Branford Bike: Big Creek Fire, Emigrant, Montana, Eric Newhouse, builder

Double pane shop windows melted and flowed in the inferno.

On Wednesday, August 2nd the new Fire Incident Commander, Bob Fry, signed a pass that allowed me to travel alone to my old home. The day was bright and sunny. I felt great that I was going home again. Finally I could restore some order to my life by getting back to my old and comfortable routine, I thought. My house may be gone but the underpinnings of my life are still safe in the shelter. I could put on some comfortable clothes, pull out a familiar book and sit under the warm sun on a patio chair while eating my lunch. Then I would move the shop inventory and computers to a new location so Branford Bike could be up and running within a week. Life was a little chaotic now but that would change soon, I reasoned. The day was bright and I was full of hope as I climbed the mountain.

Three full days after the massive forest fire roared through my yard the remains of Branford Bike and my house were still hot. A small, steady plume of dark grey smoke wafted from where the laundry room used to be. I discovered melted windows that exploded onto the front lawn. Solidified lumps and flows of molten aluminum were scattered throughout the wreckage that once was a home and business. Splatters of molten aluminum covered the concrete walkway and garden stone walls. Charcoal or burnt remnants of building timbers were virtually non-existent. Wood and anything else that could burn, succumbed to the fury of the fire. A thick layer of white, fluffy ash covered everything that was not be consumed by the flames.

Solidified flows of molten aluminum were scattered in the ankle deep ash

I pulled on my respirator and dug through the rubble towards the bomb shelter door. A cast iron wood stove, that once was pleasant living room company on cold winter nights, fared badly. It feel through the burning first floor, had its doors and fireproof glass fused and cracked from the blast furnace heat, and was splattered with melted fiberglass insulation. It rested against the shop propane cast iron stove which was split and shattered by the ferocious fire. Soon I came to the remains of the first floor kitchen. Melted glassware fused with twisted silverware and broken shards of porcelain mugs to form grotesque sculptures. Expensive aluminum cooking pans were little more than molten flows amongst the ankle deep ashes and rubble. Rusting steel skeletons of a dishwasher, gas range and refrigerator rested on top of basement stored Brooks saddle rails and tangled burnt wires from NiteRider lights that time did not permit to be placed in the bomb shelter.

A few broken mugs and melted glassware are all that is left from the kitchen cabinets

An antique time clock rested by the bomb shelter door

Although the red hot coals of Monday were gone, intense heat radiated from the too hot to touch lower concrete walls and floor. I picked my way carefully towards the reinforced concrete bomb shelter which comprised the back one third of the basement and bike shop. Eric Newhouse, the builder, designed the shelter to protect Marian and David Watson, the home's original owners, from the initial ravages of a nuclear war. I did not trust the shelter to protect me but I thought it would save whatever I put in it from the ravages of a forest fire.

At 1:30 in the afternoon on August 2nd I finally cleared a path to the bomb shelter door and watched the two thin sheets of steel crumple in front of me. Acrid smoke wafted through the entrance as I gently stepped inside the painfully hot, dark, cavern like shelter. Just three days ago I packed the four rooms in the shelter to the ceilings with personal belongings and shop inventory. I carefully placed the shop and my personal computers next to the Campagnolo spare parts cabinet on the floor of the most secure shelter room. Over the course of four frantic hours I stashed over 90% of the shop inventory and infrastructure in the shelter. Lastly I put my most treasured possessions; my bible, photos, cards and letters from family and friends, Thoreau's journals, my favorite clothes and Sunday shoes into the shelter. I left my home on Sunday only with a laptop computer, a Swiss Army knife, water, three days of clothes, energy bars and my most recent journal. I reasoned that I would be back to reclaim my life; I only needed enough supplies to last for a few days away.

The bomb shelter door is removed

A charred bomb shelter

As my eyes grew wide in response to the dim light inside the shelter they slowly encompassed the utter destruction. Four rooms were now one for all the separating walls were destroyed by the fire. The reinforced concrete ceiling was cracked and sagging precariously. A small fire flickered in the furthest corner of the shelter. The water heater and furnace were the only easily distinguishable objects. Eight feet of tightly packed merchandise and personal treasures was reduced to one foot of white ash and rubble. The bare concrete walls were scorched pure white by the intense heat. Only as the fire died down did it leave black soot on the lower portions of the walls. I kicked around in the ash and pulled two steel skeletons that were once computers from the rubble. After a few minutes the parching heat and sooty smoke forced me from the shelter. A few days later, after the bomb shelter fire finally burned itself out, for no pumper truck ever arrived, I ventured back and shot the photo posted below.

2006 was the 31st year of business for Branford Bike. I, Tim Brockett, started it in the basement of my parent's home in Branford, Connecticut with just $10.00 in June 1976. Over the years as Branford Bike grew, it helped many employees and family members go through college, graduate or law school. The crew and I at Branford Bike served riders on every continent and helped them enjoy the unique pleasures that cycling offers. Many of the relationships we had with our customers not only spanned thousands of miles but also decades of time. The profits generated by Branford Bike improved the lives of our employees and family, helped hundreds of charities from the Salvation Army to the Park County High Cheerleaders and promoted the sport of cycling via race prizes and team sponsorships. So many lives were touched and made better because Branford Bike existed. My heart broke, and I softly wept when I saw the complete destruction of something that so many people devoted a part of their life to, and benefited from. Branford Bike, the business I and many other people knew and loved over three decades, was reduced to a foot high pile of ash and rubble.

Our Emigrant store in September 2005

Mom Brockett opening Christmas presents

My Mom lent me ten dollars to start Branford Bike in June 1976. She never charged me rent even as the shop grew and took over my parent's back yard. In the early 1980's my older brother Tom moved back to Branford from Chicago and joined the shop. He worked hard and with the money he earned put himself through college and law school while supporting a family of five. After my Dad passed away, profits from Branford Bike helped my Mom maintain and improve her home and yard. Recently Branford Bike earnings supported more family members, Susan and her three small children, while she went through a difficult custody battle.

My Mom is a strong believer in the power of education to transform an individuals life. For decades she was actively involved in the public school system via the local, state and federal PTA (Parent Teachers Association). I followed her beliefs by not only putting myself through college via Branford Bike but by trying to get all my employees to do the same. Some of my happiest moments at Branford Bike were when my employees matriculated from college and graduate schools. I am proud of all Branford Bike employees for their diligent work that made the business successful and brought benefits to so many people.

Four of the six Brockett brothers
Left to right; Billy, Ronnie, Tommy and Tim.

Susan and Bailey

A few years ago my older brother Larry passed away from cancer at a young age. He left behind six children; all in their twenties. My Mom and brothers immediately gave support and assistance to Larry's grieving family. Branford Bike helped by setting up college savings accounts for the three oldest children who wanted to attend college, but did not have the means to. Later the shop provided financial assistance to Larry's daughter Susan and her three small children; Bailey, Hailey and Bryson.

Pre-1999 Campagnolo Hub Fire Sculpture

I salvaged a few fire sculptures from the scorched bomb shelter but that was all. Not a single piece of shop inventory or personal possessions escaped unscathed; most items simply burned or vaporized. The fire burned unchecked for several days in the bomb shelter and destroyed everything there. The next day I sifted through the remains of the garage and warehouse. The fire passed more quickly there and I thought that the damage might be less severe. On the next page I will show you photos of what I found.


The living room wood stove gets moved to the basement	A welcoming fire on a cold winter night in 2005


My personal computer and one from the shop	A box of melted Campy brakes sits on the remains of the bomb shelter door


All that was left of the 250+ chain rings I stashed in the bomb shelter	The best preserved Campy Record bottom bracket I could find


More Campagnolo hubs from the bomb shelter	Campy titanium cogs and a Phil Wood titanium bottom bracket