A Bachelor party, by definition, is “a party held for a man shortly before he enters marriage, to celebrate his last night of freedom.” For most, it’s a wild ride that includes the stench of strip clubs, the bright lights of Vegas and of course some amount of regret. And in their defense, it’s probably an insanely good time – just not by my definition.
The mere concept of my “last day as a free man” is laughable to me. All of those who know me know that I’m not imprisoned by my relationship, but instead inspired by it, so freedom is not something that I seek away from my fiancé. The freedom that I search out lies far away from the urban sprawl and daily routine of Southern Cali, no matter how untraditional or uneventful that routine may be at times.
|Don’t go by my mug, I’m happy|
I’m at ease in the mountains. I literally crave the smell of fresh pine and wood fire and the sounds of wind and weather. In my mind, the ideal bachelor party is a road trip with incredible friends, a fly rod, high elevation, whiskey and a fireplace. Mammoth Lakes has undoubtedly been my place of refuge while living in Los Angeles (as my blog often pays testament to), so when it came time to choosing a location for my [west coast] bachelor party, it was pretty clear that I’d be going to Mammoth one last time before marriage and before leaving California altogether.
The drunken nights playing cards and the mornings — well actually afternoons — on the river were all I wanted. We had an amazing time as always, but for me this was completely necessary as lately I’ve been numb to the weight of our move back East. Planning a wedding, moving across the country and trying to find the best way to say goodbye to people who have become family to Sammy and I is conflicting and often times impossible.
To get away for even a few days meant more to me than anything. So thanks to you guys who made it all happen… Really.
Our rug looked like Ben’s sweater. Poser.