Two Weeks At Joshua Tree - Mushroom Stargazing, Giggling Coyotes And Meeting Joni Mitchell
She was the kind of girl you could drink a case of and still be on your feet. I had binged on her for about a year by then with an unquenchable thirst, but we couldn't have been more different.
She was an athletic woman that loved the outdoors, staying fit and active while I was a nocturnal, working musician with my own tastes for hedonistic activities. She liked fruit smoothies, yoga, and cross-country skiing and I was into sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. What could possibly go wrong?
The things we did have in common was we both loved sex, concerts and traveling. But who doesn't?
They say opposites attract. We were so different that when we came together it was like a chemical reaction fusing into one ionic bond. Our nuclei choreographed their own neutron dance to music only we could hear, deafening us to the atomic explosion looming in front of us.
It's said that ignorance is bliss and ensconced in our rapturous naivete we felt sheltered from the approaching armageddon prophesied by our mutual friends who knew us both and all too well.
Dueling bed springs was the only music pulsing through our veins and as the beat raged on and into the night, we danced to a rave of our own making.
Joshua Tree National Park was alight with a fireworks display of cactus blooms from the wet spring that happens once every seven years, infusing the desert alive with color. We camped right in the middle of this blue moon affair and watched the stars spell out our destiny across the black, velvet sky, daring us to get lost in the singing chorus of coyotes, harmonizing our fate.
For a moment I understood why the dog howls at the moon and smiled to myself with the carnal thoughts the moment entertained. Outdoors felt like home, a place that was wherever I hung my hat that day, and as the coyotes did their second set, I prepared myself to take the stage.
The fires' spotlight glowed warmly under our skin and set the scene indelibly, burning in Shakespearean hues and overtones. To be or not to be was no choice at all, for, in that precise moment, we chose to be.
Staking my claim triumphantly, I wagged my imaginary tail like an excited pup and howled on key with the distant coyotes and between labored breaths, I could almost hear applause following our performance and cries for an encore.
The desert night reveals stars so thick, like conspiring clouds forming god-like shapes overhead and seem close enough to touch, almost as if a puff of air blown from your lips would ripple them across the sky.
Like diamonds on water, they gleamed mischievously in their guilt-free light, shining eternal truth on us fleeting humans dusting the Earth.
In that pristine, perfect moment, her words rang like triplets Con Spirito in a music score. Those three notes that can pull us together or tear us apart. "I love you", she said.
It caught me by surprise as I reached for another cold beer hoping I imagined it, but the expectant look on her face left no doubt a response was needed.
We all learn to lie when the occasion calls for it, men and women both, but men are held accountable.
I didn't have the heart to ruin the moment with anything as noble as the truth. Waiting until the last possible moment to respond, but before our music paused so long it would resemble a coda, speaking as convincingly as possible, I said, "I love you too."
We hugged and drugged under the starlight feeling as constant as the Northern Star, but the music had changed and the coyotes laughed at me now instead of with me.
**Just before our love got lost you said
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said, "Constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar" -- "A Case Of You"
by Joni Mitchell **
I took solace knowing our friends would arrive the next morning to spend the rest of our stay here, camping in the desert and longed for the distraction they would provide.
Our friends, another couple who have on many occasions conducted their own nuclear tests and dropped their own atom bombs in the middle of a social gathering, had recently signed a peace treaty and agreed to meet us at Joshua Tree to camp for two weeks prior to spending a 3-day weekend at Two Bunch Palms.
Two Bunch Palms is a famous resort that I had booked for the coming weekend. There was a two-year waiting list to get into the Al Capone Suite at $2,000 per night with a 3-night minimum. I was flush at the time I booked it and the four of us had agreed to split the cost.
The Resort itself has been in operation since the 1940’s and was known as a discreet hideaway for Hollywood celebrities, notorious historic gangsters and those who seeking to heal from its unique, mineral-lithium-rich hot springs.
The Al Capone Suite is the best room in the place and Al used to stay in the Italian-style suite frequently, for, at one time, it was as close to Las Vegas as he could get without getting arrested.
We decided to camp for two weeks in the desert sun at Joshua Tree and replenish ourselves at the spa for three days afterward.
When they arrived the next day just in time for breakfast and our last surviving beer, they brought with them a huge ice chest of cold brew and a fishing tackle box full of mind-altering substances that would have made Hunter S. Thompson blush.
He and I took a quick inventory while the girls conspired, memorizing the contents of the box alphabetically for easier reference later, like a tool box. Every tool has its place so you can find it when you need it.
We ate mushrooms and hiked to the top of the granite rock formations that broke through the desert landscape like lost humpback whales looking for the ocean.
Veins of quartz crystal stretch for miles across the backs of these mountains and resonate a not-so-subtle energy that with the right kind of eyes, look like high watermarks from where the waves last rose with the tide.
That night we played on the giant, granite slabs, soaking in the warmth they radiated from baking in the desert sun all day. The stone felt like warm skin against my own, giving the rock a sense of being alive and if I held my ear to its breast, I could almost hear and feel its pulse.
From that angle, with my cheek pressed against the breathing rock, the white lines of quartz crystal stretched for miles like a lost highway on the road to Nirvana, glittering like the Milky Way above or a Peruvian slope waiting for me to snort every last mile of it.
But no, we had plans. A schedule. The girls wanted to go to the secret oasis in the desert and we promised so that was that.
There's a place called Hesperia, a town so small if you blinked you might miss it, that we heard had a dirt road on the right that if you followed would lead you to an oasis in the desert.
We had a treasure map drawn by some friends who had been there, a map straight out of the movie The Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio, drawn on a torn cardboard box with a blue crayon in a style that Daffy, the movies' cartographer, would have approved of.
This faint road we followed for a couple miles was vanishing by the minute until where the road ended and the desert started was harder to tell apart. Then suddenly a sign post encouraged us to continue a little further where we found a path that led to a hidden oasis on the Pacific Rim Trail called Deep Creek Hot Springs.
Deep Creek Hot Springs, being located next to Deep Creek, provides both hot and cold water locations for clothing optional bathing credit
We changed into our birthday suits and slowly slithered into the steamy waters one inch at a time knowing what lobsters must feel like. The heat seeping into my sunburned skin increased temperatures rising through my core as the sun beat down.
Suffering through it, we melted into the desert like the fading road that brought us here. I felt cooked and was sure with a little butter and garlic, would have made a fine meal.
When dizziness overtook euphoria, I magically rose to my feet, levitated to the edge of the river and plunged into the cool, deep salvation below its surface, certain my sins were cleansed. Or so I thought.
It seems I was mistaken and quickly held accountable for my sins, for as I levitated to the edge of the river apparently my eyes betrayed the direction I was headed as they detoured towards another woman that crossed my path. Where are my fucking sunglasses anyway?
I wish I could have walked on rocks with my eyes closed while my date began to tell me, and anyone within earshot, how she didn't like the way I said hello to that woman.
With each of her words getting louder and more distressed, in part because of me drifting away from the conversation trying to remember if I said anything at all to that woman as I truly don't remember saying a word to her, eyes started turning our way to see if she was OK. She wasn't and my attempts to console her just made her more mad.
I retreated back into the river and decided to give her time to cool off. In this heat, it could be a while. If there's one thing I've learned about a pissed off a woman is I know when to keep my mouth shut. Nothing I could say in my defense was going to work right now, especially without my attorney present.
My ears were underwater now and thanked me for turning off the noise still barking from the river's edge. My breathing was all I could hear as occasionally my eyes would look over at the angry mime.
I pretended to be a frog in a pond which had the added benefit of keeping my mouth underwater so I wouldn't be tempted to speak until she cooled down. I'm sure it would only be a matter of time until she realized she was overreacting and with any luck, we could go back to having fun.
As she got angrier, around Def Con 3, I receded further away into my watery retreat and as she sometimes seemed to be calming down to Def Con 1, I paddled closer towards her, giggling a safe perimeter of bubbles at the scene.
I was ready to negotiate peace talks immediately and continuously but there was still friendly fire in the air. I waited at the standoff until she finally mellowed out and joined me in the water and we felt anointed once again. Disaster averted. Stand down. No attorney needed.
Well, I've heard of heartbreakers
But you take the cake
Ladies' man
You could charm the diamonds
Off a rattlesnake -- "Ladies Man" by Joni Mitchell
Our couple of weeks of camping was coming to a close and we were getting excited about checking into Two Bunch Palms and washing off the dust we had gathered. A little pampering time works magic on the psyche and we ready and overdue.
We checked into our room, showered and walked down to the biggest hot tub pool I have ever seen.
I was swimming around the huge hot tub when I noticed a woman perched on a ledge hanging below the waters' edge reading a book. She looked remarkably like Joni Mitchell but it was hard to tell with her wet hair and the reading glasses she was wearing so I paddled a little closer.
As I got within a few feet of her I felt confident it was her and nonchalantly perched myself near her so I could confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, it was Joni Mitchell.
I didn't want to bother her so I swam along, but later, at a yoga class we attended, there she was again. We did yoga together along with the other people in attendance for the class and I got a chance to talk with her for a few hours afterward.
As long as I didn't talk about music or the music business, she was cool with chatting. We made fresh squeezed orange juice and shared a pitcher of it by the pool as we talked about flowers and gardening mostly and favorite places to eat in L.A. I found her very down-to-earth and easy to talk with.
Coyote's in the coffee shop
He's staring a hole in his scrambled eggs
He picks up my scent on his fingers
While he's watching the waitresses' legs -- "Coyote" by Joni Mitchell
The desert in Southern California is a mystical land where one can hear their spirits' heart beat, where ancient knowledge howls distantly in harmony with your soul and connects you with your shamanistic powers. Of course, a few shrooms would probably help too.
But my heart cried out for you, California
Oh California I'm coming home
Oh make me feel good rock'n roll band
I'm your biggest fan
California, I'm coming home -- California by Joni Mitchell
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Very enjoyable story, as always.
Some of your stories inspired my memories about this story. Thanks.
Super bueno !
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