I hung up the phone – after pulling some strings with a long time buddy, the lake house was ours for the weekend. It was late notice, but we’ll take any chance we can get to lounge in style, so we started packing up the truck. Swimwear, ski gear, and sunglasses: Check. Ahi filets from winter’s deep sea fishing trip, where Jonny almost got pulled into the Pacific: Check. Goku the Australian Shepherd: Check. With space at a premium, we drop-kicked the last and most important items into the space behind the driver’s seat: our favorite Mexican beer and enough MiiR pint cups to last the apocalypse.

Winding down US 285 toward our destination, we played the classics, toggling back and forth between Marvin Gaye and Funkadelic, with some surprise appearances from the Rolling Stones to keep us honest. The cabin was a favorite haunt of our friend group, the perfect place to escape for 48 hours and scheme up the next big adventure. It was also great timing; our team’s been on the road for months, so scoring a weekend to hang with everyone was a real treat.

Upon arrival, we made a beeline for the lake, forgoing the aforementioned swimsuits for a more, shall we say, natural experience. Drying off in the sun, cold drinks in hand, we could only retell so many old stories until our bellies rumbled and our thoughts turned to the tuna we were about to demolish. Remember our packing list? Firewood: Not Check. Fortunately, Christian stepped up and whipped a hatchet out of seemingly nowhere, jumping to work on some deadfall while the rest of us sipped away and dreamed of seared Ahi.

When Christian returned with the wood it was game on, and our well-oiled kitchen whirred to life, everyone settling into their usual roles. Marcella chopped and prepped, Jonny donned his grandfather’s apron, Colin kept the fire going, and the meal materialized before our eyes. Toasting to another year of adventures and unknowns, we ate the fish, garnished with fresh mango salsa and lime. The stories continued to flow. The drinks were still cold.