Being a working stiff JPC could only contribute a weekend to the Siege, so we spent it in grand style wandering around the Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, a massive piece of public land off the SoCal tourist radar. A-B is a haven for dirtbikers, four-wheelers, off-roaders, and other such folks who like their wilderness adventures energized with a healthy dose of adrenaline, growling engines, and gawking spectators like us. It is easy for the Sierra Club crowd to become all high-minded in their quest to maintain the unspoilt purity of natural ecosystems from the ivory towers of self-righteous exclusivity, but I have a hunch a half hour on some gnarly desert track with a rumbling 250cc bike between their legs would have them singing a different tune.
We decided to tackle the park's most popular features: natural oases located in readily accessible canyon trails. The pleasantly long walks afforded us the chance to catch up on the happenings of our beloved former employer...JPC had us yearning for some solid benefits that only half-assed government work could provide. While descending the trail we came across a shockingly elderly couple dressed for a winter ascent of Mt Washington, not a stroll through the desert. I gave them words of encouragement when they asked if they were close to the oasis, but the fact of the matter is they were going to have a rough time at it...I began mentally reviewing my Wilderness First Responder course material on heat stroke.
We could not have picked a better time of year: the desert flowers were in full bloom, the temperatures were very reasonable, and the Winnebago crowd wasn't too obnoxious. Nevertheless, we picked a more obscure campsite with stone roofless shitters that looked positively medieval. It was the first night of the Siege that we heared the unmistakable whine of coyotes in the distance (although they always sound closer than they are). ML quickly went into action by pissing in a wide arc near the campsite and advised us to do the same. The Nirvana song "Territorial Pissings" came to mind, obviously. JPC regaled us with tales of his coworkers who had done tours in South Korea. Apparently they had decided to start a fight club, but soon discovered that, much to their surprise, getting punched in the face is not as fun as it looked in the movies. Their solution: "Auto Club", where each participant painted their POS car in some outrageously garish scheme and then were granted full license to ram into each other whenever they saw each other driving through town. I couldn't recall hearing a more brilliant thing in my life.
Alas, Sunday rolled around and with it the realization that it was high time to mount the saddles for the second half of the Siege. JPC was kind enough to drive us up and over a rather gruesome pass in his BMW so we could start off on a leisurely grade, showing a little respect to our almost-recovered quads. We passed fields full of large bronze statues of various creatures, real and imaginary (dinosaurs, griffins, stallions, etc.) that were magnificent in their gratuity. Eventually we reached a good point of debarkation, slowly repacked our gear and food (JPC came out several cans of soup ahead), said goodbyes, and pushed off into the long late afternoon shadows.
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