Welcoming Purgatory
I lowered the window and felt the familiar desert air circulate into the CUV. I first came here 9 years ago, arriving on an August evening just past sundown. At the time I was more lost than I had ever been - L.A. had swallowed me up and spit me out. I remember the drive out of the city as I contemplated my life’s direction. Not only could I not find a job, but a few days earlier I had been on the other side of the country for a funeral. And now here I was in this agonizing turmoil but couldn’t give the love lost the attention or reflection they deserved because of the damned pecuniary needs. I was poorer than I had ever been since leaving the system when I was coming of age - both the fridge and the bank account were empty. On the flight back the TSA had confiscated a brand new tube of toothpaste someone had bought for me the day before: Crest with Scope mouthwash blended in. It was a luxury, a lottery win, a love contained in that over-3-ounces tube that reminded me that I wasn’t alone in this journey. But rules and regulations determined that that agent take this token of solace from me. I was devastated . Now I was aimlessly driving the highways into the night, lost in life, thinking I would find something to brake for on the lonely roads and it would be all right.
Looking at the map I saw this place. North. The same direction I thought I would go, though this was maybe a few hundred miles off what I had originally imagined. I had heard of it out in the desert, and though I could barely afford to drive across town I determined that I‘d stop here. Descending into the cooling air of the valley I left behind behind my troubles. It was quiet. Serene. My eyelids grew heavy, so I found a campsite and laid my sleeping bag on the sand next to where I parked and slept under the stars.
In the next day I woke up and I was still alone. Not a person in the camp, a car on the road, or even a plane in the sky could be seen. 70F at sunrise. Perfect. I made a pb&j breakfast and took in the desert scenery around me. Not far down the road were some charcoal kilns, holdovers from the 19th century when the mining industry was active here. My voice echoed off the walls as I spoke to myself in them like a loon. 80F now. I found a trailhead leading towards a mountain and started walking. As the sun rose the shadows withdrew and I was left exposed. The grade and heat were starting to get to me, and I couldn’t imagine why a trail was here and why anyone would want to hike it. As I gained altitude the temperature seemed to level out though, and finally a gentle breeze carried me upwards. As I collected myself it dawned on me - no one comes here in summer. I had the entire park to myself! I had traveled to a place where I would be king, to do what I pleased as I saw fit. I had reign. And the shorts came off. I hiked the rest of the trail naked, and to this day it is perhaps the greatest hike I’ve ever had.
I made it back to the empty campsite in late afternoon. 115F. During this burning heat I thirsted for the purgatory of sunset, when the air would burn less intense and I’d be left in an empty sprawling plane of salt. In the campsite I found an active water spout, and I crouched under it to shower and fill my water bottles. I’ve never been so happy to find water. I ended up staying here a couple days before leaving, though the park never left me.
Now I’m here again, but not only has the park been changed by winter’s touch but my perspective of things has changed too. I see it differently now. I feel like the Ford is Bucephalus, and I’m a conquering hero of antiquity. I want to see it all, and I want to do it my way. It’s still a hell during the day, and the place names are not subtle hints at their nature: Funeral Mountains. Dante’s View. Coffin Peak. Devil’s Golf Course. But we grow through adversity, and in the years since I’ve done my share of growing. In this journey of self-discover I’ve realized that it’s ok to do things in my own non-conventional way, even if that means downsizing my worldly possessions to fit in the back seat, roaming alone on these highways, stopping in strange cities to check the cables. One thing I see differently are the stars. There’s no light pollution out here and the sky is bursting with them. Each flicker of light in the night sky holding so many possibilities from the creator. If life can sustain itself in this box of fire then perhaps this night sky is a garden, these celestial bodies cultivating where life dares.
And so I had found such a thing to brake for on that day 9 years ago that would make everything alright. My kingdom of hellfire. Death Valley.
