Sunday, March 25, 2018

“Goodbye Death Valley!”

supposedly was the parting words of a of prospective prospector who got lost with other “49ers” in the winter of 1849/1850. One of their members died in that Valley. They thought they would all perish there. 

The name stuck. 

A few months ago, I decided to try something new and completely different. I vowed to spend a month in the Death Valley National Park region. I based this decision oh past visits there. The temperatures usually follow the Goldilocks Principle. They are not too hot, not too cold, but just right. (Normally it feels like being on the receiving end of a touchless massage). 

This year that wasn’t the case. Of course, I mentioned this in a blog.

However despite Mother Nature turning a cold shoulder to this WW J, the month went by. It wasn’t the best of times nor the worst of times. It just was. I’ve come to realize no matter how poor a day I’m having eventually the clock strikes Happy Hour. 

Death Valley National Park is still my good Buddy. It’s the largest National Park in the lower 48. (A whopping 3.37 million acres. That’s a lot of Rhode Island’s). It’s mostly Wilderness. Elevations range from below sea level to above tree line. It’s the home of the pupfish and other hardcore survivalist. It’s beautiful in a raw, cerebral and unforgiving way. It’s a place where you can easily escape the other 39.5 million people who call California home. All it takes is a pair of trail runners, a willingness to explore and enough food and water to get you through the day. 

Hint: the further you venture the less people you see.

Its one of my favorite places on Earth. 

One day, I’ll return to say “Hello! Death Valley” once again. 

Chillin’ with a cold germ in Borrego Springs, CA. 

Still haven’t found my stride on this current road trip. I’m hoping for a change of


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