To Inspiration Point and beyond

I fall asleep to rain and at around 3AM I crawl out of my shelter to pee. I squat down and look straight up. Even without my glasses I can see the twinkle of bright stars and I am soothed. Tomorrow it's going to be dry!

I sleep warm, which I never do and didn't see coming considering the rain. I also sleep wet, waking to splashes of water dripping down, though the ground is completely dry. My face is damp, a fine patina of my own breath condensing against the walls of my tent and falling back onto me.Ew. I think. Gross.

The dawn is just peaking through,  and every single piece of my gear is soaked with condensation. I unzip the door of my shelter and I assess my water situation (I have almost none). For the first time in my life, I know I'm going to have to start hiking without coffee. I pop a couple of shot blocks as I cram wet things into little sacks and draw their individual strings.

Jelly Bean shuffles out of her tent, and we each drink the last of our water. Though we'd relied on non-existent ATVers yesterday, I feel confidant that today, a beautiful Saturday with sun shining, is going to draw people to the Anza Borrego Desert. There's a superbloom, after all.

We hike two easy miles that would have felt impossible yesterday and we laugh. Fucking weather, man! Hot ball fries us from the sky, we feel good. Water falls down from the heavens, we feel bad. Today is a hot ball day and so we're in great spirits. The hot ball gives us strength! Yeah!

The wash climbs just a little and spits us at a trailhead with a bathroom, a trashcan, and best of all-- PEOPLE. People with RV's. People with RV's that have water.

I have clear instructions from those who've hiked this route before: Go up to the folks in RV's and get what you need. I am told the people will be happy to give me water, that it won't be a big deal, etc. I know what I'm supposed to do, but I also know that I learned young that I'm supposed to be taking care of myself. I debate momentarily, and then I push the debate away. What else am I gonna do? I am fucking thirsty.

I approach the first RV I see and I'm met with a kindly blue eyed man with curly white hair, jeans, and Birkenstocks. His name is Clarence and his partner is Beatrice. Clarence and Beatrice have been fat tire mountain biking up and down the Anza Borrego for a week. They're looking for a specific purple flower, one that Clarence found one time, a couple of years ago. The deep purple color had impressed Clarence so much that he saved just one (he didn't want to be too greedy) by pressing it in a book. Yes, of course they have water, he said-- and yes they'd be happy to share. They fill up our bottles, ask where we're going and when we say "the ocean!" they get excited. "ADVENTURE!" Clarence says, and we smile. Yeah! Adventure!

We bid Clarence and Beatrice farewell and hike into the badlands. The trail gets less distinct, then more, then less, then more. Sand verbena, desert lily, and lupine pop up in crops small and large and the hills gently roll. The ocotillo explodes bright red blooms, and we climb.

At noon we hit the top of Inspiration Point and it is glorious. I lay out all of my gear, weight it down with rocks, and eat what's left of my quinoa, black bean, and zucchini chunk dehydrated meal with fist after fist of chips. This is our first sweeping view of the trip and I feel a lot of things at once: I feel shamepride that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing but I'm doing it anyway, I feel excited that I get to be here with my friend and that we chose a camp spot that didn't let the rain slowly drown us. I feel nervous about the water into Borrego Springs (we could only carry so much from Beatrice and Clarence and it's warming up), and I feel kind of sore all over. At least my sore muscles aren't specific enough to be of concern.

Inspiration Point breaks into two walls with a steep path downward. We use hands and feet to slowly lower ourselves down the canyon and into a narrow corridor where we are completely shaded. This feels like very good luck, this shady slot on a hot day. I turn my headphones on and we cruise.

Five miles later, The thick walled track of the canyon opens up wide, hot and exposed. I am out of water again, which irritates me greatly. Cars weave up and down the sand, honking and waving at us, the dirty little animals, just feminine enough to spark awe instead of repulsion. I look at my empty water bottles, look at Jelly Bean, and shrug.

"Should I?" I say.

"Go for it" she responds.

I hold up an open empty bottle upside down and above my head and try to make eye contact with drivers as they go. Within one minute a car cruises by, slams on the brakes, throws the car in reverse, and rolls down the tinted window. The passenger smiles wide, produces two bottles of water that are unopened and labelled with "THE HOLLYWOOD HOTEL" written in loopy cursive script.

I can't help but think about the connotations of so easily receiving this water in this land. I know without a shadow of a doubt that my white skin and my US citizenship make water an easy ask. To these people, Jelly Bean and I are nice ladies in need of something to drink. Why wouldn't they help, I mean if they could?  I live at the US/Mexico border in Tucson, this land I am hiking in is near the US/Mexico border in San Diego. Would these people give water to anyone in need? Regardless of their citizenship?

I'm a fucking buzzkill, even to myself. I can't stop thinking about the political implications of freely offered water. I feel uncomfortable, and then I feel rage. What is this idea that I somehow deserve water more than a person who could die traversing the desert in search of safety, freedom, family, or work!?

I am not more deserving of water. I think.

I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.

---

Desert gives way to road, and just in the distance I can see Borrego Springs. Borrego Springs is a little town nestled at the foot of a mountain and the mountain is uncharacteristically covered in snow. It dumped a couple of feet right where we are going up and over, and I don't know what that means for us exactly, but I’m pretty sure water won't be much of a problem anymore.

Pineapple says she wants to join us tomorrow, and so at least we'll suffer as a team if there’s suffering at all. I consult the experts, and Girl Scout sends me an alternate in case the snow seems too much to bare. The alternate traces roads around the base of the mountain and is said to be three to four hours shorter than the traditional route, but should avoid snow entirely if that's what we need. Jelly Bean and I have some decision making to do.

After ten minutes of road walking into Borrego Springs, I am deeply bored and stick out my thumb. Two Swiss tourists pick us up right away and drive us straight to a taco shop that produces a platter of beans, rice, guacamole, pico de gallo and chips. I eat the entirety of my platter in two minutes flat and I make Jelly Bean a proposition:

"What if we stay in a motel tonight, meet up with Pineapple, and go to the snow in the morning?” I say.  I’m not ready for hours of road walking, I’m not ready to chop out our first mountain, and I’m too stubborn to miss out on something I could potentially enjoy.

Jelly Bean slurps the last of her root beer, nods, and the decision is made. Tonight, we shower, we sleep indoors, and we pick up a new friend for the journey.

Tomorrow, we climb.