We hop in a white F350 at 4am on our way to Cape Bretton. I slept in the back while Logan’s childhood friend Jetski Joe cracks a beer, then lights a joint as we get on the highway. I look out the window and watch the river’s move past. I doze off as the tiny valleys remind me of the old ski hills my family and I would snowboard on every weekend. The open plains, the wheat fields, the dark farm soil and smell of burning leaves remind me of my first ill prepared camping trip. Looking out the window I see lakes my dad and I would fish on - now he’s gone. "An unsettling feeling is creeping through the front door. A cold draft on a hardwood floor." Now I'm looking out the window and notice a small patch of dead trees that stand in a family of five. Shook and woken, I look to the windshield as Logan spots a wave.