For some unknown reason, I’ve had a slight flood of wonderful emails arrive on my laptop as of late. Mostly it’s longtime readers checking in to say they’re still out there and still reading, and some of them have brought back a fantastic series of wonderful memories, dating all the way back to the first days of the CSK blog on NHRA.com, so I figured it was time to wax poetic about all the marvelous things that have happened here over the last 11 years. Plus, it was time to dig out some old photos from blogs gone by. Photos are always important.

Back then, in August of 2005, this whole “blog thing” was new to everyone, and I was charged with the impossible twin tasks of writing it for a whole month while also writing it about my job and my life, in the first person. I was relatively certain there was no way to succeed.

Very early on, when the blog was just days or weeks old, I did my best to spread it out and keep the team involved with it, but it didn’t take long before the rest of the guys ran out of steam (or possibly interest.) So, I was on my own and I needed stories to tell. That’s why tales of travel, in the air and at the team hotel, were naturals for the blog. If the goal was to show readers what it’s like to be the Team Manager and PR rep for a Funny Car organization on the NHRA tour, travel had to be a big part of it, whether it was tales from airports or the view out of my hotel room window.

Another thing that happened early on was Pond Cam. I miss Pond Cam. I had shown some photos of our house and neighborhood in the opening weeks of the blog, and I noticed a sharp increase in email when I did so. So many people lived in the sunbelt, or in places where the weather didn’t change much, and they were fascinated by Minnesota, where all four seasons are vividly different. So, I took a photo of our back pond from our living room. And, Pond Cam was born.

It was a huge hit, and I made the commitment to shoot the same scene regularly so that folks in Texas or Florida or Arizona could watch the seasons change without actually having to put on a heavy coat and woolen mittens. It was fun, it was kind of whimsical, and it was very Minnesota. Watching the ice form, the snow fall, and all of the seasons come and go was something a lot of people enjoyed, and it was made better by the fact we lived in such a gorgeous area, with water out back and in front.

I think I liked it the most in the early spring, when the snow would finally start to melt and the ice would first turn to mush before leaving altogether. Watching spring “happen” in Minnesota is a fantastic thing, as the entire state comes back to life after another long cold winter. Seeing the first tulips pop out of the ground, and the ducks return, while the frogs and turtles are awakening from their winter slumbers, was a great way to feel energized for the coming spring, summer, and fall.

There’s no denying winter, though, and it has its own great charms up here in the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Neighbor Dave tackled the plowing and resurfacing of a hockey rink annually, until both Justin and Alexa were out of the house and on their own. That first day, when Dave would pilot the four-wheeler out there with its blade attached, was a key signal that winter had firmly and officially started.

For the first few years, after we arrived in Woodbury from Austin, Tex. in 2002, the Jacobsen kids were young enough to hit the ice almost daily. And out front, other kids in other homes had their private rinks going as well. You could sit in our living room and hear the sound of skates, sticks, and pucks coming from all directions, often late into the night with portable lights blazing.

Having just moved to the Twin Cities from Texas, I was wide-eyed and appreciative of how Minnesotans embrace every season of the year. Growing up in St. Louis, winter was something we just tried to tolerate while we counted the days until spring returned, and it always seemed like a very long wait. In Minnesota, whether it’s pond hockey or ice fishing, winter is greeted with a smile and a rush to be “out in it” most of the time.

The single biggest email-generating blog installment from the early years had nothing to do with the pond, or the weather, or yet another airport. I’d been showing and writing about our fabulous cat Shasta from the early days and, as he aged and slowed down drastically, I made a point of including him even more. He was a truly wonderful guy, and I can still vividly recall the almost imperceptible sound of his padded paws coming down the  carpeted upper level hallway and into the room each night, when Shasta decided it was time to go to bed. You wouldn’t think you could detect that, but Barbara and I were both fully capable of hearing him walking toward the room, making the turn through the door, and a second later feeling him land on the bed after jumping up to join us.

When Shasta passed away, while I was on yet another airplane coming home from Norwalk, I wrote an ode to him in blog form. I lost track of the number of reader emails I received, when the total passed 250. I saved them all for a very long time.

We mourned for a good long while, and one night as I laid in bed I heard him coming down the hall. I was wide awake, and completely cognizant and realistic about his passing, but it sounded so real. And then I actually FELT him jump up on the bed. The bed shook, just like it did when he’d come join us. It was so real I had to raise my head and take a look, just to make sure he wasn’t actually there. He wasn’t, but maybe he was just for a few minutes, to say goodbye.

One of the hundreds of emails came from a guy named Buck, who wrote me for the first time after the Shasta blog. He told me he’d been reading since the first day, and how touched he was by my Shasta memories. He also said, “I’m a stage actor in New York” and I thought, “Sure you are. You and every other bartender in Manhattan.” It wasn’t too long afterward that Buck Hujabre landed a gig with the “Jersey Boys” touring company. Great friendships happen in so many unexpected ways.

After a few months had passed, it was time to think about allowing a new cat to adopt us, and the process started with an impromptu visit to the Woodbury Animal Shelter, as I was passing by. The very fact I pulled in told me I was ready, and I thought Barbara would be too. When I toured the cat area, looking into the various cages, I saw the two little fuzzy black brothers and fell in love. I took them both out and they jumped all over me, talking up a storm in their very vocal way. I had to get on a plane the next day, so I couldn’t take them home, but I talked to Barbara and said, “You absolutely have to go get those two cats. We need two, so they can keep each other company when we travel, and with them being brothers it will be even better. Please go get them. We must have them. They already adopted me!”

They made themselves at home right away, despite the “kitty colds” they brought with them from the shelter. Poor little Boofus was sneezing for days, and just as he started to get better Buster followed suit. They didn’t feel very well, but they bonded with us and are definitely bonded with each other.

They were also simply too adorable to ever ignore in the blog for more than one or two consecutive installments. I couldn’t help but document all the goofy and funny stuff they did, as well as the truly scary stuff like walking along the narrow bannister on the walkway above the living room or jumping over onto the window sill above the front doors.

They’ve been a huge part of this blog since the day they came home, and they will be for a good long while. They’re a little more sedate these days, sleeping in the sun or out on the porch, but at least a couple of times per day they become kittens again. The tails get fat, they bounce around sideways, and then they’re off, flying around the house at full speed before tackling each other and rolling on the floor.

They’re rarely bad, although fake plants attract them and eating those fake leaves makes for a few carpet clean-ups not too much later, but they remain so much like they’ve always been it’s amazing. Boofie has been a “Momma’s Boy” since the day he moved in, and he clings to Barbara incessantly. When she holds him, he can’t be still. He climbs up as high on her shoulder as he can get and rubs his nose and forehead on her nonstop. He also has a very different voice than Buster, and we can both tell who’s talking to us from across the house.

Buster is “Daddy’s boy” and he is the sweetest and most gentle feline soul I’ve ever met. He’s so sincere and so loving, and he loves to talk to me in a variety of ways. When he purrs and makes a noise that sounds like “Erfff” I know he’s at his happiest. He spends much of each day up on the top level of his kitty condo in the bedroom, and I make a point of stopping in there at least once an hour to say hello and give him some rubs. And all I have to do is get his brush out of the drawer and show it to him. He then heads straight to the living room floor and waits patiently for his brushings, flopping around like a fish on the dock so I can get him on all sides. They really are great boyz.

It’s already the height of summer here now, with all the trees full of brilliant green leaves while the yards need to be mowed weekly and the flowers on the porch need to be watered. When we lived in the old neighborhood, I would always stop and look around at the mid-point of each season, and marvel at how it was nearly impossible to envision what it was going to look like just a few months later. In July, surrounded by all this lush landscape, it’s inconceivable that we are mere months away from another winter, when the snow piles up along the side of the roads for months on end. In January, it’s just as inconceivable that it will melt and all of the white will be replaced by green. So I keep photos of the snow handy. And shoveling.

And then it will be February and time for Winter Carnival. There is no other frigidly-cold outdoor thing that is as much fun as Winter Carnival in downtown St. Paul. It was the first thing we fell in love with in Minnesota, since it was going on right outside our hotel on the first recruiting trip we made to come see the area and consider moving here from Austin.

We weren’t exactly sure what was going on, and we absolutely hadn’t yet bought the right type of apparel to stay outside for all of it, but the Torchlight Parade was way fun, and the campy atmosphere was brilliant. Hail the Vulc!

In later years, we didn’t always go to the Winter Carnival but I know we’ve been to it many more years than we haven’t. And we still root for the Vulcans to overthrow King Boreas, which allows summer to return. And we tour through Rice Park to see the ice sculptures and sit on the frozen royal throne.

And the people…  The single greatest thing about having written this blog for nearly 11 years is the fact I’ve met so many incredible people. Just regular folks who have become great friends. Interesting characters who added so much rich color to my life, like Kim The Lawyer, Crazy Jane, Scott The Pilot, Jim and Nancy Butler, Jon and Susan Cagle, and countless others. Plus my dearest best friend in the sport, Krista Wilkerson.

And the unique people who do neat things I can share vicariously, like Mike Hohler who produces the radio broadcasts for the San Francisco 49ers. He brought Neighbor Dave and Justin to the Metrodome one Sunday, to hold the parabolic microphones on the sidelines, and somehow neither one of them got run over by a wide receiver.

And Dennis Peek, a longtime music man from New Braunfels, Tex. down by Austin. I don’t even remember the first time we met, but we hit it off immediately and I get to pester him with all sorts of questions about music, musicians, and playing live. He always gives thoughtful answers. A good Texas boy if there ever was one.

And Nick Turner, who introduced himself to me on the final night in Pomona a few years ago. At the time, he was the drummer for a band called The Asphalt, and he ran over to me in the pits to say hello and thank me for the blog. He’s lately been playing drums for The Ataris and he’s on the Warped Tour now, as a sound tech. Very cool guy.

And the biggest rocker of all the musicians I’ve met, a big gregarious outgoing gentleman who came to the Brainerd race as a guest of CSK. We chatted for 45 minutes before I asked him what he did for a living and his response was, “I’m in a band.” Of course, I asked, “Oh, really? What’s the name of your band?” and he said “Bachman Turner Overdrive. I’m Fred Turner.” Well, you don’t say! Fred’s a fantastic guy.

And the aforementioned Mr. Hujabre. In case you’ve never known how to pronounce his last name, it’s sorta like “hu-ZHA-bear. Think Zsa Zsa Gabor and you’ll have the sound of it mastered.

We became email buddies immediately after he sent me the note about Shasta. Then, not long after that, when he’d joined the touring company, they came to Minneapolis and Buck left us tickets. After the show, we met him at the stage door and he gave us a quick tour around the backstage area, then we retired to a nearby bar for a couple of beers. Friends for life, ever since.

Buck and his wonderful wife Mary then lived with us when the tour came back through Minneapolis in 2011. They took over the whole lower level with son Gibson, who was just crawling at the time. While they were there, with us, Gibson took his first step. Now, Gibson and his little brother Hudson are growing so fast I can’t stand it. Great people. Absolutely world class. And it doesn’t hurt that Buck and I share a very warped sense of humor.

And let’s not forget that it was Buck who brought his cast-mate and buddy Nathan Scherich to the race in St. Louis, when “Jersey Boys” and NHRA were both “playing” in the Gateway City. Nathan made a habit of coming to the Englishtown race summer after summer, and he just wrapped up a long gig with the Broadway version of the show. He and his wife Allie have moved to Telluride, Colo. with their twin boys. The photos he shares of Telluride are breathtaking, and the boys couldn’t be any more adorable.

And athletes, both those I’ve met and those I’ve become friends with. Got to hang out with Justin Verlander for a day, a couple of years before he was both MVP and Cy Young Award winner in 2011. We had a nice time together, along with his mom, dad, and brother. Good guy, and a great pitcher.

And the guy who sat across the aisle from me and Neighbor Dave on a night flight back to MSP after the Denver race. At baggage claim, he spotted our embroidered shirts and he asked if we worked for a team. It was the summer of ’08, our last year with Del and the CSK team, and he was excited as all get-out to meet us and talk racing. He’d been at the race that day, too, with his dad. When it came time to ask him what he did for a living he said, “I play hockey” just as a Colorado Avalanche duffel bag slid down the carousel. He said, “I’m Jeff Finger” to which I replied, “Shoot man, I know who you are. I root against you at the Wild games!” We’ve been friends ever since.

And let’s never forget the night in Dallas when a large group of us dashed out of the track to make the drive up to the State Fair to see a certain band from Toronto. To stand in a backstage room and chat with Geddy Lee was surreal. I’m sure the guys remember it as vividly as I do, even the part where the ushers told us to leave our fifth-row seats because someone else had those tickets. I’m not sure how that screw up happened, but it livened up the evening even more!

Since we had entered from backstage, the real “owners” of the seats had the tickets that had been scanned. The usher’s level of concern for us was about a 1 on 1-10 scale, until we casually mentioned that we were at the show as guests of Geddy Lee as we demurely pointed out our backstage passes stuck to our shirts. We were quickly relocated to equally fine seats, one section over. All of us but Jeff Arend, that is. He got to stay in his original seat for the show. When it ended, and 15,000 people exited at once, how is it that he emerged from that sea of humanity and bumped right into us?

The same thing happened a few years later at Rush show on the “Clockwork Angels” tour, in Anaheim, as Jeff and his wife Windy were in a suite while Barb and I were down on the floor in front of the stage. As the Honda Center crowd poured out of the exits, the first people we saw were Jeff and Windy. Eerie isn’t it? Must be a Canadian thing, eh?

So many fabulous people, and so many priceless memories, all thanks to a little writing exercise called a blog. I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.

And my PR colleagues, over all these years. What a collection of wit, intelligence, and talent. Even you, Elon Werner. I stay in touch with so many of them, and can’t wait to see them this weekend. Even you, Elon Werner. Did I mention Elon Werner? He’s a PR guy for some guy named Force.

But the key to it all is this: None of this would’ve ever happened had I not been fortunate enough to be a manager and PR guy for Del Worsham and Tim Wilkerson. Being part of a team is what has driven me for most of my life, starting out as a baseball player, then running a few indoor soccer teams, and finally in the NHRA world with two fantastic organizations filled with great people. Talk about lucky!

Camaraderie is precious, and there’s none like it when you’re on a sports team. I’ve worked a few jobs outside of team sports, and yes it’s great when you and your coworkers band together and support each other as a team. But there’s something different and wonderful about being on an actual sports team, winning and losing with your teammates. Being mad when things go poorly, but celebrating like maniacs when those precious wins come along, there is truly nothing else like that.

And, I don’t think there’s anything in any other sport that’s as nerve-wracking and then totally jubilant as a win in the final round of a drag race. As the drivers stage their cars, you have no idea how it’s going to turn out but you know that in about four seconds you’ll be discovering the answer. When the win-light comes on in your lane, it’s a maximum release of joy and happiness all at once. It’s overwhelming. I never EVER got tired of it.

Then, after all the Winner’s Circle hoopla and all the photos, in all the different hats, it’s time to settle down and catch your breath, just so you can go out to dinner and bask in it. You soak it all in, you replay every round, you apparently enjoy the food but barely taste it through all the excitement.

In Seattle, when Team Wilk won that race 15 years in a row (OK, it was three, but who’s counting?) we headed to Black Angus to have a celebratory meal, with Neighbor Dave and I getting there first to get a large table set up. As the team entered the restaurant, I used my best radio voice to loudly proclaim, “Ladies and gentleman. Please welcome the Funny Car champion at this year’s Northwest Nationals…  TIM WILKERSON!!!”

The assembled diners all clapped and cheered. That was a fun moment, if by “fun” you mean it was priceless.

And then seeing the tape-delayed race come on the TV behind the bar, and having the pleasure of watching the surreal happen before your eyes as your boss and driver stares at himself being interviewed on the screen, after the win. Fortunately, we won again on TV. It sure would’ve been odd had we lost. The restaurant customers all clapped again. I think we made some new NHRA fans that night.

So…  Huge thanks to all of you have been reaching out via email and letting me know you’re still out there, following along. And thanks for reminding me of so many things that have made this blog so fun to write and create. Pond Cam, hockey rinks, great friends, and great neighbors.

It’s always been a privilege to write this. I never forget that, and I never take it for granted. It’s an even bigger honor to look back over all of it and condense the people, places, and things into one long rambling connection of dots I never expected to experience.

As I wrote earlier, talk about lucky! I’ve been extremely lucky. Extremely thankful, as well. And the stories will continue into the future, on many more Thursday Blog Days. Stick around!

I leave you with this, because why not?

See you all next week, if we can get Boofie out of that tube.

I’m off to Chicago tomorrow, to spend Saturday at the track with so many great folks. Can’t wait to see them all. Even you, Elon Werner!

Bob Wilber, at your service spinning yarns and telling tales.