Joshua Tree was a fatiguing though fun trip, both adjectives with a capital F.
On the first night, we arrived barely in time to set up the tents before the sun went down. Then our firewood ran out at around 10 p.m., and Sam had not yet come with our sleeping bags/pillows. We thought we were going to die. Literally, a couple of us I think were pretty certain that we were facing imminent deaths from freezing. We cuddled in our tents, and just as we were about to die (I was quoting Rose from “Titanic” in her final scenes with Jack) when Sam showed up at around 1:30 a.m. Turns out her car had been continually overheating and she had had to make many stops throughout her journey.
The tent I bought for myself and for Chris, allegedly a 2-person one, which I obtained at Walmart for $20, turned out to be the tiniest tent I have ever seen in existence. Fuck Walmart man. But we slept in it, and it was fine. Freezing as hell (???) and I could not stretch my legs out (nor, obviously, could Chris, who is a foot taller), and my queen-sized inflatable mattress bulging against the tent and bending upward at the ends, but we survived.
Even with the little kangaroo rats hopping and scurrying to and fro, digging their teeth into the splattered splotches of ketchup that had somehow ended up on the side of our tent, blood-like.
Okay, the next day we went on a hike. We were searching for the Short Loop Trail (4.5 miles there and back or so, dubbed thusly to make lazies like us feel lazy) and we ended up going to Warren’s Peak instead because we got lost. But it was totally lovely (7.5 miles there and back), with cacti and quail-like creatures everywhere that we kept mistaking for bunnies. That is, it was totally lovely until I realized about 3 miles into the trip that my tampon had exceeded its capacity, and I had forgotten to bring another, and I had to announce to the group my predicament, and everyone gave me death stares because they feared we would have to turn back or be trailed by a chick with blood running down her legs, but instead I realized promptly that I was holding a piece of paper, which I could use as temporary stoppage. Afterward however I realized how ineffectual this method was, and how very likely it was that it would not be sufficient for the rest of our journey. Sam came to the rescue by suggesting that I use a sock, which I did, and later found out that Matt believed I had stuffed it into my private area, literally, rather than used it like a rag in my underwear, and I was appalled, and asked him if he really thought I was that gnarly, and he said he knew some gnarly people, and proceeded to describe a friend who had gonorrhea and who whipped his dick out at a party and smacked it repeatedly with a ruler until green stuff would come out. Disgusting.
After our hike, which ended at a gorgeous peak with a panoramic view of snow-capped mountains and the vast reaches of the Joshua-Tree-spotted desert, we drove to the center of Joshua Tree (our campsite was not in the main part of the park) and did some boulder scrambling and climbing. I was not very good at it, so I wandered off into the desert (first running, then walking as I realized there might have been rattlesnakes) and then I sat down, cross-legged, and took in the majestic, sprawling view around me, with brush and trees and dirt never-ending in all directions. Chris eventually came to sit across from me, even though he had not originally wanted to come wandering into the treacherous rattlesnake-infested lands.
That night was much more comfortable than the previous one, because we had ample firewood and we listened to my campfire making skills instead of Matt’s (who was very resourceful for making the tents, etc. but was not very good at campfires) and we drank lots of Charles Shaw (a bottle or more each) and listened to Radiohead and Andrew Bird and then went to sleep in our sleeping bags, which this time were waiting for us.
Also we ate at Applebee’s, all classy, instead of roasting hot dogs over the fire (which made me sick the previous night, that or the fact that I was sitting in the fumes of the fire, causing me to puke my brains out).
In the morning Chris crushed a beetle outside of our half-midget-tent that was allegedly endeavoring to crawl into my boot. Ten or fifteen minutes later I realized it was still alive, its little legs waggling miserably as it attempted to move its mangled body. He stomped on it again, and still it remained alive, persistent, desperate. It wouldn’t die. I felt so bad for it. I stomped on it a few times and then we poured sand over it. I really hope it was put out of its misery. I still don’t know if it was fully dead by the time we forgot about it.
On our drive back after packing everything up, Sam and I got pulled over (Andrew and Matt and Chris were in the other car) for “speeding.” We swear we were not speeding. I have terrible luck with authorities, especially police officers, and they never ever let me off the hook for tickets, but Sam worked her magic and we were let off with a warning.
I am now re-reading Lolita.
