4. The Storm Before the Calm: Caching

Following is an excerpt from the working draft of my book:

…We raced the dying sun from Gold Valley to the Ibex Hills where we would place the final cache of our 500-mile backcountry road race. An old faded 4WD path lead us across a massively rutted wash near Ibex Spring. I drove until it was no longer possible to advance by vehicle, then I packed up the cache, sealed it and walked out into the fading light. It was dark when I returned to my SUV and we began our rocky drive out of the wash. I had planned on starting the trip that evening, but the pending darkness convinced me not to rush; a few more hours of delay would make no difference in visibility. I then decided to drive a half hour north to a small village called Shoshone, where I hoped to sort out my things and get Brandon some gas for the trip home. Fortunately, we came across a gas station with an attendant kind enough (after hearing what I was about to attempt) to keep the lights on long enough for me to pack. I searched through my SUV methodically, trying to see if I had lost anything during our caching adventure. The attendant reappeared suddenly and asked if he could take a picture of me. I begrudgingly agreed. As he composed his frame he yelled, “Last known picture of Death Valley hiker!” I couldn’t help but laugh, but in the back of my mind I knew it very well could be the truth. Why else would he want a picture of a stranger?

After packing all my things and double-checking the car, I couldn’t put off the start of this journey any longer. It was time. We slowly drove back to the Park and for the first time, the reality of what I was about to do set in. I wondered what the outcome would be and if I would even be able to make it all the way through. It seemed there were too many things that could go wrong. The ride was the quietest time we had on the trip so far. All the thoughts that you have when you go away were running through my mind: Did I forget to turn this off? Did I forget to pay that bill? The reality was, that it didn’t matter. There was nothing I could do about any of those things now.

As we bumped through the darkness and grew closer to my starting point I began to feel a little tightness in my chest and I became more and more conscious of my breathing. When we came to our final stop on Harry Wade Rd. we sat silently for a moment before either of us reached for the door. The inevitable truth that it was time to go eventually came over me and I gathered my pack from the back of my SUV. We remarked in amazement at how the stars were

forming a bright highlight on the car and how we could see each other perfectly in this quiet darkness. Brandon decided then to take a final picture of us and I couldn’t help but recall the strange and possibly prophetic words of the gas station attendant an hour or so earlier. After a few attempts at the portrait and pointless tinkering around the SUV, I ran out of excuses to delay the start of my trek any further. I found it strange that one can spend months planning something and anticipating it’s commencement, but when it is actually time to begin, it can feel foreign and unnatural. Maybe, just maybe, it was because what I was doing was truly an unnatural act. I may never know for sure.

We parted with a short prayer and and a hug. Brandon wished me good luck and promised to tell his sister that I love her. As his taillights diminished, I could see no other lights, or any sign of life whatsoever. I was alone in the middle of the Mojave Desert and the only way out was to walk forward, further into the unknown.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. In my mind I assumed the beginning of this journey would be more formulaic, official or maybe even heroic. But it was awkward, abrupt and unsettling. I laughed to myself at the fact that I wanted this, worked hard for this, sacrificed for this, and was now wondering- what the hell am I doing in this god-forsaken darkness? As I made my first steps through the desert, I wondered again if I had forgotten anything, and then I remembered the words from Psalm 23, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I have all that I need.” I did not realize at the time how those words would come to define my journey.

Cashing Gallery