4/19/2013. - Day 24 - I'm a thousand miles from nowhere. Welcome to the Mojave.

4/19/2013. - Day 24 - I'm a thousand miles from nowhere. Time don't matter to me. 'Cause I'm a thousand miles from nowhere, and there's no place I wanna be.

Welcome to the Mojave.

I start from San Diego much later (of course) than I should. This is becoming a habit. I'm not that mad about it. I spent the morning cleaning out the pickup and reloading it in a more organized fashion that doesn't make my OCD go crazy from the mess. And really, I have no time to keep up with so being late is really a relative term.

Seven lanes of traffic in SoCal as I head for Palm Springs.
Such a strange site in the eyes of a North Dakotan.

Last night I got way too impatient waiting for the sunset. I trekked back to Coronado Island to watch the end of the day go down beneath the water. The last few days have been very warm, hot from a North Dakota perspective, and I've been hoping to find a sand volleyball game to jump into. No luck. The Californians are still freezing at 75°.

As I put the pickup in park at Coronado Beach, I can make out a lone volleyball net just off the lifeguard station with an active game in progress. I squint the count the players, one, two, three, four, five, six. Shoot. They have an even number. Oh well.

I walk out to the beach which is bathed in orange light as the last tourists and beach comers savor the final moments of the day around me. I glance over at the volleyball game and wish I was playing. It looks like a bunch of younger males, no girls, and no extra spaces because of the even number. Too timid to ask random strange men to join their game, I walk back to the pickup, passing the net on my way. A few yards past the net I decide that this trip is about adventure and random happenings and the worst that can happen if I ask to play is they say "no" and I go back to the truck as planned.

I turn and walk back towards the net and shout, "Hey, is this a gentlemen's game only or are ladies allowed?"

The response is a welcome to come and play, as one of the guys gladly races off the court to get to his cell phone and feed his texting addiction. He does not seem remotely bothered in swapping places with me and in fact appears grateful to have his thumbs back on the screen.

The guys are all in the service here at Coronado. They have only been here about a month but are not native Californians so they can appreciate the warm weather. They explain that it is still too cold for the locals to be out playing and sunbathing but they come out here daily and play some beach volleyball. One of the players on my team worked for Haliburton Oil in the western part of ND and is familiar with the state somewhat, meaning he also grasps my excitement at these temperatures given it's mid April.


We play until it's so dark that we can't make out the ball anymore and then walk over to the Hotel Del Coronado and capitalize on an unattended fire pit. Stories are shared around the fire until one of the hotel staff members detects us and we make a quick getaway. We part ways after I thank the guys for letting me get some time in on the court, and I head back to the hotel to pack and sleep before my next adventure. It was a great end to the night, although now I am slow to get moving and once everything is packed I realize it will be a long day of driving.



I head towards Palm Springs and discover that Palm Spring sure likes them some wind turbines. 360° of towering spinning structures surround the highway, stretch up into the mountains, and cover the desert plains in all directions. It's beautiful. Good clean energy at the expense of only a bit of ground to plant the towers in and the free sweeping wind that comes through the valley. I love it.

I pass the famed Coachella where at present there is a music festival which seemingly looked inside my heart and invited every band I ever loved to come and play at a location I would eventually drive by, only to be consumed with bitterness. At this stage in the show, tickets are outrageous and it is painful to drive so close and yet be so far away from the musical greatness.

The next hundred miles is pure Mojave Desert. The highway is just a sweltering black line of pavement winding on into the horizon. There are very few cars that pass on this deserted route, and no cell service whatsoever for the next few hours. It's terrifying and exciting at the same time.

Sunset in the Mojave is quite beautiful. I veer off the beaten path for some better views of the spectacular oranges and pinks that light up tonight's sky.

I cross into Arizona and begin to near the gigantic hole in the ground which I will try to conquer tomorrow. At one of the last moderately civilized locations, I stop for powerade, water, energy bars, and other necessities for the hike. When I finally reach Grand Canyon State Park, it is pitch black and the signage for the campsite leaves something to be desired. There is almost no cell reception but somehow Google Maps loads just enough information to guide me to the campground.











I find my spot easily enough and survey the area. I glance back at the dash and find it's only about 9:30PM, but the temperature gauge is showing about 35°. There is no way I am pitching a tent in that frigid air, much less sleeping out there. Thank goodness Ford has had the foresight to anticipate such situations and has also made their backseat large enough to accommodate giants. I roll my sleeping bag out across the seat, curl into the warmth and am sound asleep dreaming of the adventure that awaits me tomorrow.