cringes, "and jump."


Throw out the 3 minute model...it's been 3 weeks since the kiddies and I loaded the family wagon and headed for the plains of Oregon...without our Pa. And like our pioneer ancestors of old, we had to leave some belongings behind. Tuba paraphernalia, the lever harp...and almost Alex who was still in the bathroom at Omi's.


Lynnie said a prayer for us as we rolled away from the riverbottoms of Provo. The weight of the overstuffed trailer pulled mercilessly at our midsized SUV with the stop and go of Saturday morning traffic. Yoked up for the long haul, it was the transmission I was most mindful of. No, I don't pretend to speak transmission, I just knew we'd replaced it once a year and that was all before we had the hitch installed.


I thanked Lyn for her prayer for safety but felt a little sheepish at no mention of angelic help. I know too much to deny the part they play in God fulfilling his promises to the children of men. So I said a silent prayer of thanks.

As we dropped downhill toward I15, I asked God for overland angels to attend us, if it was all the same to Him. And here was the beginning of something very cool. I felt airspace fill up at my right shoulder and my left. It was very subtle. I smiled and maybe I cried. And the fear went right out of me--fear of mechanical problems all the way to Oregon...even when we clipped over a swell in the freeway that sent everyone's head roofward and our backs against the seats on the afterpull. Yep, we had trailer...and boy did we travel.


Which is why the explosive "boom" from the rear of the trailer 12 hrs later caught me by surprise. Wide awake, I checked my mirrors in time to see tire tread flipping a few feet up in the air behind the trailer. "Hold it, Tom and Dickey Smothers."  Had I just run over a tread on the road...one that escaped my catlike vision? Both trailer tires looked fine and pulled the same as before. No harm, no foul. We were on an incline just 3 miles from Bend city limits with steep sides and nowhere to pull over. So...we kept on going. And so did Smother's Brothers.


Well, it was a pretty happy reunion we had with Pa. For the last 12 months he'd lived away. And now we were a whole family again. Not half family. Whole family. Yo haw buck and Jerry boy...is what I say. And until the trailer was completely unloaded, no one even noticed the back wheel. Floating up that last rise into Bend, a bent fender caught and delaminated the tire down to the metal mesh. Overland angels took one for the team my friends. And thanking heaven with deepest gratitude... is always the best policy.