Christopher David Hough

San Francisco, accidental overdose
16.November.1979 - 16.November.2004

Chris was born on November 16, 1979, in Redding, California. He was an adventurous child, to say the least. Always a risk-taker, he loved climbing too high, going too fast and testing his limits, never seeming to use enough caution. Surprisingly, we never visited the emergency room with Chris as a child. He thought he was indestructible; we told him it was his "protective layer of dirt." Whatever his source of protection was, it left him on November 16, 2004, his 25th birthday. Chris died at his home in San Francisco, accidentally and not using enough caution.

Chris followed his own path as he grew older. In his teenage years, he became known to us as a BFD (big fashion disaster). To our dismay, he liked that. Chris was his own person. Those who knew him know that he was genuine, compassionate and gentle. It is a parents' greatest success to have raised someone who is truly a good person inside. He will be deeply missed by his family, father, and step-mother Dave and Jane, brothers Mike and Bailey, all of Redding; mother Tami Carlson, sisters Danielle Carlson and Alexa Carlson, all of Forest Grove, Oregon; grandparents Robert and Better Hough of Lincoln City, Oregon; and grandmother Montie Nail of Alaska. Chris also leaves his girlfriend, Cimmon Malloy, and many, many friends.

His family would like to express their gratitude to Cimmon and Chris's friends for understanding him and loving him, and to his employer, Carlos, and co-workers at Free Wheel. Chris would want us all to have a beer and get over it. Of course, at home, that would initiate one of many discussions beginning, "Chris, it's just not that simple..." But to him it was.

-Mike and Jane

When I first getting to know Chris, I asked him what he did before he became a bike mechanic, and he told me, "I was a bum." I said, "No way." But turns out he really did ride the rails for six years. For someone whose nicknames ranged from Crusty Chris, to Hobo Chris, to Prospector, he kept his room meticulously clean and impeccably organized. I always knew when he came home from the slamming of the gate. Or the 4am metal blasting from downstairs. He's the only one I know in San Francisco that could successfully sport a mullet, and I'm still impressed by the mechanism he installed to ensure the bathroom door always closed. One evening he decided he wanted an ice cream cake for his birthday filled with ipecac. I made a mental note to get one for him, but instead, on his birthday we lost him. He didn't want to die. He was an adventurer, he loved his life, he was planning a trip to Seattle with his lover that he was over the moon about. His death was so sudden and unexpected it still doesn't seem real. Chris, you are loved and missed, and thank you for the time you spent with us. And remember most of all... don't turn down the Manowar!!!!