It’s the sort of news every climber dreads, but privately accepts as part and parcel of the great game of alpinism. Even so, I never expected to hear it come from my good friend at home, Gayle Meyer. She passed the word that Lara had died in a climbing accident in Alaska on Monday. Her husband, Chad, was out of the country climbing in China and could not be reached with the tragic news.

Where to start about Lara? We first met while working as bike messengers in Seattle, circa 1991. Fresh from my own trip to Denali, I was amazed at the sight of this pig-tailed girl dodging rush hour traffic and climbing Columbia Street like it was a molehill. It seemed that every time I saw Lara downtown, no matter the circumstance, she wore her broad, trademark smile.

Together Lara, my close friend Jim Sykes and I shared an uncommonly close bond as messengers during the week and climbing partners on weekends. The three of us were inseparable in those days. Lara was much more than an equal in both aspects—she kicked ass on the bike the same as she did with two tools on steep ice. She was a tremendous asset in either arena; ever mindful of those around her, constantly vigilant and always displayed the highest level of professionalism. Though I never admitted it publicly, I knew that she was more of an alpinist at heart than I’d ever be.

I owe Lara the greatest of debts anyone can bear: she coordinated my own rescue on Alpamayo, in the Cordillera Blanca of Peru in June of 1996. Together with Lara, Jim and Craig Rankin, we summitted Alpamayo via the classic Ferrari Route under ideal conditions. Some time afterward we became involved in the rescue of a climbing guide and his client from New Hampshire. The former suffered from cerebral and pulmonary edema and was nearly comatose at the 18,000 ft high camp. Of the international contingent gathered on the col, Lara immediately emerged as the undisputed leader. She directed the rescue of the sick climber and everyone followed her lead without question.

In a heated moment during the rescue, I remember an altercation between Lara and a Swiss climber at the base of the headwall below the col, minutes before my accident. The climber had looped a single sling around a marginal ice curtain and called it good as a rappel anchor. Lara barked at him, “would you throw your mother off that thing?” The climber was dumfounded, but didn’t dare challenge her. He sheepishly replaced the anchor with a pair of equalized ice screws.

Long story short: thanks to Lara’s leadership the victim made it back to safe ground and eventually had a full recovery. In the process of said rescue, I became a victim myself. While preparing the next rappel anchor I’d suffered (and miraculously survived) a fall nearly to the glacier floor with a badly broken leg. By all rights, I should have died in the fall. Unperturbed, Lara’s professionalism again shone as she managed not one, but now two, rescues. She literally carried me, in an improvised stretcher, over yawning crevasses and down an unstable snow slope to the terminal moraine with Jim and the climbers she’d rallied for the task. It was only after I was in a position of relative safety that she accompanied the more dire victim to the valley at 14,000 ft. I’m sure that these are only two of the lives, in her care as an alpine guide, owed to her.

Some days after the accident, Lara was the first person to speak to my Mom from a call box in Huaraz. She explained the situation and assured her that I was OK and put her at ease in the way only she could do. In the week prior to departing from Lima to Seattle for surgery, Lara’s care and concern for me was unequalled. I will never forget the way she would watch my steps on improvised crutches as she and Jim accompanied me from Huaraz to the city and, eventually, Lima International Airport. Lara could have easily seen me off on the bus to Lima and completed the climbs we’d planned in the area. Instead, she sacrificed her trip and was the one to push my wheelchair to the gate at the airport. In doing so, she selflessly forfeited a rare opportunity of climbing in one of the world’s truly great mountain ranges.

Among my best memories of her, I remember Lara dancing with Peruvians in the town square of Huaraz after midnight, on the anxious eve of our departure for the mountains. We’d toasted a party of raccoon-eyed Australians who’d safely returned from Huascarán, the highest peak in Peru at 22,205 ft, in a nearby cantina hours before. Our group was heady with a mix of whiskey and a concoction of coca leaves steeped in warm local moonshine. Everyone was drawn to the sight of this smiling, free-spirited American girl; a blonde-haired anomaly among a sea of Peruvian Indians. We somehow found our way through the dark cobblestone streets back to the hostel. The hangover was legendary.

At the moment I am not ready to celebrate Lara’s exceptional life. I’m not sure what else to say. I feel only tremendous sadness and grief at the loss of a dear friend, climbing partner, and an incredibly gifted person with an unparalleled thirst for life and adventure. Her tenacious spirit, kindness and sense of humor should be a model to us all. To say that you will be sorely missed is the gravest of understatements. I am so terribly sorry you are gone, Lara.

I wish I had some photos of my own to share of her, but they’re all buried in a storage unit in Seattle.

You will be remembered in proper African style here in Cameroon, I promise.

Please visit:
http://www.alaska.com/adn/outdoors/story/8824681p-8725594c.html
http://rememberlara.blogspot.com/
http://59a2.org/lara/
http://www.timmatsui.com/fs.shtml?media/20070424_LARA/index.htm
http://www.steve-hyde.com/media/20070427_LARA_SHYDE/index.htm

During the salad days in the States, I would spend long hours in a drafty corrugated tin shack repurposed as a bicycle shop that I shared with two of my closest friends, Paul and Matt. Located on the industrial-zoned fringe of Ballard, a one-time Seattle working class neighborhood, it had just enough space for a bike stand, workbench, a wall loaded with tools and a bucket full of beer. Bike frames, wheels and everything imaginable hung from hooks in the ceiling. It was freezing in winter, stifling in the August heat and the roof leaked badly when it rained. In other words, perfect. There we took bikes discarded, donated, damaged and forgotten, pieced them back together and either added them to our stable or gave them a new home. Projects of every description waited in the wings. We restored, painted and built-up fixies, singlespeeds, geared road bikes, cruisers, junkers, BMX bikes—whatever we could get our hands on. In time word got around and we began letting friends of friends use the shop to make their own repairs. The rest, as they say, is history.

Owing to the unique riding challenges and scarcity of spare parts in Cameroon I’ve opted to build a bike with a single, fixed rear cog (called a “fixed gear”). The drivetrain consists of just four basic parts: a bottom bracket, crankset, chain and cog. Derailleurs with all their attendant cables and hardware are unnecessary. This configuration is simpler, lighter, easier to maintain and depends on fewer expensive and breakable parts. It also differs from most bikes in that by lacking a freewheel it is impossible to coast on. I’d built plenty of fixed gears over the years in Seattle, but this one would require extra patience and creativity. I could expound on the manifold virtues of the fixie but many others have already waxed poetic [2] [3] on the subject. In addition to a fixed gear drivetrain, it would be nice if it were somewhat capable on both tarred and unpaved roads, which Buea has a good mix of. Thus I will try to work some cyclocross attributes into it if possible.

This bike is to have an African soul; which means that at minimum the frame and wheels must be sourced locally. The rest of the components may come from the States or from here at post, depending on availability. Here then is a list of currently gotten parts and those yet to be had.

Parts supplied from States (see photo)

• Sugino RD crankset, 170mm
• Sugino cartridge square taper bottom bracket (103mm)
• Chainrings, 48, 42 & 38 tooth
• Chainring bolts (lots)
• Dura Ace track cog, 16 tooth
• 1 pr folding Panaracer cyclo cross tires (700x35c)
• 1 pr folding Vredstein road tires (700x23c)
• Cable hangers (2)
• Spare tubes for both tire sizes (6)
• 1 pr tire liners
• 1 pr rim tape
• Saddle
• 3/32” chain (2)
• Old school Shimano cantilever brake (front only)
• Brake cables & housing
• 1 pr inline brake levers
• Old but good Shimano SPD pedals
• Ultra-cool silver bar tape

Needed from Africa

• 57-58cm road frame, preferably steel
• Cyclo cross fork (yeah, right)
• 700c wheelset in reasonable condition, re-dished for single cog
• Handlebars
• Stem
• Seatpost

It may not look like much, but that’s everything I need to assemble a sturdy, simple bike designed specifically for my post here in Cameroon. Unfortunately, the remaining items in the “Needed from Africa” list are the tough ones. I have a lead to check on this Friday that I am hoping will bear fruit. Stay tuned.