16. Sixteen
At 107 degrees, Death Valley is every bit what I imagine hell to feel like.
Marin’s hair is pulled back in a bandana, little blonde spikes sticking up with sweat in the back, and Finn’s face is flushed from the heat. The t-shirts and shorts we wear are parkas against our already hot skin.
We look like melted crayons.
The bright white ground below us makes the deadly rays of the sun bouncing off it blindingly disorienting. We squint as we follow the other foolishly hot tourists into the middle of the harsh, flat wilderness of Badwater Basin. Where we were walking to, I have no clue. On the horizon, bodies blur into blobs, and it looks like the land itself has liquified from the heat.
“Why are we doing this again?” Finn asks before chugging his water.
Marin and I reply in annoyed unison with, “Dad.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. If Travis were here, we’d be arguing over how much I did not want to be here, but here we are, marching out into the fiery pits of hell, all in his name.
A family of four walks in the opposite direction as us as the two young kids are whining and red-faced. I catch the mom’s eye.
“Hey, what’s there to see out there? Like what are we walking toward?” I ask.
Her hair mirrors mine, sweaty and matted to her face, and she’s no doubt internally preferring death to her current situation as much as I am.
Her hands shoot up in the air. “Nothing! Not a damn thing! You walk and walk and walk in this fucking heat for nothing! I can see ground this flat in Indiana!”
Her eyes have the flame of crazy burning in them as she yells, but her kids and husband don’t react. They either aren’t surprised by her tirade or agree with her completely.
“Thanks,” I murmur, watching as she angrily stomps off into the crowd with her family jogging after her.
I look over at Finn and Marin and don’t have to say a word. We spin around and walk right back to the parking lot.
***
“Guys, this is real camping!” I say as we park the Avion between a sea of big round rocks, the only RV in sight. “And look, Finn, we don’t even have to argue about me not backing into anything!”
We are off-grid on public land. Our first time ever. No electricity, cell service, or water. It feels adventurous. Dangerous, even.
They don’t match my enthusiasm, only exchange unimpressed looks before getting out and setting up.
I lean forward to look out the windshield. Large, round rocks cover hills at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains in every direction. It’s as if balls of clay have been splattered against the ground by a drunken potter, then left to dry.
Even exhausted, we can’t resist the call to play on them.
“Mom! Over here! Try this one,” Marin calls from at least ten feet above me.
I wedge between two rocks as she had, pushing a foot to one while using my hands to pull myself up on the other one just enough to bring my other leg up. I shift my weight back and forth like a teeter-totter and inch my feet higher up the middle of the rocks until I finally peek out of the top between the two and fling my body over one of them. Even with the sandpaper coarseness of the rocks that make it impossible to slip, my muscles are screaming.
From there, the rocks that pile up just require steps instead of full body maneuvers. Within a few hops, I’m standing next to Marin, looking out over the field of rocky hills and the jagged peaks of the mountains, snowcapped even in June.
“Wow,” I huff, looking at the scene set on fire by the low sun.
Finn is a couple rocks away from us, standing on top of an arched formation.
“Amazing, huh?” Marin asks.
“Amazing,” I say.
It really is.
***
By the time I make it back to the Avion, it’s dark. I pour a glass of wine and drop into a chair while Finn and Marin wander the rocks with flashlights. Between the sounds of their laughter, effects of the wine, and the brightness of the stars—I’m the definition of relaxed.
The easy feeling is short-lived.
The thing we learn about camping off the grid that night is that no electricity actually means noelectricity. Or AC. Or fans. So, while it’s slightly cooler at night than during the day, it is also very still. Even with all the windows open, not a single breeze blows through to cool us that night. The air hangs heavy, and frustration is laced into every loud exhale as nobody sleeps.
When the sun rises, we aren’t rested.
Breakfast is curt.
I’m defeated.
Camping sucks.
The big rocks on the rolling hills around us offer none of the joyful reprieve they had last night. This morning, they are just another reminder of how far away we are from home.
What we need to do is painfully obvious. Turn around. We’ve seen almost half of the places Travis had written. As much as I hate to give up, I’m tired. We all are.
I sigh as I ask, “Should we go home?”
I’m already sweating as I work to roll the awning in.
Marin and Finn look up from where they eat their breakfast, perched on big rocks, quiet.
Their silence says yes. It stings, even though I don’t blame them. I agree.
“Never quit on your worst day,” Marin says matter-of-factly. “Dad told me that once. He said your worst day wasn’t the time to make big decisions because you won’t look at things from every angle or how you can improve your situation.” She lifts a shoulder.
Finn shakes his head. “Yeah, well, maybe this isn’t our worst day, so it’s a good day to quit to me. Marin, we could have the rest of our summer!” He doesn’t bother to hide the desperation in his voice. “Mom’s proven whatever point she was trying to prove by taking this trip, and now we are in the middle of the desert and miserable—it’s not even the end of June—it’s going to get even hotter! Aren’t you ready for a real bathroom that doesn’t have a doll-sized shower?!”
Mom’s proven whatever point she was trying to prove by taking this trip.
I wince at his words while I busy myself with packing up. The smell of hot dust clogs my throat. Or maybe that’s the pang of failure. Or both.
“Nope,” Marin replies, shaking her head. “We are so close to the Pacific Ocean, Finn. And there are other fun things to see. So it’s hot. And it sucks right now. But it’s stupid to turn back. Let’s give it another week. We’ll be at the ocean by then. People act crazy when they are hot and hungry, so let’s cool down and then decide.”
She takes another bite of her yogurt as if it’s settled.
Finn groans but doesn’t argue. Even if he doesn’t agree, she at least makes a valid point.
Which is why, five hours later, instead of being that much closer to Florida, we park the Avion under tall trees with a view of shimmering Lake Tahoe. From our chairs under our awning, the air is seventy-seven beautiful degrees. It smells like a dozen burning pine-scented candles, and the dewy freshness of the mountain breeze washes over me like a well-needed shower.
The next day will bring the start of a long drive to the Oregon coast, but for this one afternoon, everything is simple.
The turquoise-blue water hidden in the rugged California mountains is the distraction we need. We swim in the cold water and lay in the sand under the warm sun. For an afternoon, it feels like a vacation.
Relaxed and refreshed when I crawl into bed, my now nearly nightly routine of reading emails from Ethan and poorly stifling laughs comes with something else—sheer terror.
Penelope,
Guess we aren’t done yet, huh?
There’s a science to salt, one that I’m sure would bore you, but the only advice I can give on its usage is when you know, you know. It’s a secret until it isn’t. Salt’s just like that.
You know, if you ever find yourself in the White Mountains of Maine, I’d love to show you around, and I’d be happy to tell you all my secrets.
In the kitchen, of course.
Ethan
I read it a dozen times. Is he flirting?! I’m appalled at the thought yet somehow smiling. I do the only thing I can think of, I don’t respond.