Chapter 1.

As we set out on the open road for a weekend getaway to celebrate our shared commemorative occasion, I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes of all time, from my favorite book passed on to me by my dad right around the turn of the century, just after I graduated high school. 

It reads:

“Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only real cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas. To relax, as it were, in the womb of the desert sun.”

For a time in my life, those words empowered me. They gave me a sense of control over circumstances. I felt like if all else failed, I always had my fall-back plan, a method for hitting the restart button if I didn’t like the path I happened to be walking upon. 

I used it too. It’s how I ended up transferring from Westminster College to Chapman University, why I moved to Los Angeles during my twenties, how I wound up living in Lexington, Kentucky for a year, and it’s the reason that I found myself traveling to Costa Rica, on a whim, during a sunny month of June back in 2010. 

That Costa Rica trip is the last time I used my fall-back plan. Something happened during that trip that would not only permanently change the course of my life, but cement me to a one-lane highway with no exit in site. 

Today I charter this same highway, but it is no longer just me in the car: I have people now, three of them to be precise, but they are all variations of one look: male, blond hair, blue eyes- and a smile I know better than any other smile on this planet. It’s a look I fell for so hard, I channeled my inner nature and strength and used my body to manufacture MORE. 

And so we ride: me and my partner, off to the desert, the music at top volume, but in lieu of a pint of ether we brought our two sons along: what better badges of honor to remind us of this aforementioned occasion.