On March 26th, 2014, feeling intensely alive out of necessity, our group of walking pilgrims arrived at the edge of the Arizonian Desert after trekking several hundred miles from the industrialized western coast of Los Angeles. Our journey began with a roaring rally of over a thousand people and a soaking rain in Santa Monica during a drought. Despite meticulous planning, we faced a daunting crossroads. Our modest caravan included Pablo’s solar-powered water truck, a trailer hitch carrying five sawdust toilets, and a thirty-gallon water tank – barely enough for each person’s daily gallon of water, not accounting for the kitchen's needs. It was during this time that I developed an unexpected liking for grapefruit, a significant portion of our limited hydrating supplies which helped overcome its bitterness.
I vividly recall the details of that day. A connection led us to a contractor who owned a spacious property near Twentynine Palms intended for workers at a palm plantation. This house, meant for a family, became free air-conditioned lodging for twenty of us during the off-season. An unmaintained pool in the yard was reduced to an algae-filled puddle. For many, this was the first real shower in weeks. That night, we held a meeting similar to our usual gatherings, yet this time, a palpable tension filled the air. Our shared concern was the perilous task ahead: safely crossing the desert without any casualties.
Our diverse group included a mechanic, a state politician, grandmothers, young people, a social worker, a teacher, a chef, and an artist, among others. One member possessed enough desert experience to outline the threats: heat, dehydration, rattlesnakes, sharp ground burrs, and getting separated. Our scout had found an exit sign miles ahead indicating "Next Rest Stop: 106 miles," a week's walk to the nearest gas station for water refills and a treat. The uncertainty of our situation brought a true understanding of 'Faith.' I naively assumed our group was well-funded, typical of my twenty-two-year-old perspective that all adults were wealthy.
We did survive that stretch of desert, along with several others leading to Phoenix and beyond, thanks to excellent planning, the foresight to upgrade our water tanks, ample grapefruit, and diligent foot care. Earlier, a tenured marcher and author of "Spirit Walker," a book about the 1986 Great Peach March, had dismissed our group in their blog as a lost cause, predicting our failure to cross the desert.
**All of us sat there for our daily company meeting. That desert night on a musty patio, behind our dry erase board a swimming pool ingrown with foliage and sandy silt, only to the overfill warning line and no higher. This old family home had been repurposed into a Palm plantation and we were invited to camp there during our passage in the off season. Landscapers would sleep on the floor and pack the fridge with a weeks worth of prepackaged foods, some still there and rotting when we arrived. I already said it was the off season, late Winter is the best time to walk through the desert.
It’s Paul’s turn to talk. “I came here to walk, and I ended up becoming the lifeline mechanic. I can’t fix every breakdown just because I’m the only one here who can. You need to hire someone cause I’m out.” The ‘breakdown’ is that in four miles, there is a sign on the road that reads, ‘Next Stop 106 Miles.’ We have a thirty gallon water tank on a pick up truck for all our water needs. Thirty people each need to drink a gallon a day in the desert, and that doesn’t include dishes, cooking, and washing. “So does that mean we can’t shower for at least a week?” asked someone I will keep anonymous, because.. Well, bless their heart. In a climate like that it’s so dry and hot in the day that your sweat evaporates instantly, and you don’t really build up body odor. But we didn’t know that yet.
For our water needs, we need at least two 85 gallon tanks with hoses and valves to fill up as often as we are permitted with drinkable goodness. But how are we going to haul them down the road? Well we will need to rent a Uhaul for several months. Burning through our fundraised collections faster than can be sustained, we are grateful our fearless leader is a talk show politician. They are known for thinking ahead. We started two weeks ago with a couple coolers and plates. Plenty to carry us through a year of foot travel. The goy who brought all the unleavened bread to the ancient exodus was already doing much better than we were.
Where are we going to get groceries for our meals? How are we finding camping spots? Why did our volunteer army medic have to turn out to be a pervert? Don’t worry he got banished after that incident. What will we do for first aid? What happens in event of rattlesnake bites? Is there a hospital near here? Only one of us was intimately versed in the desert ecosystem, and was not trying to make waves.
Comments (0)