Gator Bob: Tomb Raider

Gator Bob: Tomb Raider

What about Bob? To start with, Bob is a very special name amongst AFMC members. Yes, it is a palindrome, meaning it can be read forwards or backwards with equal ease. The name Robert has been around in England and Germany since the Middle Ages and Bob has been used as the hypocorism (shortened “nickname”) as well since then. It seems they were into rhyming names back then, so Rob easily became Bob (as well as Nob, Hob, Cob and other great names). The name Robert peaked in the U.S. back in 1912 and has now fallen to 71st. place among male names, though you would never know it from the AFMC roster. We have enjoyed an over-abundance of Bobs in the organization from the beginning, With our average age of about 70+, that would mean that we benefit from the higher popularity of the name Robert in those years of the Second World War. I have no empirical evidence for this, but I also suspect that those were easier days to use hypocorisms like Bob. The popularity of the shortening of Richard to Dick was certainly easier back then for reasons I don’t need to elaborate. Bob suffers a very similar fate these days. It seems the Urban Dictionary, which captures much of the slang in use these days, tells us that texting BOB to some one is a reference to “Battery Operated Boyfriend”, commonly known as a vibrator. I wonder if that has anything to do with the English expression “Bob’s your uncle”?

Anyway, we have lots of Bobs of all ages. In no particular order, there is Chicago Bob, Vermont Bob, Capistrano Bob (who used to be Calgary Bob), Santa Barbara Bob (RIP), Virginia Bob (also RIP), Boston Don’t-Call-Me-Bob Rob, and, of course, Gator Bob, who, at the time, inhabited Augusta, Georgia and Fernandina Beach, Florida. Both places struck most of the members as swampy places where gators roamed freely. Some say he has a bit of that sly squinty-eyed calm that gators use to sneak up on their prey. Run silent, run deep in the words of the Navy. Gator Bob was a naval officer in his youth, having served as the officer of the deck of the U.S:S. Lexington. That may be an aircraft carrier, but Bob must have had to know a thing or two about submarines sneaking up on the Lexington the way a gator sneaks up on an unsuspecting duck. Maybe he observed and adopted. Hence, Gator Bob.

I spend a lot of time riding near Gator Bob and this ride through Turkey has been no exception. I feel the need to describe that riding style as best I can. The basics are that Bob is a lifelong tall lanky drink of water. He is now eighty-four, which is quite surprising. Bob has a Harvard MBA and has always been as sharp as a tack. He hasn’t lost a step. As for his physicality, did I mention he is riding a motorcycle around Turkey with us? Gator Bob is as timeless as a gator. He may not look like a youngster, but his stamina is every bit as strong as someone a third his age. He has ridden over 1,000 miles in a forced-march riding day…by himself. When we arrive at the hotel after a short day, Gator Bob wants to take an extra ride to rack up some more mileage. Whenever there is an optional extension of a riding day (this is when I am at the hotel pool and hot tub), Gator Bob is the first to sign up and regularly does his Eveready Bunny imitation.

But Bob is also a study in contrast. He is New England scrabble-hard conservative in all things. His hero is Silent Cal Coolidge (on whose foundation board he served). The man just spent six months in the Rauner Library at Dartmouth researching and writing the definitive history of Bridgewater, Vermont from 1741-1791. Who does that other than a stubborn, rock-hard traditionalist? And yet, Bob rides motorcycles at speed. He is frugal and tight as the proverbial frog’s ass. But he owns multiple homes and motorcycles that he barely uses and does not Air BnB for defraying costs. He made his fortune in the food business (Gator Bob was a big canned meat guy) and yet he looks at me funny if I order a bowl of chili at lunch. He likes to ride aggressively with the big dogs, yet prefers to follow closely rather than lead. Bob would never be one to stay on the porch. But he’s also picky about who he wants to follow. He tends to like following me for some reason, and I’m happy to accommodate, though I find myself wondering “why me?” Gator Bob falls down far more often than any other rider on our squad. Sometimes it’s for good reason (a slippery garage ramp or someone falling into him) and sometimes he just gets distracted of forgets to do the basics. The amazing thing is that I have never seen Gator Bob not just jump up as though nothing at all had happened and carry on. It’s actually amazing his imperviousness. Maybe that’s another reason the name Gator Bob is a perfect name for him. Nothing seems to hurt him or damage him, he is King Kong flicking off the biplanes as though they were mosquitos.

Today we left Bodrum and headed due East with the Aegean just feet from our right side on winding cliff-hugging roads. It was a spectacular tide with a combination of roads, including mountain switchbacks and seaside sweepers. Bob went down early on a tight inside hairpin. He will argue that some combination of the other riders around him or his under-powered BMW 700GS were to blame, but that’s not how motorcycling works. You have to drive defensively and always know how to control your beast no matter who does what or what fails. The margin for error demands it. But here’s the thing, even though he needed help righting the bike, Gator Bob was back on and Pooh-poohing any suggestion that he might be hurt. The Gator was back in the water as though nothing had happened. How does he do that? I would be writhing by the side of the road nursing my booboos. Not Gator Bob.

At the end of our riding day we were treated to a boat ride up the Dalyan Delta. The featured element of the ride were the Lycian Cliff Tombs adorning the high rock cliff walls. Sitting in the boat watching Gator Bob take photos of the tombs with his iPhone 11, extolling it’s triple lens optics, and then responding to emails while others of us just “looked out the window” and vegetated, made me realize something about Gator Bob. The man is a superhero. That’s not as much an exaggeration as it sounds. He is accomplished, highly educated, has been of service with the U.S. Navy, has been a highly successful entrepreneur (he sold that canned meat business to Bumble Bee Tuna for a tidy sum), is a true adventurer, is physically fit by standards of a man thirty years younger, and is genuinely an interesting guy to talk to and a good friend. There is not one of us who would settle for his state when and if we reach 84 years of age. He can be ornery, feisty, provocative to a fault and, once in a while a royal pain in the ass. But you know what? I can handle all that and I know I want to be more like Gator Bob: Tomb Raider than not.