I met Pete Simmons in the Spring of 1991 shortly after my family and I transferred to Atlanta from South Florida. At that time, I only knew those I worked with. Pete became a very good friend. Our common bond then was running, and the sip of a good brew after enduring a goodly distance, and God was always in our conversation. Pete was into LONG-distance running and, for Pete, the rainier and muddier the better. I can here his voice now as I made my appeal to wait until things dried up a bit- “Come on mate, it’ll be great!” I suppose if Go Pro cams would have been around then, we’d have a myriad of pictures to show for our good times. That was up and until the late 90’s, when Pete and I went on one of those muddy Saturday morning runs, when I crushed my tailbone trying to stay up with Pete, and navigate a downhill grade (a mud-slide!) on the Chattahoochee Trail near Sope Creek, Marietta, GA. Thanks Pete! Pete never could stay still for too long, always moving, which is why I think he fared well that morning. (And, in understanding that, I knew the battle of a disease like ALS had to be devastating to him). I was too careful If Pete had an injury, I didn’t know it, and off he went shortly thereafter to take on The Grand Canyon, and even the summit of Pike’s Peak (or is that “Pike’s Pete”)! We were fellow musicians, and Pete-the-Beat was perhaps my biggest encourager back then as we played together. We loved the same music, and sometimes debated over the ‘whose who’ among the American vs English rivals of rock. He was usually right (or so he convinced me that he was; he was good at that too). I have missed you Pete Simmons, and I miss you now. BUT, I will see you again. And in that place, there will be no possibility of a busted tailbone- and we can run like the wind, as you are now. You now carry His rest with you. I love you my friend- I always have.