Another quiet night in the desert. Somewhere out Scaddan Wash, Quartzite, AZ.
Some uncounted miles out a dusty desert road—past a rig beast, its grinning semitrailer cab head, pickup camper thorax, and school bus tail thrashing in the sun; past a hillbilly skeleton kicking it in an equally immortal brush; and onto a bed of black rocks dotted with the occasional thin, armless saguaro, I stand. And I sigh. The sun, lobbing its creamy orange bliss across the blue and dropping coyly behind the distant peaks is right of course. Another quiet night in the desert is exquisite.
And yet, I drove this particular road for another type of lovely. It’s Saturday night—the last night of Rubber Tramp Rendezvous 2020 (a fine kickoff for this particular nomadic journey of mine). And the PaRTR camp is somewhere on this particular stretch of BLM land. While I’ve thoroughly appreciated RTR’s presentations, work deadlines, far dispersed campgrounds, and hesitation have conspired to keep me from indulging in the social possibilities of a grand gathering of vehicle dwellers. And so tonight I have eschewed my sweet, rather lusher, tucked-away camp spot in the Bouse Wash of the Colorado River 35 miles back in search of some reveling.
Alas, darkness is falling, and I’ve learned from experience that what looks like an easy “road” to traverse in the desert at night may quickly prove a place to get high centered or send tires spinning ever deeper in soft sand.
As I stir portabellas and bok choy and foraged mustard greens (thanks for the tip, Dan de Lion) in my sauté pan, I hear in the distance the faint sounds of a singer at an open mike. Her forlorn soprano drifts off. Sure enough, applause follows. And you guessed it; someone else takes the stage—this time more rambunctious, a duo and a guitar. I cup my ear to pinpoint the location. Definitely too far to walk. (Not to mention the very probable scenario of finding neither the festivities nor my van again and spending a night huddled ’neath the long, thorned arms of an ocotillo.)
Note here that this is not a story about the propensity of van life to seed loneliness, though it certainly could be. And I suppose it partly is.
Delicious mustard greens.
Earlier, while chopping the veggies for my noodle dish, I lamented to a friend over the phone—the elusive party, the trio of Libra women with children older than me beckoning me to travel with them, shared wisdom and coronas on offer, and my indecision; my incapacity in the face of the pain I’d give anything to mend of a loved one now far away; the gathering in San Diego from whence that very day a caravan I’d much like to join if only I were ready wending its way into Baja. “The one thing I know for sure,” I told him, “is that I’m not in San Diego.” We shared a warm, healing round of laughter.
So much of life is (can be) uncertainty. Where will I find fulfillment? How can I offer my gifts? Show up for those I love? Why must sorrow be so well watered? Salve so rare? What jewel will I miss uncovering if I choose “wrong”? If I don’t get where I think I ought to be? What misstep has led me to a longing, cunningly evasive?
And still, the sun paints the sky again and again. And there is laughter. And there is movement. Always movement. For me, this nomadic life in a van is, in part, answer.
***
Ocotillo. Dome Rock, Quartzite, AZ.
P.S. Yes, I did try and drive to the party, heading slowly in the darkness toward the alluring sounds of the amateur performers—never loud enough to hear over the van’s engine—until I came to a two-foot drop and parked up for the night. Now I was close enough to sip my whiskey and hear clearly a jazzy piano piece (was someone rolling with a keyboard?!), a rousing rendition of “Born to Run,” and the later inebriated renderings of, well … slightly more raucous numbers.
***
Thank you for reading—for allowing me to share my journey. Signing off from Dome Rock, BLM land in Quartzite, Arizona, an untamed territory to be sure. Up next? East in search of WiFi to repair my hotspot (a gal’s gotta work).
“Rig beast”
The lusher spot. Parker Pit, between Parker and Quartzite, AZ.