mighty mouse

I don't have many friends. Some people think this strange, especially considering my many acquaintances. But I don't. I don't think it's strange at all. I'd bet that most people don't have many friends. That is, someone who:

1) You can share silence
2) Your conversations are not dominated with sentences that start "remember when we..."
3) You are honest about politics
4) When they ask you "how are you" you tell them the truth.
5) Knows when you are lying


Matthew visited about a year ago. And I reflected on his visit any my relations to others a little later.

I just returned from a visit to the mountains, where I met my friends (see above) for a weekend of camping, horseback riding (more on that later), and fishing.

We left Denver Thursday morning and drove to our camp site. I'd tell you where it is, but some things are too special to share. To give you a rough idea, leave Denver and drive east on I-70 until you hit Glenwood Springs, then hang a left. Take the 133 south for a while and then make a left onto the gravel road which winds through the mountains. Take that for about 30 minutes and then you're there. Rumor has it that you should avoid drinking too many drinks before "shittin' and a gettin' it" down the gravel road. Sloppy stomachs don't appreciate switchbacks and S-curves.

You'll know you're in the right spot when you see the river on your right:



And the snow capped mountains on your left:

I'm not the outdoorsy type. I like showers, Tivo, and ice cubes. I enjoy going to bed without wondering if my dreams will be interrupted by a grizzly bear licking my nose. And going to the bathroom should never entail bringing a shovel.

But I'll be damned if I didn't enjoy my trip. Mostly, it was nice to spend some time with my friends, despite the no-shower thing. (To the lady at Starbucks who served me coffee on our way home - I don't always smell like that).

And I did something I've never done before. I rode a horse. Two of my friends are horse fluent. Actually, they're real-life cowboys. They even spent a morning on our camping trip helping a local rancher look for his lost cows.

These so called "friends" of mine thought it proper to teach me to ride a horse by scaring the shit out of me. Literally. They took me up the mountains, where we rode our horses up steep inclines, over downed trees, through rushing rivers, and down sheer cliffs. I'm honestly not making this up. And there I was, two inches from death, my horse tripping on an downed tree, hanging onto the edge of 90 foot cliff . I was certain things were going to end badly and the first thought I had was, "Matthew is the dumbest son of a bitch I've ever met."

Mighty Mouse saved my life. We might never be friends, but I'm still appreciative.


Matthew, Josh, and I met nearly 10 years ago. We've changed. I suppose everyone does. But for me, there's nothing quite as special as friends who remain though changes, friends that don't vanish after a season, but are around to sit with you and watch the leaves change again and again and again. Friends who teach you to ride a horse much like my father taught me to drive a car: sit in front of the wheel and figure it out you punk-ass-sonofabitch-know-it-all kid.

I'm already looking forward to our next meeting. Whenever it may be. Until then: sleep well, eat pork (it's better for you than chicken), hope for cheaper diesel, and read a good book.