STEVEN G. SHAFER     aka Woods Nymph

I knew Steve for a relatively short period of time, relative to his 39 years. Many of you knew him longer, and some of you knew him better. But Steve was my friend and I will miss him for a lot of reasons. No longer will I hear his personal version of those famous words "Hellooo Mr. Wilson". To me, Steve was my own personal Dennis the Menace. After opening his shop and tools for me to use, he always let me suffer a bloody knuckle or two before offering his advice on how to fix it right. It wasn't done out of meanness, because I don't think Steve had a mean bone in his body. It was more of an exercise in the master teaching the apprentice in the motorcycle repair school of hard knocks. That was the Steve that l knew. He was always unassuming, open and honest, and usually willing to help anyone, anywhere, anytime. Steve made fun of his height, going so far as to identify his sponsorship for others as "Short Support". What he may have lacked in height, he more than made up for in heart and generosity. Steve's life was the business of motorcycles, engines, gas, grease, rubber, and steel and he did a pretty good job at it. Sometimes I wondered if he really knew what he was doing while other times I marveled at how easily he could solve a problem that had others perplexed. That was the unusual part of Steve, because somehow it just didn't seem to matter whether the problem was simple or complex. He would move on through it, slow and steady, with a twinkle in his eye, and mischievous grin on his face. We all have problems that at times seem insurmountable. I wish that Steve had been able to deal with some of his personal issues and turmoil as well as he did repairing motorcycles. He had some physical problems that were tough because they affected his ability to spin wrenches. There were times we talked about his setbacks, his health, his family, and the long run. I think all of us did our best to encourage him in the right direction and supported him in coping and adapting to some of those problems. But we will probably never know how deep the difficulties ran for him. I think that you measure the depth of a man not by the number race wins, money in the bank, or places he has traveled, but how he takes care of his friends. Steve was always quick to laugh at a joke, no matter how bad it was. And you could count on him to tell an equally terrible one in return. His slow drawl and grizzled chuckle was like hearing an old grandpa tell a story. When I think of the people I have known in my live, Steve was the kind of guy that I looked forward to having as an old friend. He could play the role of the weathered racing veteran, sitting around the campfire telling jokes, impossible riding stories, and sipping Crown Royal with Coors chasers. As the trail boss for our club, I liked to call him the woods nymph. The definition of a nymph is "any of the minor divinities of nature in classical mythology represented as beautiful maidens dwelling in the mountains, forests, trees, and waters". Steve would be the first to admit that he was not a beautiful maiden. Yet somehow there was a classical simplicity to this rough looking guy, smoking a cigarette through his open face helmet, gliding through the woods effortlessly, laying out trail three miles ahead of any of the rest of us. And when we would stop for a break, somehow, like a woods nymph, he would appear out of nowhere with a big shit eating grin wanting to know what was taking us so long. When we die, we all hope to leave something of ourselves, some legacy, for other to remember us by. Most of us will do it through our children, some of us with our names on a structure or road somewhere, others with accomplishments that satisfactorily represents their time on this earth. To me, Steve's legacy will always be his simple approach to a complex world, a laugh to ease the impossible, and a golden heart that always gave but never asked for anything in return. For me there will never be another Denise the Menace or woods nymph other than Steve. I won't forget him, and when my time comes, I know he will have already arrowed some prime trail for us to ride together. Long live the woods nymph. Your trail marking buddy, Hans