Friday, May 7, 2010
Campsites Are For Losers, or Maybe I Should've Replaced Those Tires With 2000 Miles on Them
"Alright, now we gotta avoid the rangers like Yogi Bear!" It's dusk in Joshua Tree National Park and we are nowhere near a campground that isn't full of RVs and the evil that goes with them. Being purists, we reject creature comforts in the quest for true adventure travel, which frequently requires camping in quasi-legal (or, more often, fully illegal) places. Commando camping requires a keen eye for places that are both secluded and spiritually harmonious, a place where one can debate the merits of health care reform without waking up to a shotgun in the face. ML, after avoiding Latvian rednecks and mad Russian dogs in his European tour, has developed tremendous commando camping instincts that served us well.
We found a nice little nook a few hundred feet from the main road in the park, nestled up against one of Joshua Tree's famous rock outcroppings that attract climbing dirtbags the world over. After a delicious meal of instant mashed potatoes, dried fruit, and protein bars, we became all high-minded under the influence of the crystal clear night skies that only a desert can provide. Conversation weaved between the futility of politics, ideal employment opportunities, the benefits and drawbacks of a straight-edge lifestyle, the silliness of the fixie scene, the occasional battle rap, and, of course, women. Living in a two-person tent with another guy for a week and a half requires a certain amount of intimacy, especially with a steady diet of cheap tortas.
We considered ourselves damn lucky with our ride thus far, and we even began to think the Wal-Mart muse really was throwing shout-outs to God when ML suffered the first of what turned out to be five flats. We were admiring the curious octillo (looks like a cactus, but is really deciduous) when we realized it was time to break out the tire levers, pumps, and our flat-fixing caps. In order to boost morale, ML pulled out his emergency radio and tuned it to one of the several Ranchero stations...if it worked for the guys in the orchards, it can work for a couple of stupid gringos like us.
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