Some of my most vivid memories of Dan involve him running. I can see him running through the house, across the backyard, down the street. Long, lanky strides even when he was "little". Even when he was an adult his stride took him places in a hurry. I remember watching him go out to feed and water the horses in Montana and thinking that he sure got there fast even though he was just ambling down to the barn.
The most vivid memory of running was on the Lindsay-Tulare Highway one night in my junior year in high school. Dan and I were on our way to Fresno where I was going to spend the weekend with he and Kit. Dan had borrowed Kit's Triumph to come to Lindsay to pick me up. Well, Dan forgot to check the gas gauge. So in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, the Triumph sputtered to a stop.
It was cold and dark and I was not a happy camper. But Dan had us run to a farmhouse with lights on. (This was a LONG time ago and that was a safe thing to do then) I was out of breath after about a quarter mile. I will never forget Dan razing me for not being able to run a mile any more. But he stopped and stayed with me at a walk even though he wanted more than anything to get gas and get going.
We did get to the farmhouse and they gave us some gas from their farm gas tanks. We made it to Fresno. And I was sworn to secrecy. I am not sure if I ever even told Kit about leaving his precious car on the side of a rural highway. I know I never told our parents. They would have skinned Dan alive and I would never have seen Kit again. Or so I believed at the time.
There is nothing quite like a run in the dark, on the side of a highway with your brother.