Remember when you finished primary school and your dad took you to the hottest tailor in town to buy you your first suit and you felt the warm glow of his pride? You wore it for ‘luck’ to pick up your exam results only to find you scored a solid C-minus? The suit no longer gave off that sheen of success but dulled in the shadows of your failure. That’s the kind of bitter sweet memory I felt as I headed to to Hell’s gate, a memory that should have been good but wasn’t for some reason. Would this be the trip that would change my mind?