June 10

A wonderful ninety miles still twelve more until I get to the town of Mojave for more supplies spent walking and camping all alone, talking to myself and to the Joshua trees, being submerged in something truly quiet. The noise is my brain muted by the drumming of footsteps.

Today, Ive had the trail all to myself, not a single other hiker. This solitude has enhanced an otherwise drowsy and all too hot section of trail, apparently there was no corridor of public land through which to route this section of trail, so we are doomed to walk along the Los Angeles aqueduct and follow barbed wire fences and run from crazed dogs and travel through a maze of abused jeep roads. It was exciting, however, to be in the true Mojave desert amongst acres of Creosote bush and Joshua tree. You can see evidence of the Creosotes competitive advantage, how it has gained an edge in the deserts vegetative community by secreting toxins from its small leaves so that no other plant can survive within a short radius of the Creosote. What you end up seeing is a horizon dominated purely by the bush, each individual spaced equally apart from one another. The absence of any other human beings today has certainly amplified the feeling of desolation. The brute vacancy of the landscape.

I walked all morning. Then, at the top of the day, I found a bridge over Cottonwood Creek that offered the only shade for miles. Shade is shade, makes no difference that it was manmade. There, I waited out the dazzling heat of high noon for a couple hours. I made some macaroni and cheese, then took a nap, did some reading and then faded back to sleep. Each day is scheduled around shade. The strategy is always to walk until you find a place where the sun cannot extend its vicious reach. It makes no sense to rest by stopping and sitting in the sun, better to maximize your time in the shade by just walking non-stop until there is shade.

In the later part of the afternoon, while crossing the desert basin, driving western winds were shoving me off the trail and forcing me to constantly regain my balance. They would come at me from the side and then shift to strike at me head on. Even now, camped out in this canyon, the winds cycle firecely overhead, producing a sound that is oceanic and engrossing. Apparently, these winds are typical of this region, cool and moist Pacific air from the west clashing with the super-hot air of the Mojave. It is good to be lashed by this acute weather to feel your muscles react and your skin rise up. This is partly what I was initially seeking in coming out here, experiencing all the conditions without having the luxury of the Weather Channel or air conditioning. Where does the coyote go during a storm? How does the bobcat escape violent winds? A mammal endures bad weather, it doesnt flee from it by adjusting the thermostat.

The desert sky is a translucent dome. A veil of glass filled with ether. The sun stalks me. The Joshua trees look like people; looming above me, raising their stilletos, stretching upwards.