They say smells have the ability to transcend time and unlock those long-forgotten memories and images buried deep in your mind. They come unannounced and unexpected, and linger like a past love.

Oftentimes it’s one of those moments of ephemeral beauties, like the smooth satin feel of a guitar neck as you do runs down the fingerboard (yeah, I need a girlfriend) or stumbling across some artwork from first grade while cleaning out your stuff.

On the other hand, I think there’s a smell that will continue to haunt me for the rest of my life. It blindsides me out of nowhere and a gamut of emotions start flooding into my gut. More raw images than emotions, I guess. I catch it sometimes when I walk down the K Street past high-powered lobbyists with three-piece suits and past trendy restaurants or bars with mono-syllabic names in Georgetown. It’s the indescribable yet recognizable scent of cigar smoke.

Major Richardson would never fail to light up a Romeo & Juliet whenever we stepped off for a hump. True to the Marine Corps philosophy of leading from the front, he’d be the one leading the platoon on those treks that could stretch for upwards of 15 miles with fifty-some-odd pounds of gear, a nine-pound rifle, and a kevlar helmet. While the rest of us were struggling to breathe with every step, he made it seem like a leisurely stroll on the Mall on a brisk September afternoon. I don’t know how he did it, but humping behind him meant breathing in the smoke.

I’ll never forget that feeling for the rest of my life. The ALICE pack cramping up my back, the shoulder pads digging into my shoulders, the feeling of my shins waiting to explode with every strike of my jungle boots on the blacktop, and my lungs screaming for air while your cammies start getting soaked in your own sweat in the heat or worse yet, in 40-degree weather. All that with cigar smoke wafting past your nostrils.

I have to admit it’s a strange connection. It’s definitely not the most pleasant memory, yet I know that at the end of those humps, there would always be the feeling of exhausted bliss that I would never trade for anything in the world for.

Tomorrow I get to experience it out in the field again. I’m tense, nervous and have a million thoughts running through my head, but I’m looking forward to that moment when I drag my beaten body back onto the van back to GW, collapse on the couch after a nice long shower, knowing that I don’t have to worry about it again for another month.