The trip – part three – goin’ home

“I made it here, and by god, I can make it back!” I assured myself.  Gassing up at the state border (which is cheaper than the redneck gas station of Satan), I headed off on my journey across the Mojave.  For the most part, I was making good time until I hit construction just outside of Barstow.  Picture if you will, being stuck in a traffic jam on a two lane highway (the ONLY highway, btw), in the dead center of the Mojave desert where the temperatures are around 115.  Needless to say, I was worried and began playing the “What If?” game.  What If the Jeep overheats?  What If I have a flat?  What If?  What If?

 

To keep myself from going completely stir-crazy, I reminded myself that this one lone highway is heavily patrolled, being that it IS the only highway.  Besides, I have AAA and a cellphone.  Unlike the old days.  Remember those days?  Before GPS… before Mapquest… back when travel was a lot harder?  Thinking back to my travels in Florida, I have to laugh at myself.  While this five-hour travel was long and boring, it had its advantages over the drives across Florida.

 

When I first joined the SCA, it really was not a Big Fat Hairy Deal to make a five hour drive to an event.  And back then, I did a lot of driving in my beat-up and less-than-reliable Chevette before the days of cellphones.  A Long Boring Drive in Florida existed in two forms for me – the northern and the southern form.  The northern form was defined as a highway drive that eventually found itself surrounded by darkness and pine trees.  The only way you knew that you were close to your destination is that there would be these ups n’ downs in the roads – they call them “hills.”  All the while, one must be aware of the possibility of hitting a bear or a deer.

 

The southern route was equally dull.  Heading off in an annoying lightning bolt pattern that took me out of my way directly south, then across, and then south again.  The highway was marked only by trees or water-reeds if one headed through the everglades.  All the while, one must be aware of the possibility of hitting a wildcat or a deer.

 

As the traffic began to flow again across the Mojave, I relaxed realizing I was unlikely to see any deer any time soon.  In fact, one of the few memorable things that I DID see was in the town of Baker.  Nestled right next to the highway, this town would have to work UP to the description of “postage-stamp sized.”  A couple of houses, and what I can only assume to be some sort of store/doctor/barber/post office/bar, the one claim to fame for the town is that it boasts the “World’s Largest Thermometer.”  Sure nuff… standing tall above the town like a tall standing thing, the thermometer read in large bold digital numbers the height of the mercury.  “Hmmmm…” I thought to myself.  “The temperature has dropped to 112.”

 

If nature herself packed up her bags and left, why exactly is it that some people think to themselves, “Hey!  I bet this would be a great place to live.”

The trip – part two – the event

I’m not going to stand on a soapbox of false bravado or fake modesty.  I am not going to simply say, “Oh… but the pleasure of doing service is its own reward.” 

 

Bullpucky! 

 

Instead, I’ll tell it like it is – preparing to teach, getting the materials together, packing up and schlepping the stuff is, well, work – plain and simple - WORK.  For this particular Collegium, I headed out for one reason and one reason only – because I was asked to.  And since one of my classes was a hands-on afternoon cooking workshop, it involved preparation, and packing.  When I left on Friday, my Jeep was packed with a full cooler and three big milk crates full of supplies.  The fee for the class, which I purposely kept low to encourage participation, would help cover *maybe* half of my own out-of-pocket expense.  Driving alone would take ten hours round-trip out of my life.  Gas – probably $100 when all was said and done.  Admittedly, my colleagues and I have all certainly taken on larger SCA food challenges.  But still, even in its simplest form, this isn’t something that I would ever describe as “easy.”  Now having said that, I found the experience to be an absolute pleasure.  Not only did I find my classes pretty well attended by people who were interested in the subject, but the group in general showed the good sense and good manners to be gracious and appreciative.  When I asked for crash space, crash space appeared.  When I arrived on site, people were there to help me unload.  During court, Their Excellencies thanked all teachers and those who traveled from afar.  The vast majority of my students all said thank you.  In short, the group showed me the one thing that, for me, really IS the ultimate reward – appreciation.  For my Trimarian friends out there, it was much like the good ol’ days of heading up to Oldenfeld – a whole wacky, crazy group who were thrilled to death to show hospitality to those from afar.

 

Thank you Starkhafn for showing me such courtesy.  You can expect to see me return. 

The trip – Part one – headin’ out

One… two…three Joshua trees…

 

Getting a later start than I would have liked on Friday afternoon, I hopped into my packed-to-the-gills Jeep-Jeep and began heading northeast to Vegas.  Having never driven there solo, my traveler apprehension loomed over me darkly like a big dark looming thing.

 

Four…five…six Joshua trees…

 

After a couple of bottlenecks and backups, the road opened up before me as I drove out of civilization into a land looking like the backdrop of every installment of Planet of the Apes.  Naïve east-coaster that I am, the landscape of California still strikes me as surreal.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – the Frankie and Annette movies that I grew up watching LIED!  California is not all pretty beaches, cool waves, and happy greenery.  Much of it is stark, abandoned desert – land that time and nature forgot.  In so many areas, it looks like mother-nature herself packed up and left in a huff. 

 

Thirty-five… thirty-six…thirty-seven Joshua trees…

 

Driving past Riverside county, the highway twisted and turned through hills and valleys, revealing acres and acres of dry scrub on either side.  The landscape looked like the earth hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.  Just slight signs of life and scrub covered the rocks and crags.  Miles down, the scrub became less and less apparent, while sharp craggy teeth-like outcroppings became the more prevalent variant to the landscape.

 

One-hundred twenty-seven… One-hundred twenty-eight… One-hundred twenty-nine Joshua trees…

 

Driving through the Mojave Desert, I had to wonder just how in the world people could have/would have lived in areas like this.  Even with today’s tek-naw-lo-gee, I firmly believe that some places are not meant for human habitation.  With the burning highway before me, lined only by blinding sand and Joshua trees, I noticed to my fear and worry that my gas tank was nearly empty.  Note to self – when you CAN gas up, DO!  Looking for some sign of civilization, I eventually saw a broken/faded sign for “FO_D & _AS.”  Hoping (and praying) that this would lead to a gas station, I kept driving.  And then, like a joyous beacon, I saw the flashing neon sign for “BEER!”  WooHOO!  Since such a sign would attract the redneck travelers, surely there would be incentive enough to have a gas station!  As luck would have it, there it was.  Right next to a sign reading dead end (complete with a prophetic loud Damien-like black crow sitting atop the sign screaming Nevermore!  Nevermore!), I pulled up for gas.  “Hmmmmm…” I though.  “Desert…crows…. Traveling on Friday the 13^th… this has all the makings of a Steven King movie).  Then sure enough… the ultimate horror - $4.50 a gallon for gas!!!!

 

KRIKEY! 

 

Smart rednecks – they got the travelers by the cajones… they’re gonna gouge them. 

 

With a full gas tank, and a mundo-huge can of Rockstar in hand, I continued on my trip.  Within a half hour, I found myself at the state border.  Rising out of the desert sands, the huge glittering of the casinos sprawled out before me.  Ah… Vegas.  Sin City.  For so long in my reality, Vegas appeared larger than life – a hypothetical place that I would probably never see.  Having now been there a few times, I find myself lost somewhere in a Peggy Lee song thinking to myself, “Is that… all there is to Vegas?  Is that… all there is?”