The Ricker invented the skateboard.

I'll type that again so it has impact. The Ricker invented the skateboard.

This is another one of those great Ricker stories. He claims he forgot to patent it. When he was in school in Seattle (again during his college odyssey. To get around in the hills, he took the wheels off a pair of roller skates and bolted them onto a 2-by-4 or some other piece of wood. The Ricker and his buddies rode all over town on these things (including through a grocery store for a little bit of shoplifting, but that's a whole other story in itself).

The Ricker invented the skateboard.

The Ricker lived in Hawaii.

He went to college there for a semester (one of the five or six colleges he attended during his seven-year undergraduate odyssey). His experiences in Hawaii are the source for many classic Ricker stories, including the time he nearly went bald by bleaching his hair with straight peroxide and the fact that he failed every class he took at the University of Hawaii except golf. By far, the best Ricker story from this year is the story about how he was nearly attacked by hammerhead sharks.

The Ricker lived in Honolulu on the island of Oahu. He had a girlfriend on the island, and after a big fight with her, he decided that the island was too small for both of them. Upset, he grabbed his surfboard and decided to paddle to the next island (I had always assumed this was a little fishy, but having never been to Hawaii, I didn't know better. After visiting in May, I now know that the islands are pretty far apart, and there's a reason why people fly between the islands).

As he paddled out of the bay by Honolulu, he reached the edge of the reef. This reef supposedly protects Waikiki Beach from sharks and other large fish. Logically, I would think this reef would also limit the waves at Waikiki, and this part of the Ricker's story doesn't make much sense. At the edge of the reef, he looked down into blackness, as the sea floor dropped off dramatically. At that point, he noticed three or four large fish--later identified as hammerhead sharks--circling him. At this point, he panicked, screaming for help, but ultimately he was alone a mile off shore (and I think it was nighttime as well). Amazingly, someone heard or saw the Ricker, and a helicopter came to his rescue. He grabbed the ladder and was lifted out of the situation right as one of sharks bit his board.

Like any good Ricker yarn, this one has a few holes. First, he still has the surfboard on which he sat that fateful night. I wonder how he remembered to pull that 11-foot piece of fiberglass out of the water as he faced his imminent demise. Second, according to Wikipedia, though the hammerhead shark may form schools during the day, it is generally a solo hunter at night. Finally, despite their size, hammerhead sharks have extremely small mouths and are mostly bottom feeders.

I still think the most amazing part of this story was the fact that the Ricker thought it was a good idea to paddle to another Hawaiian island in the middle of the night. He's not usually that emotional.

The Ricker used to write poetry.

And he's always been into music. Still, I have to take one of the Ricker's "claims to fame" with a HUGE grain of salt. Maybe a salt planet, even.

The Ricker claims he wrote the second verse to the song "Louie, Louie." You know, "Louie, Louie/oh yeah/Louie, Louie/me gotta go"

According to his story, he went to college with a few of the guys from the Kingsmen, who recorded the famous version of "Louie, Louie" in 1963 (never mind that the song traces its roots back to 1957). The Ricker's fraternity house window was directly across from the window of one of the band's members, probably founder Mike Mitchell or singer Jack Ely, and they would shout through the window at each other. During one of the band's practice sessions, the Ricker suggested alternate words for a verse, since the band only played one verse over and over again (maybe this is the rumored 90-minute "Louie, Louie" jam session mentioned on Snopes). The band like the alternate verse, started using it during its live shows and then recorded the version that survives to this day.

Let's see what we can verify about this.

The year in question was 1963, so the Ricker was in college. Check.

The Ricker is from Portland. Check

The Kingsmen are from Portland. Check.

The Ricker is delusional. Check.

But he still claims he is owed millions in royalties. Or that he sold the rights for a few bucks. I've heard both versions. For an interesting read, head over to Snopes.com and read about the lyrics to "Louie, Louie." Note: there's no mention of the Ricker.

The Ricker walks his cats.

Yessir, I've mentioned it before, but he walks his cats. After losing two cats to "foxes," the current cats are indoor-only (except when he takes them outside and ties them to a tree with 30 feet of string). I don't think he walks them at home much, but now that he's taking the cats travelling, watch out.

To prep the cats for the drive from Colorado to Arizona over Thanksgiving, he started taking them on errands with him. I can just picture the Ricker, at the carwash, walking two cats through the cashier line and then out onto the drive to get into the car. On the unintentional comedy scale, this rates pretty high.

What happened in Arizona during Thanksgiving, however, may have been funnier. The cats were so freaked out by their new surroundings at the hotel that they started acting differently. One, Kubla, never left her confines under the bed. That left Khan, the curious cat, open to the Ricker's advances. He attached the leash, opened the door, and took Khan out for a nice walk around the hotel lobby--only Khan didn't want to walk. When I walked through the hotel door, I saw the Ricker across the lobby, taking his cat for a drag across the tile. I didn't get a picture, but that's a mental shot for the ages.

The Ricker likes James Bond.

We saw the new Bond over Thanksgiving weekend and both enjoyed it tremendously. Afterwards, when we were discussing Daniel Craig's performance, I mentioned that Hugh Jackman was in the running but I'm not sure the world is ready for a gay James Bond.

That's when the Ricker let this little nugget fly: "How would you like your martini? Shaken, stirred or stroked?"