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Last Sunday, I climbed Mt. Monadnock with three other high school friends. I would put only one of the lads in our foursome in the “in shape” category, and he was lamenting the fact he hadn’t been able to exercise much since starting his battery store business called Batteries Plus, located in Woburn, Mass. (Everything has a battery these days, and he has every battery.) He was the instigator.

Another is rather slight of build and by his own admission was never terribly athletic, preferring to steer a sailboat. That leaves your intrepid reporter and a high-powered trial attorney with the appropriate tense demeanor and sedentary lifestyle. He has since been nicknamed “Wolf,” after Harvey Keitel’s character in Pulp Fiction. We were both mediocre hockey goalies and lineman in high school.

When last we communed, Batteryman and another who could not make this trip talked us into riding bicycles around Block Island. The sailor, the wolf, and I lobbied for gas-powered devices but to no avail, given none of us wanted a) a moped-based DUI on our record or B) to forego alcohol. At one point during that jaunt, the wolf commented that he and I looked like two Russian bears on tricycles trying to escape from the circus.

This trip was described as a potential Flomax commercial. The general gist of this ad campaign has a bunch of aging geezers doing weekend warrior stuff while popping pills to forestall their enlarged prostates from compelling them to have to pull over their whitewater kayaks to relieve themselves.

So that was the backdrop for an assault on Mt. Monadnock. We went up the white dot trail and down the white cross trail, based solely on my dim recollection of that being the traditional way to climb the mountain 20 years ago when I last scaled it. The wolf and I agreed to scale said mountain, figuring we couldn’t be in any worse shape than the other. The sailor agreed under false pretenses, given that Batteryman simply told him we were going for a hike.

Batteryman and I generally were in the lead, pausing to wait for the other two who would invariably grace us with a “single-digit salute” as we waved a water bottle at them and said “come and get it.” Indeed, the pictures from the trip could serve as a primer on the various ways to make that hand gesture.

Several moments stand out:

At one point in the hike up, the wolf and the sailor were trying to determine a way around a particularly slippery-looking granite wall. From several hundred feet up we could hear the sailor state, “Well, there’s something you don’t see often. It’s a lawyer on all fours.”

Near the top we had all stopped for a quick rest out of the wind before heading to the summit. At this point a half-dozen or so fighter jets came up and over the summit before diving back down into the valley before us. It was quite a sight that had us reaching for the Flomax.

The wolf at one rest stop looked at us, and said, “Every time I come out here to visit you guys, all you try to do is kill me. You could just tell me to stay in California, you know.” When the wolf told his managing partner he was heading east to visit boarding-school friends, the man reportedly paused, looked at the wolf and said, “You don’t have any friends, do you?”

On the trip down the mountain, the wolf turned to the sailor to ask which way the trail went, to which the sailor replied, “What do I look like, Daniel Boone? I’m wearing Polo.”

On one stop, the sailor and the wolf opined they liked me better before I quit drinking, calling me the incredibly fit fat man. When asked what I was going to do next, I kept it to the Flomax theme and told them I was going to head home and chop wood with my manhood. Naturally, they replied that it had better be kindling.

On the way down the trail, when the wolf and the sailor were lagging, I called what I thought was the sailor’s cell phone to ask if he was lost and wound up leaving a message. It turns out it was his home number, causing his wife to worry he was lost until he returned home several hours later.

The trip ended slightly later than anticipated, but still before darkness. The next stop was a convenience store where the wine and beer was selected strictly by alcohol content before returning to my lake house to watch the Patriots beat the Colts.

The Flomax poster boys live to pee another day. We’re thinking whitewater rafting next.

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