“So, we should take Cascade Express, go down Gulch, stay to the right and when it veers close to Boulevard, duck down the unmarked trail. That’s Exro’s, I think.”

“Sounds good.”

They board the lift, a wide quad chair that skims swiftly along the mountain’s rise. He folds the trail map and sticks it back into his chest pocket, removing in turn the small flask of whiskey he nips from in order to relax. Okay, slowly now: deep chesty breaths of fresh air, exhale. The dense clouds which obscured visibility all morning long begin to part, opening up the mountain to the sky and the sun that later will cause them to shed layers in the afternoon’s warmth. For now, though, it’s all good – “epic,” he catches himself muttering to no one in particular. They sit mutely, transfixed by the revelation of the volcano’s snow-capped peak looming up ahead like a gloved fist.

At the summit, they plop down onto the hard-packed snow to strap into their boards, each still lost in the reverie of the ascent. When they finish, they look at each other and speak for the first time since catching the lift at the mountain’s base.

“Uh, which way were we supposed to go?” Left or right or straight?

“Um, shit, I don’t remember."