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Corvette right after he was drafted and signed his first contract with the United National Hockey League. It was the type of car he dreamt of having when he was growing up and now it served as a reminder of his accomplishments.
    He drove slowly out of his neighborhood, keeping his speed under control for the sake of his neighbors. He turned up the volume on the Daughtry CD in the stereo and merged onto the north-bound freeway on-ramp. Finally able to accelerate the powerful engine, he merged onto the freeway and immediately slid over into the fast lane. Using all five hundred and five horsepower and driving no less than 85, he passed every other car on the road in a shiny black blur.
    Boat dealerships and several new housing developments lined the Interstate. Blue mountains formed a ring around the city, their snow-capped peaks white against the mid-day sky. The freeway curved and Ben took the August Dam Boulevard exit off the freeway. Mt. August dominated the northern sky, its jagged summit still covered with winter snow.
    The city of August Lake hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of Red Valley. It was a small lake town full of mom and pop stores, where every other building was vacant, or looked like it was anyway. August Lake was the only place Ben had been where the word “estates” referred to a mobile home park. Heavily rutted streets boasted rows of abandominiums and seedy dive bars. Ben liked the low-key feel of it, though. It was refreshing to drive through a place without a Starbucks on every corner. Since when did Americans drink so much coffee? But, then again, he was guilty as charged. A coffee from Starbucks had become part of his game day routine for years.
    As he drove further north, the oak trees turned into pine trees. He turned off the air conditioner and rolled the windows down, sucking in the crisp, fresh air. It always felt good to get out of the city and onto the open highway. The sky seemed bluer, the air cleaner, the trees greener. Escaping the noise and bustle of the city was an important part of his healing during the off season. Clearing his head was essential to balance the rigorous months of travel, practice and back to back games.
    But the season wasn’t over yet. Ben still had a half dozen games left before the team would know if they even made it to the playoffs. He tried to make it up to the dam whenever he had a day off, but his schedule was packed. In addition to their games, the team had practice a couple times per week, typically on non-game days when the team was at home.
    Ben liked the feel of his car on the windy mountain roads, the way it hugged the curves of the road and powered itself through the forest and up to the lake. A large green sign told him he was entering August Lake National Recreation Area. He drove past the boat ramp and after the road snaked up around the mountain it finally deposited him at the top of the dam.
    He pulled off the road at the Vista Point parking area and got out of the car. It was typically windy up here on top of the world. The wind rustled through the Douglas fir trees and Ponderosa Pines and howled into Ben’s ears and ruffled his brown hair. Twisted Manzanita trees and rows of Sugar Pines stood like soldiers standing guard around the lake. The blue water of August Lake lapped against the red clay shore. August Lake was the largest man-made reservoir in California with over three hundred miles of shoreline.
    Ben liked August Lake and its town. It reminded him of a smaller version of Denver, his home town. Coming to the dam surrounded by mountains made him feel closer to home.
    Here, there were no coaches yelling at him. No one slamming his body into the wall, no one fighting him for control of the puck. Just him and the water and the trees. It was a beautiful sight. A Golden Eagle soared overhead, it‘s screech echoed along the lush green hills. The dam was an intimidating, curved concrete structure, standing at six hundred feet high. Along