Almost a decade later, I can still remember the feeling I had when I saw the first image of Mike Riley in a Nebraska polo. It was disorienting—something that had always seemed so familiar suddenly being so foreign. I had a friend who drove a 1970s VW Bus in college. It was creamsicle orange and had surf company stickers in the back window. As his time in Corvallis wound down, he decided to sell it. I never left the area, and neither did that VW bus.