sweet sorrow when I leave Death Valley National Park.
It's become a comfort zone for me. The out-worldly landscape, the sunrises and sets, and the miles of hiking devoid of nothing but skittering lizards. It's all good to me.
Every now and then, I'll actually speak to someone who's even more eccentric than me. It'll usually happen in the Tollroad or Corkscrew bars. Fortunately, like me, they are harmless.
For example: Larry. He's a smiling black man who wore a yalmulke, a mezuzah, corn row dreads
and shades. I didn't ask if he was a Member of the Tribe. You know, don't ask, don't tell. His opinions were well grounded in the brotherhood and sisterhood of humans. He was an easy guy to like. He had a German girlfriend.
His first question to me? "What's this place all about?" I laughed. I think the vastness of Death Valley unnerved him. I suppose it's not for everyone.
Tomorrow, I'll start to move south toward the Mohave Desert Preserve. But first a detour to get Barley the Van checked out by a Ford Dealer. This will be the third opinion from mechanical doctors. There's something just not right with my travel companion. A man knows his van!
Wish us luck. Hopefully, it'll be a quick outpatient surgery. The thought of an overnight stay in Vegas makes my stomach hurt.
Cheers from windy, sunny and mellow Shoshone, CA,