Sandia Crest was, in fact, still there when I awoke this morning. But it turns out I didn’t go over it — I went sort of around and through. There is a natural pass to the southern side of the base and the work gangs, with the help of drill bit and dynamite, were able to lay a road bed sufficient for I-40 to squeeze through.
Trying and Failing to find Mother
The day really couldn’t have started off any better. From Kingman, all the way to Ash Fork, Arizona, old Route 66 was exactly as I had left it the day before. North out of Kingman it climbs through a canyon flanked by high bluffs that shade the morning sun. Through the towns of Hackberry and Valentine, still gaining altitude and still producing wonderfully framed views of canyon wall and sky, the route is relatively smooth and you can make good time. In Truxton, you begin to make the first topping out — the canyon walls spread out and the floor rises and you can feel the sense of space increase. By Peach Springs you are in the broad rolling grasslands of the Hulapai people. Shielded in the distance by high mesa walls, this open grassland, with a readily accessible aquifer, feels like exactly the sort of home these Indians would seek. I can imagine vast bufffalo herds on these grasses, and deer and other animals in the shallow draws. This is the Hulapai’s southern edge — they go all the way up to the Colorado river on the southern rim of the Grand Canyon, and they continue east all the way to the Coconino Plateau. What a piece of ground this is.
The Mother Road
We bid farewell to the western edge under a thin marine layer of clouds and cool morning temperatures. After a walk on the beach and a great breakfast at the incomparable Montage Laguna Beach, I dropped Leah off at the airport in Santa Ana and headed Northeast for Barstow. For the first time in 15 days, I am heading east. At Barstow, I pick up the origin (or terminus, depending on your perspective) of Interstate 40. A sign points out that if I stay in my lane for another 2,500 or so miles, I will arrive at Wilmington, NC. My plan is not to take I-40, but rather to find the Mother Road, Route 66 and use it for as much of my trip east as possible. There is not a lot of thought to this — basically, I figured if I rode the hemline west, I should ride the waistband east, on the oldest route possible. Should be interesting I figure.
You Better You Better You Bet
It could be the amount of walking, the heat, or, er, the liquid part of the diet, but whatever the cause, we are sleeping like zombies here at Desert Trip. No sooner are we tucked away in our rooftop tent with the cooling desert air blowing through the screens than we are out. Stone dead until daybreak. I haven’t slept like this in years.
Heart of Gold
Day two of Desert Trip broke cool, for a moment. By 11 o’clock it was roasting hot — literally as hot as I’ve ever been. There wasn’t much to do but find a piece of shade, soak the bandana in ice water and hang on for evening. It was worth the wait.
Start me up
After transitting the southern edge, variously ranging from complete isolation to almost complete isolation to Sand Diego; things got a lot closer at Desert Trip. On the Empire Polo Grounds in Coachella, CA, Desert Trip is a three day festival featuring the Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Paul McCartney, The Who and Roger Waters. Leah flew out to LAX and shuttled over and we are camping on the grounds. With a LOT of other people. Attendance estimates are 75,000+ each day. I don’t know how many are camping – I can’t see the end of the camping area.
Joshua Tree
It seemed perfectly normal to overnight at Lake Elsinore. There is some history to the lake, there is a scenic drive over to Joshua Tree, and I’d been at it over 8 hours. None of this bears any knowledge of California freeways. What I thought would be a nice little drive around Mt. San Jacinto and into Desert Hot Springs, and from there the West Gate of Joshua Tree, turned into a contest in following the GPS lady — who DOES know about California freeways, and more particularly, the penchant of Californians, who also know the freeways, to cut through and between anything on any road in order to avoid the jams. Staring at a map I can’t tell you how I got to Joshua Tree. But I did, thank God.
The corner, and the end of an edge
Somehow my body clock has stayed on east coast time this whole trip. I don’t know why, but it means I get up at about 4 am every morning. Driving at dark kind of defeats the purpose of all this, so I find ways to use the time and then get on the road at sunrise — which is usually around 6:30. So this morning at 5 am in Gila Bend, I was up and reading the news when it sounded like someone suddenly started emptying a horse trough on the roof. It’s raining. In the desert. At 5 am. Continue reading “The corner, and the end of an edge”
Indians and Cowboys on the edge
Cochise was a famous (or infamous) Apache generally associated with the Chiricahua Apaches. From the time he was born, until he signed a treaty in 1872, with one brief period of peace, his people raided and fought with anyone who was Mexican or white. His motivation was that he and his folks were hanging out in northern Mexico, Southern Arizona and New Mexico (the borders have moved around since then) when first the Spanish, then the Mexicans, then the Americans variously showed up and started setting up camp. Ever the opportunists, the Chiricahua Apaches stopped by and took what they wanted when the mood struck. This included some pretty bloody confrontations at which Cochise was especially gifted. After the Americans tricked his father-in-law and chief of the band into to coming in for treaty and then killed him, Cochise lost some trust and hardened his heart. As one might.
From Marfa to the Mountaintop
I don’t quite know what to make of Marfa, Texas. It isn’t on the edge, but it is very edgy. For some reason the Chianti Foundation, founded by artist Donald Judd, decided to make Marfa-middle-of-nowhere Texas a hub of the arts — specifically the minimalist arts. The place used to be a water stop and has a permanent population of 1,981 people. But it has a lot of visitors now. Artsy, minimalist visitors.
Rope and Chain 