IN
MEMORY OF
Joel 'Anvil' Countryman
June 1, 1958 - September 6, 2014
Brit Iron Rebels # 37
I met Joel Countryman about eight years ago in Creston British Columbia where a bunch of us Triumph riders had met up for a mid-May weekend of booze and good food...maybe even a little riding. Joel was a riot after a couple of drinks and I instantly liked him. Most people that met him would have said the same thing, you just felt almost instantly familiar with him.
I soon found out a couple of things about him. He loved good food - obviously - and big beers, and lovely rich whiskies, and he made sure you loved it all right along with him. He was crazy generous and thoughtful. His friends were held close by him and like an actual brother, he seemed to know when to stand up and when to back off.
Joel loved to be a little annoying and would drive you crazy with some little story or other that he didn’t want to drop. He would stick to it like a pit bull trying to make you see that whatever it was that he was talking about, a curling match, a recipe for sausage, or the kind of lettuce that Canada buys, it was all the most important thing on earth. Then he’d get pissed off when you laughed and the slugging would start. Like the little brother I’d never had, pounding away at my ribs with his fists and calling me names until we were both laughing so hard we nearly threw up.
Anvil was one of the few guys I’ve ever known that really like to shop. No shit, he really did and we’d all wait and wait at every damn gas station, or any other sort of store, while he was transfixed by a glass case of junky pocket knives, or baseball caps - you name it, he’d shop it for hours, if you let him. So we all would wait at our bikes for Our Little Shopper to come out with some bullshit pocket knife that he would then have to tell us all about. We would all tease him and laugh until he'd say, “Okay, fuck you guys,” and the punching would start anew. I think he had a couple of hundred pocket knives, he just couldn’t resist them. He never stayed mad, he knew we loved him and he’d get all squirrely when we’d tell him so. Funny as hell.
Joel was all about his Brit bikes - his Bonneville and his Norton. He was very proud of both, but he was also very proud of his Harley that he’d built himself from a wrecked bike. He had a lot of friends in the Alberta bike community and beyond - both British and Harley. He loved to ride and he loved to ride distance. A trip across Canada, a trip to California and Oregon; these were normal summer rides for him. He'd ride thousands of miles on his Bonneville without thinking a thing of it. And he could work on his own stuff, that too was something he was proud of.
Anvil was the first BIR member I had ever met and like all the things he liked, he was almost religious in his love of the Club. Soon he had me hooked. Wild Bill, Tall Bill , Kirko, Adam G, Niles, Cyrus, Samantha, Gina, Rat Rod Rick - all of us, and quite likely many more, all came to the BIR through him. For that we are all very grateful.
He loved trains and model airplanes and would talk for hours about the famous but now long gone Nicholson Brothers Motorcycle Shop that had been in Saskatoon Saskatchewan. Like a lot of Canadian kids, as well as nearby American kids, that shop set the hook for quality British bikes and for excellence in motorcycle maintenance. They had in fact, written the book on motorcycle maintenance that was the standard in every bike shop, at least in the Americas. Joel was their greatest fan and perhaps the saddest that the shop was no more.
Our Little Shopper, Huggy, Huggy Bear, Huggy Baby - he hated all those names we so enjoyed calling him - has taken leave of his friends who thought so very much of him. We will all think of him with a happy heart whenever our memories are jogged by something we connect with him.
He has left this earth in a frightful way that has shocked many of us to the core. The tragedy of it seems boundless. But the truth of it is that he has left with a trail of true friends and extremely happy memories. He left at the top of his game and will be remembered more for the joy he brought than the loss we have taken. As time goes by, the tears will dry and the smiles will stay, as it should be.
He wouldn’t have liked it if we carried his memory around like some giant banner, rolling in endless and selfish sorrow. Rather a pint in the air now and then and a good laugh would be most gratifying to him and do him the most honor. This I know we can, and will, do with glad hearts.
Cheers to you our brother and happy voyages wherever you may be. You will be missed and you will be remembered.
Neil Olson (Morto)
BIR #279
