RIP Wade Russell

[Drunk Monk]

Wade was a dear deadhead friend. Auspicious that he checked out on Jerry Day. He can sing 'Happy Birthday' to Jer in person again.

I don't know how long I've known him or even the last time we crossed paths. The music scene is that way with my memory. He was a colorful person, always letting his freak flag fly in the most eye-popping ways - a Deadhead, then a Burner. He had an amazing long coat, trimmed in faux fur that lit up with light wire. He also was fond of donning psychedelic top hats. He was a stalwart character in the music scenes from the dead, reggae and edm.

He had this amazing motortrike - totally decked out in tie-dye colors. I rode on it once commuting from camp to BottleRock. It had a full on stereo system and it was like being the king of the parade when he rode in. He towed a cook trailer with it and would provide breakfast at festivals for his friends out of his own pocket. 

At one Cali Roots, he took Tara and her high school friend on a ride around Monterey. He took them for quite a ride, but safely. He had passenger helmets and the trike was built for three, plus two skeletons. I totally trusted him and was grateful that he provided them with that experience. They had a blast. Anyone would have a blast riding that trike. 



He lost the trike at Burning Man. It burned. He got a new one soon after, first a black beauty, and then inevitably tie-dyed again. 

By the time I knew him, he was clean and sober. He only smoked cigs. Cancer took him, starting in his lungs and metastasizing to his brain. I knew he was ill last year but we hadn't kept in touch. I'm stunned at the loss.

[Greg]

You, my friend, are having a tough year. Wade sounds like a great guy and will be missed.

[Drunk Monk]

The whole planet is having a tough year. I'm just too engaged in it. 

Been consoling mutual friends about Wade online. He had a huge circle. He was a generous soul and well loved.

[Greg]

Good on ya.

[Drunk Monk]

Wade was in my dreams last night. I was at some festival like setting, in some sort of covered food booth, something substantial like what they construct at OCR. Wade was behind the counter and served me a pint. He smiled that same smile he always had when he made breakfasts for us all at fests out of his crazy trike-drawn kitchen trailer. I thought it odd because he was clean and sober when I knew him, and I don't drink beer anymore due to the carbs. I tipped him heavily (I'm tipping a lot now in general whenever I do pick up take out to help support those servers). Wade and I didn't talk. I sat at a table nearby and savored the beer, as I haven't had one in so long. I watched him serve others. He was wearing a bowler hat and seemed at peace. 

I woke feeling that loss again.