March 3, 2013
Day 9: Cottonwood Campground to White Tank Campground
The morning brings a far different day, and not just because the dudes across the way and packed up their dick jokes and gear and left early. For the first time since Seattle I step out into a world made flat by the filter of the 30 grayish shades of an overcast sky. It hints that maybe today won't drain the last ounce of energy from my body and leave me like the walking dead by the time I make it to camp.
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The day is also different because, at least to start, the road runs flat and then down. Without being tunneled in the twists and bends of the mountainside I can look out on the broader desert beyond me. Off to the sides sit stubby little hills that look like they're made of half a billion melon-sized rocks dumped on top of one another. To the north, far in the distance, jagged peaks stretch away from me in layers, one after the next, their colors turning progressively faded. It's a rare chance to appreciate the scope and power of the desert instead of fighting against all of its harsh obstacles and distractions.
When the downhill fades I ride through a valley of creosote bushes and grasses and cacti. It's much fuller with green and yellows than I expected. It's cool, relaxed, interesting riding on a narrow strip of rough blacktop that snakes its way across the valley floor. By 10:00 I find myself only ten miles from the next campground. I'm so close.
And so, so, so far away.
A ten-mile, 2,200-foot slog out of the basin I just coasted into stands between tonight's home and me.
The climb is — well, it's a long, always-up, ass-kicking climb. It's a story I've written dozens of times over the last few years. The grade I push up this morning about matches what I faced yesterday, but instead of a tailwind to guide me I fight headwinds and crosswinds and the burning urge to pick up a bullhorn and deliver to the winds a sermon made up only of swearing and crazed grunting sounds. The world passes at 4.2 miles per hour.
As I pedal and fight off mental illness I think about how Joshua Tree hasn't matched the standard of the National Parks that came before it. The mountains cut an intriguing profile and there's a harsh beauty to the rugged and often barren landscape, but it leaves me wanting more. Yellowstone National Park stuns. Mount Rainier National Park inspires. Glacier National Park, if you're not careful to the extreme, will cause you to lose your shit forever and you will spend the rest of your life just this side of useless. Sorry Joshua Tree, but you don't quite measure up.
Not a mile after I think all of that, and exactly two-and-a-half hours after I started climbing, I top out just short of 4,000 feet. That's when, off to my right, I notice one of the most remarkable things I've ever seen: thousands of tan masses of granite, as far as my eyes can focus. The things are called White Tank Granite and most range between the size of a car and a house. Some are rounded, others squared, and a few are long and narrow and point up toward the sky like extended fingers. They don't sit in flatness, but rather in low stacks on top of and in between one another, as easily as potato chips fall into place inside a plastic bag. For the most part they're smooth, but they have enough indents and ledges that I watch kids and sometimes their parents climb up and over from one outcropping to the next. Forget the Palm of God's Hand, this is What Comes From God's Hand When He Wants to Impress the Hot Girl at the Bar. More amazing still: I get to camp among these things.
Even though I'm done early, I'm beat by the time I stop riding. I relax the afternoon away by writing, listening to music, and having vivid fantasies about the extra cheese pizza I'm going to demolish in Twentynine Palms tomorrow. I can almost smell the mozzarella cheese and the red-orange grease. Then I breathe in too deep and get a deep draw off of myself. Oof. The desert is harsh on a lot of things. My personal hygiene is one of them.
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The tent finds itself in a boxing match with the wind. It bobs and weaves and ducks, absorbing body blows all afternoon and straight into the night. Despite the whipping of tent parts, I head to sleep in good spirits, ready to tackle another long and lonesome trek across the desert.
Today's ride: 29 miles (47 km)
Total: 326 miles (525 km)
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