... I guess that is a funky little intro to this post... but I may be suffering from partial sunstroke so I hope you give me a break...
There is a sameness to the landscape as you travel through remote areas of the desert. No manmade interruptions occur except the rough dirt road stitching out a route in front of you and unwinding behind you like a forgotten ribbon.
There is a sameness in the quality of the exposed dirt. The puntuation and variety of the kaleidoscope of green foliage and rock is the only exclamation point.
There is a sameness in the vast depth of the horizon and the limitless blue sky overhead that makes you realize whatever is bothering you, whatever is keeping you awake at night is out of your control. There are powers much, much bigger then your fears in the universe.
With plans to drive to Crown King and then stop at a neat antique store we read about on the way home, Steve and I travelled across “primitive” road yesterday with the destination of this small mining- town high in the White Mountains. The County labels these roads “primitive” but in some places they should be re-defined as “non-existent.” We doubted that our cars could handle these roads and since Greg had left us his truck while they are on vacation it seemed like a perfect vehicle to transport us into the desert.
We left the smooth, fast surface of the I-17 a little after 8:30 am. The heat was already shimmering against the horizon with the truck thermometer registering 106 degrees. It was hot. The road initially seemed OK. It had been maintained with a grader and was fairly wide, however the further we went toward our final destination the narrower and rougher it became.
... to be continued....
The Theater of Crows.
20 hours ago