9/3/03
MY CALIFORNIA TRIP - PART 2
8 PAGES

It's been over two months since I wrote the first part of my California trip. I figured I should write part two while it's still somewhat in my head. When last I left you, I had returned to the Mojave Desert after almost 3 years away. Some things were just as I had remembered them. The stillness, the silence, the beauty. Other things seemed different. Mostly, the fact that I don't remember it being this god-forsakenly hot. Yes, I know it's the desert, but it's a dry heat right? Sure, but that dry heat is so damn oppressive. I drove through Joshua Tree park just letting the memories of this place flood back into me and letting my "Desert Solitaire" mix move me.

But as the sun set, I decided I needed to head back into Palm Springs and pick up Lauren. We had said that we were going to drive out to the middle of nowhere, towards the town of Amboy which is literally 50 miles from everything on every side. We were going to lay in the middle of the two-lane road and watch shooting stars. The desert is usually so dry with absolutely zero humidity and hence no haze in the sky. That makes the stars absolutely brilliant in the sky. You can see the Milky Way as clearly as Venus on any night. And since it's so completely clear, you can also see shooting stars any night of the year. Even if there's no meteor showers happening. And you'll see them with surprising consistency. I had come out this way with my friend Laura once before I left LA and we probably saw an average of one shooting star per minute. And some of them were really big ones that actually broke up into smaller pieces as they streaked across the sky.

I guess I forgot just how big it is out in the desert. How spread out it is. I had thought that Palm Springs was like right next to Joshua Tree. Turns out, they're like an hour away from each other. By the time I got back to Palm Springs, it was about 10 o'clock. Lauren was just getting out of her midwife seminar. I had been driving since about 7 and I was already starting to feel it. But we were determined.

We started the long drive back out to Joshua Tree again. Another one of the things I always loved about being out here were the windmills. As soon as you come over whatever mountain ridge it is into the valley that Palm Springs is in, there are huge windmills everywhere. This particular patch of earth is prone to high speed gusty winds and so they've put up all these windmills to generate electricity. It's really cool to look out at them from a distance. Hundreds of them standing out in the middle of the desert. Hundreds! And then when you pass by them and see just how huge they are and just how fast they are spinning. I don't know quite how to explain it. It's like each one is a lone sentry keeping watch over the desert. Especially at night, passing by them is eerie because none of them are lit up. You can just barely make out their sillohuettes against the dark sky.

So we passed by the windmills and headed towards Yucca Valley and the city of Twenty-Nine Palms. From Twenty-Nine Palms we took an unmarked two-lane road north toward the town of Amboy. One of the things I knew I wanted to do on the way to Amboy was visit the "Cancer Tower." When Laura and I had come out this way, we found it by accident. We had stopped so Laura could look at some flowers that were growing wild by the side of the road. And I was shining my flashlight around and up at the sky. I was always fascinated by the way the beam from the flashlight just seems to go into infinity when you shine it at the sky, especially in the desert. Again, there is no haze for it to hit against, so it just seems to keep going.

Anyway, while I was shining the light around, it hit against something back in the desert off the road. I couldn't quite tell what it was. It wasn't a telephone pole. They were on the other side of the road. It wasn't a tree. There was nothing growing higher than a bush out here. But there was definitely something that the light was reflecting off of in the distance. Maybe three hundred feet from where we were standing. It looked metallic, but I couldn't be sure. I said to Laura, "Let's go see what it is." As we walked closer, the dim outline became gradually clearer. It was really creepy. We still could not tell what it was. We could see that it was some kind of structure. And there was something white and big on the top and that was what the flashlight was hitting that I'd seen from the road.

Closer and closer, we could now make out the definite skeleton shape of an electrical tower. There were four white cones on the top. Against the dark backdrop of night and mountains, the slate gray metal was freakin' eerie to look at. It just looked evil. Even though we knew it was silly, we were afraid. It was like some kind of primal childhood fear coming out. We were afraid of this tower. It looked haunted. And when we got close enough to see it fully, it was surrounded by a chain link fence with a sign on it saying something like "The FCC has determined that coming any closer than this fence will put you at risk for cancer." That freaked us out and we turned around immediately and walked back to the road.

Later on in the night, Laura realized that her wallet was missing and we figured out that she must have dropped it near the cancer tower. We were seriously afraid to go back and get it. Not afraid of cancer per se, though that was a fear. But afraid of the tower itself. For no logical reason. We were just afraid to look at it. The whole thing just looked scary.

Anyway, on this night with Lauren, I knew I wanted to go back to the tower and take a picture of it. Driving along, I kept an eye out for the dirt road that went out to the tower. Before I saw the road, I could make out a blinking red light in the distance. That was odd. I don't remember the cancer tower having a light on it, but what else could it be? Distances are so deceiving in the desert. I don't know what it is. I can remember driving through New Mexico one time and coming up over a mountain and seeing a city on the other side of a valley. I figured the town was like 10 miles away. Turns out, it was 70 miles away. You just can't tell somehow. Things look closer than they are.

Well the distance thing played tricks on me this night too. The road we were driving wove it's way through a valley between two ridges of mountains and there are long flat stretches. The tower was on one of these stretches. And so we were looking at this blinking red light for a good 5 minutes before we finally reached the dirt road off to the right.

"This is it," I said excitedly. Bless Lauren's heart, she really does a good job of humoring me when I get excited about stupid shit. When I go way out of my way to experience something. But I know she just didn't get my excitement. I don't blame her. After all, it's just a tower. She didn't have the experience with it that I had. I could tell that she was getting a kick out of watching me get a kick out of the experience, and she was happy that I was sharing it with her, but deep down, I knew that she wasn't truly going to experience it the way I did. When I'd come here the first time, it was discovery of something unknown. The whole night was an experience surrounding this tower. Lauren knew exactly what we were going to see. There was no discovery for her. I felt disappointed, but not in Lauren. More just disappointed that there was no way she or anybody other than Laura could ever truly know or feel what I felt about this nowhere spot.

As we drove up the dirt road, the tower came into view. It was just as creepy looking as I remember. The tower actually seemed to ABSORB light. I swear. It was that same dark slate gray color. The lights of the car cast evil looking shadows behind and through it. I could immediately see that there was a second tower next to the cancer tower. It was upon that tower that the blinking red light was. Not on the cancer tower. That too was disappointing. Not only wouldn't anybody ever be able to understand the experience I'd had. Now, nobody would ever be able to on their own, unknown to me or anybody else, have their own accidental experience with the tower. There would be no accidental discovery. There would be ample warning that there was something there. Something manmade. An electrical tower of sorts. Nobody will ever have that 5 minutes of scared wonder as they walk closer and closer to whatever it is that is reflecting the light of their flashlight.

Lauren and I got out of the car. I noticed that the sign warning of cancer was no longer on the fence. I took out our camera and took a few pictures of the tower. I wasn't sure if it would come out, but I had to try. We got back in the car and I made a nerve wracking K-turn to head back down the road. Nerve wracking only because I still had that childish nervous fear of this place and wasn't sure of anything, much less what I might run into or FALL into as I backed up.

Lauren was getting tired and really didn't want to drive the extra 25 miles into Amboy. Not even just to look at the sign that actually said, "Population 20." So we started heading back towards Twenty-Nine Palms. We picked a spot in the middle of nowhere and parked the car. We got out our blanket and spread it across the center line and laid down to look at the stars. I don't know why, but it was an extraordinarily humid time in the Mojave. There was a haze in the sky that I've never seen before. It wasn't cloudy. Just hazy. You could still see the stars. You could still see the Milky Way. And we did see several shooting stars, but the sky just didn't have the same brilliance that I'd always remembered. I was really disappointed.

The next day or the day after, I loaded up my backpack and headed into the Joshua Tree wilderness. I hiked the "Boy Scout Trail" which starts from the middle of the park and ends 8 miles later at the northern end just south of Twenty-Nine Palms. It's a one-way descent into the rocky canyons of the high desert. Of course, that means that it's a one-way ASCENT out of the rocky canyons on the way back. The hike in was relatively easy enough considering how hot it was. This being the beginning of June and everything. The temperature in the middle of the day was reaching upwards of 100 or higher. Even by the time I was heading into the desert around 4pm, it was still that hot and it remained that hot right up to and including after the sun went down. I don't think it got cooler than 75 all night.

I made it over the ridge down through the canyon and to the wide plain just before Twenty-Nine Palms by 7 o'clock. At the place where I set up camp, I could see the lights of Twenty-Nine Palms even though I was a good 10 miles back. I broke one of my cardinal rules about backpacking on this trip. I brought my cell phone. I always used to make fun of people who got lost and called 911 when they were hiking. I am always like, "Dude, you can't be TOO lost if you've still got a signal." What kind of yuppie brings a cell phone camping? But I brought it only because I remember how lonely I'd felt the last time I'd gone backpacking. Even though I love the solitude of not seeing another living soul, I found that I had a dull ache of loneliness. Missing Lauren is what it is. As soon as I'd set up camp, all I'd want is to be with her. And so I brought the cell phone with me, knowing that I'd be camping within line of sight to Twenty-Nine Palms. I figured I'd be able to get a signal and call her when I got lonely.

And I did call her. The signal wasn't the greatest, but I was able to get enough of one to talk to her and tell her I loved her and how I was doing. She was busy though with her midwives conference. So I got off the phone and started the task of setting up camp. I got my tent up in relatively good time. I didn't bother with the rain fly, this being the desert and all. I wanted to be able to see the stars and have the extra breeze through the mesh in the top of the tent.

After that, I changed out of my hiking clothes into my camp clothes. Though, to be honest, I didn't put ON the camp clothes right away. One of the things camping reveals to you is how ingrained the rules of society and life amongst other people are in your head. Things that you'd be embarrassed to do in public… you're still embarrassed to do in the middle of nowhere with not another human being around for miles. Back when I lived in LA and I'd come out here, I'd often force myself to start singing. Just to do it. And I couldn't do it. I love singing but the only place Ill do it is in my car or in a club where the music is so loud nobody can hear me. I get embarrassed if I know somebody can hear me. And yet, out in the desert, with nobody around for miles, NOBODY can hear me. I could sing at the top of my lungs and nobody would be the wiser. But I still get embarrassed because I'm outside. And in the real world, when you're outside, people can hear you. So I'd start singing and then clam up, subconciously certain that somebody might hear yet knowing that's ludicrous.

Well on this night, I forced myself to break another societal constraint. I changed out of my hiking clothes and stood naked in the wilderness. I was in full view of the entire city of Twenty-Nine Palms - 10 miles away. In the real world, I would be arrested for public indecency. Out here, I was the only one who knew. So I stood in the middle of the plain, wearing nothing but sandals. I've got to say, if you ever have the opportunity to stand naked in the middle of the desert, miles from anybody else, you should definitely do it. There was just something exhilirating and refreshing feeling the warm desert wind against my skin. Against my chest, my back, and of course against the areas that NEVER feel fresh outside air. It was like electricity. I just stood there, my arms stretched out to the side, feeling the wind hit my body. I walked around a little bit this way, always a LITTLE nervous that somebody was going to see me even though I knew it was ludicrous. Nobody else in their right mind would be strapping 70 pounds on their back and schlepping 8 miles into the 100 degree desert. I allowed my mind to overcome my sense of societal rules. And for a good ten minutes, I was natural in nature. Finally though, I had to get to the task of making dinner. I got dressed.

I had an interesting first experience using my camp stove. The wind blew the thing over the first time I set it up. I moved it to a sheltered flat rock on the canyon wall. It took several false starts and fuel spills, but eventually, I got it lit and roaring. I had brought along a recipe for macaroni and cheese with mustard powder, sundried tomatoes and real monterey jack cheese that I'd picked up in a backpacker magazine. It was absolutely DELICIOUS. I wish I'd bought this stove earlier. Before, whenever I went hiking, I'd always get craving for things I knew I couldn't have. Hot meat for one thing. Something with flavor. At least more flavor than beef jerky and bagels. I'd always get a craving for burgers and as such I'd always stop in at Carl's Jr. after any hiking trip. There was no meat in this meal, but the combination of flavors was just absolutely heavenly. It took me longer than I'd wanted to cook and eat and by the time I was cleaning up it was getting dark. It made it tough to gather everything up. I had cooked up on the base of the canyon wall because there were rocks to both sit on and shield the stove from the wind. I was bringing things back down to the tent one at a time, trying not to misstep and fall in the dark. I got everything set in the tent that I was going to need for the night: sleeping back, flashlight, water, book, etc. I got everything else stashed away in the backpack. I had already used up three of my seven water bottles. Each of them are a liter and a half. Generally more than enough, but since it was so hot, I really should have brought more. I was debating whether to conserve the water for the long hike UP in the morning, or if I should load up on water tonight. I opted for the former which I later realized was a big mistake. By midway through the hike in the morning, the water would become too hot to do me any good. Drinking it was actually making me HOTTER and thus sweat more. I really should have loaded up on the water NOW while it was cool.

I pulled my sleeping back out of the tent and spread it on the ground. I laid on my back and looked up at the unusually hazy sky. Still clearer than any city, but still not as brilliant as the desert I once knew. The loneliness was setting in again and I gave Lauren another call. After talking for a few minutes, we hung up. Then I started praying. Actually, "praying" is the wrong word to use. When people think praying, they think asking God for stuff. What I did was I started talking to God. My hiking trips are usually when I do this. They really are the best times for it. I'm all alone with no distractions, and really NOTHING else to do anyway. I'm in nature, looking up at the sky, with nothing, not even a roof to separate me from my creator. It just feels right. So I start talking.

I talked to God like he was a friend I hadn't talked to in a long time. Truth be told, that isn't far off. I talk about what's been going on in my life, what I've been thinking, what I'm excited about, what is scaring me, and what I'm thankful for. These sessions of prayer are always so wonderful. They just put me at such peace. It really feels as though God is there with me, like He's putting a hand on my shoulder saying, "It's all going to be alright. I'm here."

I prayed for probably an hour. When I'd said everything I could think of, I got out my Dave Barry book and started reading. Dave Barry is a humor columnist. Hands down the most famous one in modern day. His stuff makes me laugh out loud. And laughing makes me feel less lonely. So his books are always good to have when I'm camping alone. I read for awhile until I started to feel sleepy. I checked the clock on my cell phone and it was around 9 or 10. I tried to go to sleep. At first I tried sleeping right out on the desert floor. But after awhile mosquitoes started buzzing me, so I had to go into the tent. I didn't like this any better. It was at least 10 degrees hotter inside the tent. I tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. This is usually the case when I go camping. I just can't fall asleep. I lay awake with my thoughts. And when I do finally slip into sleep, it is fitful, and I wake up several dozen times during the course of the night.

I had originally planned on waking up when the sun started lighting the tent up which usually happens a good hour before it actually rises. But since I hadn't gotten much sleep, by morning, I was exhausted and I slept until the sun was above the horizon, heating my tent up to an uncomfortable temperature. I really had no choice but to get up at that point. Even though it was no later than 6am, it was already at least 85 degrees.

I ate a small breakfast. Usually by this point in a hiking trip, my stomach has shrunk both from mild dehydration and the fact that I just lose my appetite anyway. I packed up the tent and got everything into my pack, answer nature's call (another societal rule that's hard to not feel embarrassed about in the wild), and then began the long trudge back over the canyon.

Within an hour, the sun was beating down on me in all its glory, heating my water up to bath temperature. At that point, the choice is keep drinking even though the hot water threatens to make me throw up or just let myself dehydrate until I get back to the car. Plus, I truly believe that drinking water that hot is actually counter effective. It acutally heats me up and causes me to sweat MORE. So it's like the more I drink, the hotter I get, the more I sweat, the more water I need. By about 9am, I had stopped drinking altogether and opted instead to pour water onto my bandana and tie it around my neck, allowing it to cool and use to wipe my face with and cool myself down a LITTLE.

I got to the point where I knew I was only an hour from the car. Just one more hour I kept telling myself. One more hour. And I just kept trudging. I had to stop every two-minutes or so and sit down. I was on flat even ground at this point, but by now my muscles were seizing up from lack of water and my feet were absolutely screaming at me.

I kept looking to the horizon for the glint of my car, but I couldn't see it. I just kept telling myself, one more hour, less than an hour now. I started having a craving for Gatorade. I have never craved Gatorade in my life. I don't even like the stuff generally. but for some reason, I started thinking about the Gatorade commercials where they show the Gatorade replenishing electrolytes and whatnot and I just decided I NEEDED Gatorade. I needed electrolytes. All I wanted was Gatorade. Orange Gatorade. Lime Gatorade. It made me walk faster.

Finally I could see the reflection of the sun off of the windshield. Just 15 more minutes I told myself. Almost there. Almost there. Finally, I stumbled off the trail into the parking lot. I gladly stripped the heavy pack from my back and dumped it on the ground. Immediate order of business was to get the car keys out of the pack, turn on the car and start the air conditioning. The hot air hit me with a puff when I opened the door. With the car running, I pulled my shirt and hiking boots off. Ahh…. It felt so good to have my feet out of those clunky things. I put on my sandals and just started walking out my legs and stretching my aching muscles. There were two park workers about a hundred feet away doing some kind of road work.

After about ten minutes, I got into the car and just let the air blow over me. I don't care what marvels of engineering people come up with, the best invention ever in this world is Air Conditioning. I just let the air blow on my face which was beat red from internal heat. I wasn't sunburned at all. I was just red from being so hot. I just sat and cooled and relaxed for about 10 minutes. Then I finally put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. It was another 30 minute drive out of the park and into the town of Joshua Tree before I found a CVS. I pulled in and headed straight for the Gatorade. They were having a sale. 2 bottles for three dollars. I bought an orange and a lemon-lime. I drank the orange one down to half the instant I got into the car. I finished it by the time I made it back to the hotel in Palm Springs - stopping at an In-n-Out Burger on the way of course.

We had rented a timeshare for the week in Palm Springs which we were sharing with 3 other girls in Lauren's program. Fortunately, the whole suite was empty when I got back. They were all out at the conference. I showered, relishing in being clean once again. I walked around in just a towel, feeling the central air against wet skin, again praising the name of whoever invented air conditioning.

I spent the rest of the day on the couch with the shades pulled, just watching television. There are few things as satisfying as being completely lazy after having a hike like that. It just takes so much out of you, all you want to do is NOTHING. And that's exactly what I did. I watched Braveheart on TNT and eventually fell asleep.

The remainder of the week was spent in a very lax way. I woke up late after Lauren had already left for her conference. I'd go down to the pool. A group of Lauren's friends wanted to go to Joshua Tree, so the big group of us went and did a relatively easy hike. Definitely much easier than the one I'd just done. Lauren and I went back AGAIN to the park ourselves and just drove through, taking pictures of everything, locating the old campsite where I'd shot "Road Trip" 4 years earlier during the best month of my life. We took advantage of the 4 Wheel Drive SUV we'd rented and went down the 4WD road. Finally, it was getting late and we had to get back because Lauren had the farewell dinner to get to at her convention.

The next day we left Palm Springs and raced back to LA just in time to catch our flight back to Philadelphia.