Well rested

The night before was rough. Last night, I was almost dead. Beat down. Wasted. Dried up by the Colorado desert and the endless road. Lying in my tiny tent hallucinating about coyotes and snakes eating me.

Yesterday, the eternal squeak of the wheel as I pushed the cart drove me mad. Route 6 in July. A scorching, relentless furnace. Heat, shimmering and sucking my life away as I dragged myself another hundred feet towards the border of Utah. Then, I'd huddle in the meager shadow cast by my pack lashed to the cart where the golf clubs in their bag should be.

My life. My water, my really warm - tastes like plastic jug - running low, gross water. My semi cool water I keep under a towel and try not to gulp but have to rinse my mouth out every time I drink the other. My vittles and my weapons. My staff, lain across the pack ready to unsheathe at any time should a stray dog or neer do well attempt a hijacking.

Hours are slugs and they die slowly as my salt gets sucked away. I scream out into the desert and my echo mocks me. "ALL I WANT IS A RIDE! . . . A RIDE. . . RIDE . . RIDE. . . But the rides are all going the other way. Back. Back where you should be. There's watermelon and cool water and shade. Shade! Shade has become magical now. All I do is lust for it. A tiny bit, that's all. I crouch in the shadow of the cart again. Too hot. Why am I doing this? Ugh gross water. Damn, it's hot. You're going to die out here. The thought comes unbidden and it scares me. For the first time I realize how alone I am. Nobody knows I'm out here. Not this exact spot. There's lots of people who disappear in the desert. I scramble up and move. Fast, fast, fast.

Too fast but I see a tree up ahead. Shade! Oh, cool maiden! I quicken my pace and when I look up again, the tree is the same distance away. I keep at it. Keep moving forward but in my head I'm coming to terms with it being a mirage. Damnit, I'm losing it! It's not a mirage! I collapse under it and am flailing up again in two minutes because I can't rest. There's mosquitoes under that tree and they want to eat me. Shade. . . you wicked bastard. Forced to choose, I kept moving. Later, I dump my cart in anger to set-up a stealth camp and I don't know how tired I really am. I fall into a horror wretched, thirst fueled slumber.

Last night was a great challenge. But I left my footprint out in that desert and today, I'm standing next to another. A dinosaur footprint. At Matrimony Springs. In Moab, Utah.

Border crossed.