I hadn't seen good friend Brandon since 1988, two years after we graduated high school and just before I joined the Army. So when a chance shared e-mail connected us after nearly twenty years, and a chance Criminology Conference brought him to Los Angeles this week, I quickly ditched work and drove us to the mountains in San Bernadino County, where he and his family scattered the ashes of his older brother and one of my best friends, Jeff 15 years ago.


A two-hour scenic drive later, we were thousands and thousands of feet above the smog and haze, looking down on it. The crisp fall air (in the 50s, even!) was a welcome break from the monotonous 70-degree weather I'm subjected to year-round.


Not my car. I am not a lesbian, just a fan of their work.


After about 15 minutes of our arrival, even the haze began to clear and we got this killer view. I'm not much of an outdoorsy guy (public restrooms? Eww.), but geezus, lookitthat.


Even the thankfully deserted roads were beautiful. See, I have the heart of a poet - somewhere in my sock drawer. Har.


18 years later and he looks the same. Fucker.


As we got nearer to the spot where Jeff's remains were scattered, we discovered the road was not only closed to vehicle traffic, but pedestrian traffic as well. Ignoring the signs and walking forward, we found the road completely impassable, having crumbled from erosion into a sheer cliff keeping us from reaching Jeff's memorial spot. No matter...we were there in spirit and I wouldn't have traded the trip or day in the woods for anything.

Except to look as young as Brandon maybe. Fucker.