After three hours or so, we stopped for gas. We still had over a quarter of a tank, but I’m one of those people who gets twitchy as hell if my tank falls below the halfway mark. We used the restrooms and then went into the shop to buy some lunch and a few snacks.

“Check it out,” said Jules, holding up a touristy t-shirt that had the outline of the Rocky Mountains emblazoned on it, along with the tagline ‘I’ve never been so high’.

I chortled at that. Colorado was one of the first states to legalize recreational weed and as Coloradans, it was something Jules and I had always felt immensely proud of.

When we took off again, we headed north for a few miles and when the road forked, I found myself indicating and taking a left. Jules eyed me curiously but didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything about the next turn I made, or the one after that. I still didn’t feel like I knew where I was going. Not exactly. It was almost as if there was a map in my brain. It was faded and dusty, but if I didn’t think about it too hard, I’d get a feeling about the direction I needed to take. It was hardly even a feeling. More like a knowing.

Eventually we passed a narrow dirt track. I drove straight past it, but something about the way the branches of a large pinyon pine that grew next to the road twisted back on themselves seemed oddly familiar. I turned the truck around and pulled over. I got out and stretched my legs. I took a couple of deep breaths and familiarized myself with my whereabouts. I eyed the sky briefly and then the stones and gravel beneath my feet. Something about the way my feet felt on the ground told me what I needed to know: I’d been there before. I knew where we were. We started driving again. The road was narrow and wound its way up the mountain. I anticipated when it would dip down and when we were coming up to a bend. Jules was uncharacteristically quiet right up until we pulled up to the cabin.

The cabin was rudimentary and had a slightly dilapidated look about it. The logs it was built out of were stained dark, and as a result, it seemed to blend into its surroundings. It was built in a clearing, but there were established pine trees of every description growing around it. It had a front porch, similar to the cottages we had back at the homestead, but this one was wider and deeper. There was a rustic wooden bench out front, and a few thick logs arranged in a semicircle around an open fire pit.

“I knew it,” Jules said, leaping out of the vehicle and punching the air. “I knew you could do it.”