The Gold Street Cabin In Mammoth, Utah

 I see (after having my nose rubbed in it) that I have been remiss in mentioning my longest-time (but not oldest) friend, without whom this cabin, and likely myself too, would long since have ceased to exist. His name is Charlie ______ (redacted, to protect the guilty), and he is an expert in anything having to do with electricity, from laptops to ICBMs (really!). He’s also an expert auto mechanic, welder, machinist, systems engineer, and gunsmith– my kind of people. I’ve known him since kindergarten, where we were smart-ass little nerds together. He eventually got big, but neither of us really ever grew up. Don’t get me wrong; Charlie definitely has his faults. He’s terrible at tolerating bad cooking, bad service, bad advice, incompetence, ingratitude, and general stupidity. He also doesn’t do too well at obeying speed limits, but is VERY good at avoiding accidents and tickets. After Aaron, our certified, but drunken electrician, left us with a house just waiting to kill us, Charl...

We had decided to pave the driveway before the accident since the winter before, when Don had snowblowed the driveway,  pebbles kept catching in the snowblower and breaking the shear pins.  We still pushed ahead with this plan once we were back in Mammoth as Don was even less able to snow blow this year that he had been last year.