-10 minute read-

I clearly remember the feeling. A swelling in my chest and a sense of the world opening in front of me. I was driving a beat-up Toyota minivan south on US 97 into California. The sun beat the blacktop and the open plain stretched away toward Mt Shasta in the distance. I had just left Oregon with everything I’d have for the next year. A couple of rubbermaid gear bins and a cooler stuffed under a platform bed in the back. The passenger seat was empty, nothing but possibility on the horizon.

three friends, a van, and why time together matters