I want to be clear that Bram said the word "suave" about himself out loud, in the car, before we had even finished our milkshakes. He said, "I'm going to take you on this suave locals-only route," and I made the mistake of thinking he was joking, and that is on me.
It was fifty-one degrees. I know this because my phone said fifty-one degrees and also because I was wearing a cardigan and could feel it acutely in my entire body. Bram was wearing a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the kind of outfit that communicates I am effortlessly at home in warm weather while also suggesting zero awareness of current atmospheric conditions. He had sunglasses on his head. Decorative, as it turned out.
The Shake Shack had been his idea, which I respected. He said it was "technically brand new," which is the kind of trivia he offers like he's handing you a gift, and honestly it was a good milkshake and I was willing to feel good about things. Then he said the thing about the shortcut.
"There's this trail," he said. "Goes up toward the mountain. Super local. Most people don't even know about it."
I asked how he knew about it.
He said he'd seen it on the Explore page.
We drove to where he thought the trailhead was, which took twelve minutes longer than expected because of construction on Kearns Boulevard. I watched a traffic cone get nudged by a truck. Bram said the repaving was "actually a good sign" for the neighborhood. I did not ask what it was a sign of.
When we got to the trail, there was a sign. The sign said the trail was closed through June 19 for construction. There was orange fencing. It was very thorough orange fencing, the kind that communicates zero ambiguity about the closure situation.
Bram looked at the sign. He looked at me. He looked back at the sign.
"Okay," he said, "but that's probably just like, the first part."
I want to note that the sign said TRAIL CLOSED, not TRAIL CLOSED EXCEPT FOR A LITTLE BIT AT THE START, but I was curious to see how this played out, which is maybe my own issue.
We walked to the fence. The fence did not open. Bram put his hands on his hips in a way that suggested he was problem-solving, which is a thing he does with his posture when he needs a moment. The air was genuinely cold in the shade. He had goosebumps on his forearms, which he was pretending not to have.
"The mountain is basically open for summer anyway," he said. "Like technically June sixth is when lift access starts, but the vibe has been summer for a while."
I asked when he'd been up here last.
He said, "In the fall, but the energy felt the same."
We stood there for a moment in the shoulder-season limbo of it all, the Wasatch morning doing that thing where the sky looks like a July postcard but the air is very firmly an opinion about what you're wearing. A woman jogged past us in a proper fleece. She did not acknowledge the orange fence because she had already turned around before reaching it, because she lived here.
Bram watched her go. Then he pulled out his phone, looked at it, and said, "Okay I might have been a little delulu about this."
This is the thing about Bram. He will, eventually, arrive at the correct assessment. It just takes some scenic detours.
We went and sat in the sun on a bench near the parking lot, which was genuinely warm and pleasant once you got out of the shade, and he bought me a coffee from a place nearby and told me about how Deer Valley's big expansion meant the whole southern terrain was different now, and I don't ski but I let him explain it because he was doing the voice he does when he's excited about something, which is a good voice.
His arms were still covered in goosebumps. He had not acknowledged this once.
I took a photo of the closed trail sign while he was talking, for documentation purposes. He asked what I was doing. I said I was saving it for memories. He said, "Yeah, today was actually a great day," and meant it so completely that I didn't even feel like arguing.
The boy is a disaster. The bench was warm. The milkshake had been very good.
I'll probably go back.