17 - Lost in the Desert

California was a little rough on me, emotionally. San Francisco was bittersweet enough, but I got downright melancholy at dinner in Santa Monica – and not just because they forgot my grilled artichoke. I sat there, eating and drinking by myself, feeling disconnected, unsure of my purpose.

Was this a sabbatical, leave of absence, or just a glorified vacation? Why did I determine at times to stay on my 1978 route without deviation, even insisting on visiting the same places on the same date – but at other times detour to visit friends, family, or new destinations I wanted to visit? Why do I still have no idea when I will return, and – sometimes – wonder whether I will return at all?

One thing is certain. The only time I feel lost is when I’m sitting still. When I’m driving or hiking, I feel whole. Nothing settles my burning brain like the hum of the highway, the crunch of my footsteps on a wilderness path, the sight of magnificent clouds receding behind me. No balm, no drink, soothes like moving to the next place.

And after Los Angeles, that next place was the desert. I drove east, the thick snarling traffic finally easing up past San Bernardino, I made the turnoff to Joshua Tree National Park well after dark. I drove for miles in total silence, under millions of stars, awed by the silhouettes of the magical Joshua Trees, looking for a place to camp.

And when I woke up and left my tent, I saw this.

I had planned a couple of hikes that morning. The first was the Ryan Mountain path, in the early morning, before the heat set in. Joshua Tree National Park is in the Mojave Desert, the natural habitat of the eponymous tree, so named by Mormon settlers who were reminded of a biblical story where Joshua raises his hands in prayer. Unfortunately, the trees are threatened by climate change, with some estimating that 90% of them will disappear by the end of the century.

The park is also characterized by picturesque rock outcroppings, and its setting has the added bonus of making it impervious to cell phone communication. That is, unless one is on top of Ryan Mountain, where the height of my climb had taken me into coverage, and my office was buzzing me with an urgent message while I stood admiring the view.

I also took a shorter hike to see the abandoned Ryan Ranch, vandalized by graffiti artists.

Reportedly, over a dozen trails in Joshua Tree have been closed, mostly because of graffiti and vandalism to sacred Indian sites. So between the climate change and human element, see it before it all goes away, folks.

I continued east, across Arizona’s less arid Sonoran desert, with its iconic saguaro cacti (you know, the kind you’d see on cartoons as a kid, usually with a hot sun and bleached animal bones scattered on the sand). 

Also abandoned in the desert are the carcasses of vehicles. Bruce and I took advantage of these photo opportunities whenever possible:

In 2018, I also found what must be the world’s largest tennis shoe graveyard:

           Eating options are more limited in the desert as well. 

Here’s Stephen Jackson's take:

True to form, I stopped for lunch in what seemed to be the only option in Tonopah, Arizona, a dusty biker bar with cold beer and a pretty good hamburger.

One reason I wanted to eat there was the classic Lowell George/Little Feat song “Willin’” (also ably covered by Linda Ronstadt), about a long-distance truck driver, whose routes took him from “Tucson to Tucumcari, Tehachapi to Tonopah”:

I stayed in a motel in Parker, Arizona, on the California border, where I got a haircut and did some shopping. One woman was amused by my purchase of ¼ lb. of sliced turkey. She told me that she and her husband used to have “cold cut nights” where they put out meats, cheeses, breads and relishes, and play cards or watch movies. She’d been widowed for 22 years and told me she still kissed his photo every morning. Leaving the store, it occurred to me that despite how polarized this nation has become, you can connect with just about anyone on a personal level … often by talking about food, and the memories it triggers.

In 1978, Bruce and I did not visit Joshua Tree. We were intent on going straight from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. We went from there to the Grand Canyon, for our only foray into the 48^th state. This time, I deviated. I stayed in Arizona extensively, including a seminar in Scottsdale, followed by a vacation with my wife in Sedona – which, by the way, is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. (Both, ha ha.)

           As wonderful as the vacation was, I could not help but feel it threw me off my rhythm. Too many nights in comfortable beds and days in idyllic surroundings. This was simply a nearly insurmountable problem. (Insert ironic face emoji here, OK?)

And though it was hard to say goodbye to my wife at the airport, it felt good to get back on the road. As I sat in a Sedona coffee shop studying my next move, I decided to go to Las Vegas for the night, and return to Arizona the next day to hike the Grand Canyon. And so that’s what I did, back across the desert, back west, and further away from home.

Next: Meeting Lefty in Las Vegas.