Things are meant to be the way they play out, I really believe that in both work and life. That’s what made it obvious that meeting Arthur last night, at the end of my trip instead of earlier, was inevitable. And I blame my fat old friend for that.

Heading out to California for the weekend for a conference, I knew somehow, some way Dwin would reach out to me while I was in his part of the country. I thought maybe it’d be on Friday night when I first got there. That’s when I grabbed a ride downtown to meet his sister, Sheila, for dinner. No question he was in the air (pun intended) as we talked about him, but his presence didn’t really stand out, didn’t make me think he was being his normal self. If you knew Dwin, you know exactly what I mean.

I wanted a quick trip, in and out of L.A., even though with the commute there wasn’t going to be anything quick about it. I was staying in Anaheim, right between the Honda Center and Angels Stadium. Our conference was a few miles away at the convention center, right across the street from Disneyland. He would have had a field day with that considering he knows my favorite time to go to that park is when I’m dead. That might have been when I expected to have a connection to him the most, but again, it held out for the strange guy in the Toyota Prius.

My last Uber of the weekend went smoothly, cruising from Anaheim back to LAX. It was a bit under an hour to get there, about 53 minutes to be precise. A really fucking weird 53 minutes to be more precise. During that non-stop, one-sided conversation, which I know is amazing for most of you to learn wasn’t dominated by my big mouth, I picked up the following about Arthur:

  • He’s 64, left-handed, played guitar in a band that got some play back in the day, met Eddie Van Halen once, and is friends with the second drummer of Judas Priest. That’s all in the first two miles.
  • His brother was an “evangelist” and lived in North Carolina where they “have the softest trees.” His brother died last in July. Miles 5-8 when he was on the freeway but only doing 47 miles per hour.
  • He has had three wives and said he sees “no sense in not going for one more, probably a little Filipino woman though, because they don’t mind guys my size and look,” and so that’ll probably happen later this year. His second wife was best friends with that drummer’s wife. This was miles 16-21 and I may have had a slight seizure.
  • He absolutely loves Fast & Furious movies, and was excited beyond most levels of excitement I’ve ever seen in person when I mentioned we had watched 5 minutes of filming of Owen Wilson in “The Intern” in Atlanta several years ago. Getting to meet famous people is his favorite pastime, like the time he sat next to Ryan O’Neill on a bench in the county jail. They weren’t arrested; he was there for his son and O’Neill was there for his son and it was the day Farrah Fawcett died. He really wanted to “hold him by the shoulders, just a hug” but instead just sat quietly next to him to let him think. Miles 24-28 were some of the most cringe-worthy of the trip.
  • Along the famous actors theme, he also knew why there was only one Wahlburger’s in California, which it seemed to him no one else in the state knew the answer. His knowledge of such came because he dropped a guy off at a house after the guy got drunk on Sunset Strip last year and the guy said “See that house across the street? That’s Donnie Wahlberg’s house.” And it was a mile from the aforementioned Wahlberger’s. No doubt miles 30-33 were all about the big moments. (Editor’s note: a quick Internet search leads you to see there are three Wahlberger’s in the Golden State.)
  • He had no idea why Google maps kept telling him to go to the Hawaiian Airlines entry to drop people off for American Airlines. He had made “more than 1,100 trips to LAX,” and knew they’re in two separate places, so he turned the map off at that point and took me around to where I should be dropped off. Which, as it turned out, was one drop-off point too soon. The dude at the escalator checking boarding passes said, “Out the door, to the right. Go to the next entry and head up stairs from there, right above,” . . . wait. for. it. . . . “Hawaiian Airlines.” Mile marker 36.4, just before I went to the bar and got another beer.

These are just the things I can remember. There were probably two to three other things that, considering I’d had a couple beers and was running on fumes, pretty much blew my mind, but these are what I held onto. Arthur was an interesting dude to say the least. And probably a bit scary if a couple blood vessels cross paths in his brain. But I made it there on time and alive, and with a story to tell. Thanks Dwin, you jackass.