Five Friends. Four States. One Unforgettable Night.

Holyoke, CO. May 1988. Ben, Mike, Dan, Eric, and Mark (L to R).

It was the Wednesday of finals week during the second semester of my freshman year at Colorado State University, and my toughest exam was scheduled for 8:00 AM the following morning. I’d spent weeks preparing, knowing I would still be up late, cramming last-minute facts and theories onto the single 3x5 index card we were permitted to bring into Music Theory. That afternoon, while standing in choir next to my best friend, Mike, our great friend Ben Ellis—a senior, fellow student, and an all-around inspiring guy—approached us holding a small brown bag. With a clever, mischievous smile, Ben raised the bag and asked, “What do you think is in this bag?” “No idea,” we replied. Still smirking, Ben told us to meet him and the rest of the Poor Boys, our college a cappella group, at Eric’s place that night, promising we’d find out then.

 I’ve thought about that interaction a thousand times over the years. The beautiful thing is, neither Mike nor I questioned Ben’s invitation. We just accepted it. Being around Ben felt effortless, and his presence could put anyone at ease. His easygoing nature and quiet confidence were calming and reassuring. With Ben, we never had to second-guess ourselves; we just knew everything would turn out all right. Ben’s reliability and warmth were at the heart of our group, the glue that held the Poor Boys together. At some point that evening, Mike picked me up and we drove over to Eric’s. Youthful curiosity and bonded brotherhood were all that filled the air.

 Inside the small brown bag was a Rand McNally map—spiral-bound and oddly pristine, yet its chewed-up corners and dog-eared pages gave it the look of a survivor, as if it had spent a month as a dog's favorite chew toy. Post-it notes poked out from the margins, marking routes and stops from Ben’s meticulous planning. He’d plotted out a “Four-state Tour” for the Poor Boys: an irresponsible overnight journey that would take us through Colorado, Wyoming, Nebraska, and Kansas, with just enough time to make it back before finals around dawn.

 With excitement buzzing in the air, we paused just long enough to catch our breath before piling into Mark’s Jetta. The doors slammed and the stereo pulsed with a serendipitous mix of classic rock—Fleetwood Mac, Van Halen, and a dash of U2—filling the car with an adventurous soundtrack. The scenery blurred by: endless plains morphing into rolling hills, small towns flickering past in the neon haze of highway lights, and the silver streak of moonlight glinting off two-lane county roads. We sang in bathrooms and pit stops across all four states, our voices echoing above the hum of vending machines. Chips crunched, Taco Bell wrappers rustled, and as we fueled ourselves with dizzying ultra-caffeinated sodas, laughter fell freely as the odometer climbed. Every mile deepened our bond and turned what would have been an ordinary night of stressful study into an unmatched legendary memory.

 It's been my experience that most of life’s greatest moments don’t cost much beyond the investment of time. Well, and maybe a little planning (and, I guess, a Rand McNally map). Ben, Mike, Eric, and Mark…that late, dark May night from 1988 is one of the single greatest nights of my life. I’ve been fortunate to see a great deal of the planet and enjoy a number of unique and amazing adventures. Truly, this night towers tall amidst my life’s many exceptional engagements.

 The shepherd of this epic journey, Ben, continued to give his life to others as a husband, father, friend, leader, student, spiritual advisor, mentor, and teacher before losing life’s battle to esophageal cancer in 2016.

This past summer, in the same spirit as the four-state Poor Boy overnighter, I spent three weeks alone on my motorcycle traveling the backroads of some of the very same states we traversed that unforgettable night in college. I took a slight detour near the end of my journey and stopped in the small town of Holyoke, CO to take a picture where the five of us self-portrait stood nearly 40 years earlier. It was good to be close to Ben and the other guys again on that bright, hot July afternoon. It was also refreshing to think about good friends, great memories, and memorialize faith, goodness, and bonded brotherhood.

Dearest Ben and the rest of the Poor Boys, I’m ready for another adventure anytime you call. Somebody grab a Rand McNally. I’ll meet you at Eric’s.

Holyoke, CO. July 2025.