If I had to create my own version of how life would end, it would be this: A long, cold road, a blast of wind, patches of black ice, and the occasional cow bell to cheer me on. I would be mostly alone, and I would spend the last seven miles doing my darndest to pass as many people as I could. There would be two killer hills on the last mile, and I might even talk to myself, give myself a little vocal pep talk. And then I would round that last bend and spot the finish line. But I wouldn’t be looking at the finish line. I’d be looking at a tall, thin man in a furry blue hat, huddled together with four boys cheering their crazy mama on. And I would burst into tears, because that’s exactly what I would need to carry me those last few steps. That, my friends, is my version of Heaven.
Heaven might also include polar bears and unicorns carved in ice, ice thrones, ice walls, and front-row seats to the national autonomous snowplow competition. I’d be happy with that too.