Heading Up North Friendship at 60 Robert Granader Aug 16, 2026 The Drama-Filled Finale of a Girl’s Trip to Ibiza, Planned via Group Chat screamed the Wall Street Journal headline as I sat in the cramped space of the Cherry Capital Airport in Traverse City. I was leaving my own Guys’ Trip to Northern Michigan and the parallels could not have been more stark. The girls’ trip went awry when two of the women, hot and tired from a long flight, got lost and complained about some facets of the trip. Unbeknownst to them their phone “recorded the whole conversation and converted it to text in the group chat.” Thanks for reading A Life in Drafts! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. The spark was lit. Then as they gathered in their cars for dinner the first night, one person was delayed coming out, they thought she had another ride, and now she was home alone. Flames. The makeup of our guys trip was 10 men pushing 60 years of age, who live in six states. Because of the logistical challenges only the most basic information was given beyond the dates: “You can golf if you want to drag your clubs, not me, I bike. Isolated area. No city. Just boat, lake, food, drink. Have seven bedrooms, 8 beds, we can work out the specifics.” Everyone showed. One guy waited seven hours for someone’s delayed plane, another swung by and bought another’s favorite tequila, two guys spent the previous evening at Costco buying a truckload of groceries while recognizing the various food allergies, intolerances and preferences of middle aged men. This weekend wasn’t the Big Chill where Nick argued that these old friends were now strangers: “…a long time ago we knew each other for a short period of time; you don't know anything about me.” We went to the University of Michigan and one of the things that comes along with the Maize and Blue — something it doesn’t say in the brochure — is that for the next 40 years you will be tethered to this university and thereby your friends because of victories on the football field and the basketball hardwood. You will traverse the country and return to Ann Arbor to watch new young faces. And you will compare their successes to those of your teams. And so we know each other. Not everyone the same. But we showed up and together we cooked, rode off-road vehicles, were patient with those who had trouble getting up on water skis, we refused reimbursement for any cash outlays. We canoed down a river telling the stories from a time when our faces were smooth, when we cared less about sunscreen, when we weren’t worried about where the closest bathroom was, or where we placed our glasses. Our age was definitely a presence. We talked about kids in college, the ones getting married, the future spouses, the two doctors in the group were bombarded with questions on everything from elbow pain, to statin doses and a “safe” Gummy milligram count. We talked about Peloton groups, had vigorous debates over favorite concerts, and we quoted liberally with a special nod to Stripes, Caddyshack, and Seinfeld. The days fell into a rhythm, the slow arrival of breakfast, the hike around the lake, the boat, the nap, the pre-dinner-prep and post-dinner cleanup, and the drinking that lasted through the campfire. And the talks that veered from the serious to the comical as easily as the water lapped up on the sand. If there were a short story about this weekend it would fail for its lack of drama. There were no moments when someone got mad about that incident 25 years ago, the people who were/weren’t invited to the next wedding. This was not a place to heal any wounds, if they did exist. It was stripped down, bare bones — everything from the surrounding to the activities. But not the discussions. Those had depth. We were young again, but in older bodies. No one wanted drama, we wanted connection and friendship in a place without careers, money, politics or fear. And that’s what we got.