Travis Brommerich Death: There are moments in life that break your heart clean in two—and this is one of them. On that quiet road, in a split second, the world lost two souls far too soon. It’s hard to believe. Harder to accept. And impossible to make sense of.
Travis Brommerich, 41, of Stoddard, was a man who lived fully, loved fiercely, and left a mark on everyone lucky enough to cross his path. He passed away after being ejected from his motorcycle in a tragic accident that also took the life of his passenger, 39-year-old Jennifer Schultz of La Crosse. While the crash remains under investigation, what we do know is that two bright lives were taken in an instant—and the hole they leave behind is enormous.
To say Travis was just a “friend” doesn’t come close. He was a brother. A riding buddy. A source of laughter, comfort, and strength. He was the kind of guy who just knew when something was wrong—and would go out of his way to make it right, even if all he could offer was a dumb joke, a slice of pizza, or one of those ridiculous stories he loved to tell. And somehow, that was always enough.
Travis Brommerich Stoddard Wisconsin Obituary: Former Delivery Truck Driver At First Supply LLC Dies Of A Motorcycle Accident
Just recently, we were sitting around, him gobbling down that Friday night pizza, throwing out one-liners, and laughing so hard it felt like time stood still. That’s the memory I keep replaying in my head—Travis, alive with laughter, being the glue that held everyone together. I still hear the sound of his voice. Still see the look on his face when he was mid-story and knew he had the room hooked. You couldn’t help but love the guy.
He had this sixth sense—this ability to see through people’s pain and lift them up, without ever making a big deal about it. He didn’t do it for praise. He did it because that’s who he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Big-hearted. And always present.
There’s an emptiness now, a silence where his laughter should be. But there’s also a flood of memories—of long rides with no destination, late-night talks, cold beers shared around firepits, and road trips that turned into adventures. Travis was never one to sit still for long. He lived for the open road, for the wind in his face and the thrill of the ride. That bike wasn’t just a machine to him—it was freedom, expression, and therapy all rolled into one. And anyone who ever rode with him knew how much joy it brought him.
Losing him in this way feels unbearably cruel. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Travis wouldn’t want us to be consumed by sorrow. He’d want us to remember the good times, to laugh through the tears, and to hold each other up—just like he always did for us.
He’d want the tires fresh, the gas tank full, the Miller Lite cold, and the road ahead wide open.
And while we grieve Travis, we also hold space for the life of Jennifer Schultz, who was lost in this same terrible accident. She was only 39. A daughter, a friend, a woman with dreams, plans, and people who loved her. Her life mattered. Her loss is equally heartbreaking, and our hearts go out to her family, friends, and all those who are grieving her today. May she rest in peace, and may her loved ones find strength in one another during this unimaginable time.
When tragedy like this hits, it feels like the world should stop. And yet it keeps spinning. It’s unfair. It’s heavy. And it’s real. But in the midst of the pain, there’s also connection—people coming together to remember, to share stories, to cry, and yes, to laugh through the sadness.
Because that’s what Travis would do. He’d find a way to make you smile, even now.
To those who knew him—remember the moments. Remember the ridiculous things he said, the look in his eye when he was about to prank someone, the way he checked in when no one else did. Remember how he made you feel. That’s his legacy. It lives in all of us.
Travis wasn’t perfect. None of us are. But he was real. Raw. Honest. And full of heart. He gave more than he took. And he loved deeply. If you were in his circle, you knew it. You felt it.
It’s hard to imagine future rides without him leading the pack, without hearing that familiar voice over your shoulder, without that laugh ringing out across the wind. But we ride on—for him. With him. Carrying him in our hearts and in our stories.
He may be gone from this world, but he’ll never be forgotten.
So here’s to Travis:
For the miles we rode.
The nights we laughed.
The tears we shed.
The family we chose.
And the memories that will carry us through the hardest days.
Ride in peace, brother. Until we meet again—
Keep the Miller Lite cold, keep the tires fresh, and keep watch over us from above.
We’ll see you down the road.
Rest easy, Travis Brommerich.
And rest in peace, Jennifer Schultz.
Gone but never forgotten.