Part III: A Desert Vision?

I pulled off I-15 South on the exit that would take me through the Mojave Desert to Joshua Tree. There was a station right there, with exorbitant gas prices advertised on fading red letters, but I decided to stop and get some food. I walked through a crowd of aging, black leather-clad bikers, who calmly swiveled their heads back and forth as if anticipating an attack, and into the dimly lit store. There were plenty of Vegas-themed keychains and other kitsch, but the racks were almost completely bare of anything edible. With an odd sense of deja vu, I walked back through the bikers, wondering if I had also stopped here and gotten nothing four years ago.

On crumbling pavement
Ghosts are riding through ghost towns
Remembering youth

Mojave Desert is beautiful. And desert-ey. Parts of it seemed to have more Joshua trees than Joshua Tree, which I found funny. I stopped at a couple places and climbed around on some rocks, but I wanted to get a campsite in Joshua before sunset, so mostly I drove through it. I'll have to come back and get some more pictures, especially of the dead towns I passed.

***

By the time the sun had set, I found what was probably the last spot in a site called "Jumbo Rocks". My spot was the farthest out from the camp road, and surrounded on all sides by rocks (jumbo ones, of course) and foliage. I set up camp, which didn't take so long without a tent. Then I met Harold and Voula, from Germany and Madagascar, who were out of luck on a spot. I offered them the empty half of my parking space, and they offered me some beer. Good trade. They hung out for a few hours by the fire, and shared some pretty incredible stories about their travels, before returning to set up the bed in their van.

There I sat, slightly cold and slightly buzzed, eating potato chips under a brilliantly beautiful desert sky. I couldn't finish the bag, so I set it down for a bit and just enjoyed the fire. Then, on an impulse, I crumpled up the bag and threw it in the dying fire, and laughed at how brightly the greasy chip core burned. I remember thinking I probably shouldn't stand so close, in case any toxic chemicals were being released by the bag.

It was right about then that I blacked out.

I woke up on my sleeping bag what felt like moments later, vaguely aware of the presence of something close by. Whatever it was must have just become aware of me, because it snarled right in my face. I bolted to my feet and gave a shout, wildly scanning my dark surroundings. It responded with one angry bark, and was silent after. I shook my shoulders, trying to rid myself of fear. Scared half to death by a little coyote.

Mad desert spirit
Come for my potato chips
A burnt offering