The Far Sabbatical

     I don’t know what first attracted me to the desert. Maybe it was surviving within the inhospitable conditions. Or it could have just been the emptiness and solitude. But I finally made it out there last week after a few years. I had wanted to make a habit of taking a yearly sabbatical, where I just go off by myself for a bit, take my little 4WD truck and have some alone time.

I had been to Joshua Tree, then Death Valley and the last place I went was the Mojave National Preserve in 2010. My last sabbatical was right before I changed jobs. I wanted to go to Death Valley again next, but couldn’t in 2011 or 2012. This year I finally got my act together, but because of the government shutdown and the road conditions I couldn’t go to where I wanted to in Death Valley, so I picked a place in The Mojave National Preserve.

Roadside camping is where there is an established spot. There is a cleared area, perhaps with a fire ring. They’re all over, including national parks. The park’s website listed them, including the one I had been to last time. And I found another one that I remembered considering. This one was in Caruthers Canyon. It was accessible only with four-wheel drive. Like all roadside camping spots, there was no water, no facilities. I planned my trip and made this my destination.

October seemed the right time. My truck’s air conditioning doesn’t work so the drive wouldn’t be too hot. But it wouldn’t be too cold either. Plus, it would be just a couple weeks before National Novel Writing Month. Before the month begins I like to write up story outlines, character biographies, and backstory. I would take notebooks and pens and write. I would sit out in the desert and write, how utterly cool would that be? It’s what I wanted to do last year. I ended up going to Starbucks to do it. This year I would do it right.

I left at 5:00 am on Monday and got to the Costco in Victorville right when the gas station opened at 6. I got a cup of coffee at the Starbucks nearby and lamented that their Wi-Fi was down and I couldn’t use my iPod to check in. Then I got back out on the road headed northeast on interstate 15.

The drive was wonderful. I stayed in the slow lane most of the time. The air was cool. I passed through Barstow without stopping and kept on. The sun came up to my front right. I kept up with big-rigs as cars passed on the left. I stopped at Zyzzx to take a few pictures and then drove into Baker where I topped off the gas tank, grabbed a Subway sandwich and a can of Coke and texted Prajna that I was well.

I put the coke into the 10 gallon cooler strapped into the back of the truck. I had put two bags of ice in it the night before and topped it off with hose water.

Then I headed out. I was now farther on the 15 than I had ever been. I drove on through Mountain Pass where the scenery was stunning. Shortly before the Nevada Boarder, I turned off onto a highway. After the highway, I entered the Mojave Preserve.

I drove on a road for several miles. The pavement ended and it became pretty rough. I looked at my printed directions and my odometer to figure out when my turn would be coming. It seemed to take a long time and I wondered if I had missed it. But finally there it was, New York Mountain Road. The road was two ruts with grass in the middle and pretty sandy. I put the truck in 4WD and second gear, drove on and watched for my next turn.

I drove slowly. The last vehicle I had passed was the previous rough road about 30 minutes back. I had no cell signal. There was my next turn. I got onto Caruthers Canyon Road, still in 4WD. And now the road was uneven too. Parts of the road were washed out and there were ruts off to the left of it going around. At one point, I stopped and backed up to the alternate path. Then at one point, the newer path joined the old one in a rough dip. I stopped the truck, got out and assessed the road. I could make it. And I did. First gear, four-wheels, it wasn’t a problem, but it was a rough jolt. Once past it I looked in my mirror and saw my water cooler on its side. All my water had spilled out.

I got out of the truck and jumped in the bed. Ice was everywhere. I righted the cooler and began hand-scooping the ice chips back in. I was just a short way from my destination. But this was almost all my water. Aside from this, I had two 16 ounce containers. If I lost my water, I would have to go get some. I would have to brave those roads again for hours. I scooped and grabbed, not worrying that the bed of the truck and my hands were dirty. I kept at it until I couldn’t get any more. The cooler now was about 1/3 of the way full of ice. Once melted, it would be about 2 gallons.

I strapped the cooler down again. I had not slacked in securing it before, it was just a significant jolt. Then I drove on. I was jittery. The road split and I went to the left. A few minutes later, the road ended in a little circle. There was a fire ring. I had made it.

I pulled the truck around so it faced out and shut it off. Water was dripping out of the back. I still was awfully tense. I got my gear out and pitched my tent. I ate half my sandwich and drank the Coke. 

It was absolutely silent. The wind made noise in the tree or flapped the tent, but there wasn’t even the sound of birds or insects. I was there. Now what? I couldn’t relax. For a minute I thought I had lost my iPod and almost flew into a panic. There is was next to the driver’s seat where it had come off my belt. There was a little tree there at the campsite and I set my chair under it with my writing materials. I got my composition book out and sat in the chair. Then I spent a long time journaling. And that is what I did more than anything for the time I spent there.

I got out my big notebook and worked on the outline for my November novel. I took my time with it and tried to write a lot. But I was still jittery. Someone who had camped there before had fixed a rock into a part of the tree I was under and it made a little seat. I sat on that for a bit and did some writing.  Blue Like Jazz and watched a Jerusalem Beetle crawl to some shade my tent made.

I felt a little like a biblical prophet, but it wasn’t comfortable like my camp chair. I journaled more, read some of

The air was cool in the shade, perfect in the sun. I figured when the sun went down it would get pretty cold. I cooked my supper just as the sun went down. There was hills surrounding me and the sun disappeared before 5 pm. It was dark by 6. I bundled up and lit my camping lamp. Then sat next to my truck and read my book. I plugged speakers into my iPod and listened to soft music.

I kept getting up and walking away from my light to look at the stars. There were more stars visible in the sky than I had ever seen, even on my previous trips, now I had eyeglasses. At one point, I looked to the west and saw the tops of the mountains lit up with moonlight. The moon was shining on them before it reached me on the ground.

I watched the moon come up later. It was coming up on 9pm. I was tired and went to bed. It was cold and uncomfortable, but I managed to sleep off and on. The moonlight was brilliant enough that I could almost read by it.

I finally got up when it was light. I made coffee and breakfast. There was a lot more I wanted to work on for my novel. But I just couldn’t seem to focus on it. I was worried about getting through the big step on the way out. I was worried about the rest of the roads. And I finally broke down and admitted the truth to myself:

I was not having such a good time being farther than I had ever been from another living soul. This was a little too lonely. I was shocked at myself. The über cool loner wasn’t as much of a loner as he wanted to admit. This was too much, too far and I just couldn’t relax. Maybe it was losing all of my water, I don’t know. But I felt a little better when I finally just accepted the fact that I would have done better to spend an afternoon in Starbucks.

I packed up everything I had brought in, including the firewood I was going to use, but didn’t for lack of water to put it out. I selected a favorite CD and prayed to God that I would make it safely out without getting stuck or disabled.

I made it past the big dip and out onto the rough 4WD roads. I took one wrong turn and made it back and had no more trouble. By noon I was at the Kelso Depot, which is the park headquarters. I texted Prajna that I was alright and that I missed her.

I had a wonderful drive home though desert communities. As I drove past homes that were isolated, my first thought was how much I wished I could live there. But the thoughts faltered right away and something I never thought before replaced them. I don’t want to live way out in the middle of nowhere. I like living in the town I’m in.

I got home and everyone was watching MacGyver on Amazon Prime. People were happy to see me, but everything was just as it had been. Nothing had changed but me.

Back in the Saddle

     Climbing the hill, I sat behind the wheel and pondered with amazement everything that had happened over the past three quarters of a year. It was well into August. And I looked back with clarity over the past nine months.

In mid-October of last year I was short way into a much-anticipated road trip, or what I like to call, a sabbatical. I had spent a long time planning and even longer looking forward to this getaway. I had not been able to take a sabbatical the year before. I was aching for this. Looking forward to it strengthened me.

I packed up my truck the day before but had been planning for weeks. I had my route planned as well as a menu of what I would cook for myself. I even had a book I was going to read. And I also planned on spending a lot of my time at my campsite planning the novel I wanted to write for National Novel Writing Month. I was going to sit at a little picnic table and write in a spiral notebook. There would be mojo there. The campsite is only accessible to four-wheel drive vehicles and closes in the winter. The air conditioning in my truck doesn’t work so I planned the trip to be just a few weeks before the campsite closed.

After getting gas at the Costco in Victorville I headed up Highway 395 going north towards Ridgecrest. Less than 40 miles from Victorville the rear differential on my truck began to grind itself up. I got to the side of the road and saw smoke curling off of the rear end. My road trip was over.

Broken down on the side of Highway 395

The truck being loaded on along with my camping gear... and hopes for a sabbatical

Ready to unload at my house where it will sit for 9 months.

I had the truck towed home and tried not to wallow too hard in misery. I was going to skip blogging the next day but then went ahead and wrote what happened. It took months for me to even get up the courage to try to diagnose exactly what was wrong with it. I don’t know what held me back from trying to get it fixed. I don’t know if I was afraid of it being broken beyond repair or if I felt so miserable that I began to have self-esteem issues and thought I ought to never get it fixed and just be miserable.

I finally pulled myself together and had the truck towed to my mechanic. He diagnosed the problem and told me I would need a new gear assembly for my rear differential and he told me about a wrecking yard to get in touch with. All this initiative was exhausting. But I managed to contact Liberty Auto Dismantlers and play email tag with them regarding exactly what kind of drop-out I needed. I ended up taking them the old part. In less than a week they had my replacement. I took it right to my mechanic. The part was about the size of a human head and weighed about 70 pounds.

Last Thursday I was feeling sorry for myself again because I wanted to meet my friend for coffee like we try to every Thursday. Prajna and I have managed to get along with only one car most of the time. But now there was a scheduling snag and rather than try to solve it I contacted my friend and told him never mind.

I don’t know if I enjoy sulking or not. It kind of seems that way.

Then a few minutes after noon, my mechanic called me. The truck was ready. I felt giddy. I didn’t care that I needed to be a work in less than an hour. Prajna was happy to drive me to the shop. I got the keys and thanked my mechanic several times.

I wondered for a moment if I would remember how to drive a manual transmission. I did. I took the truck across the street and hosed it down. I ejected the Mark Knopfler CD of calm guitar-driven music that I had been listening to when I heard the sound of my differential failing. I put in one of my old favorites, Born in the USA. Then I headed home the back way. It still had a full tank of gas. As I drove I reflected on everything that happened over the past nine months.

I had taken the spiral notebook to Starbucks one Sunday afternoon shortly after the breakdown. I had planned my and then went on to an epic win at National Novel Writing Month. I had celebrated my 20^th anniversary and turned 46 years old. I had gotten my thumb snapped in a rat trap. I had started writing my memoir and made a few significant choices in life. I had learned I would be an uncle again. A lot had happened without me driving my truck anywhere. 

I stopped at the top of the hill and took one picture to post on Facebook. 

 With the caption "I'm back." I left it up to others to decide if that was the truck saying it or me.

That Thursday was the first time I had driven my truck with eyeglasses. I took it gently over the hill, all the while breathing sighs of relief. It perhaps felt like a bitter thirst had been slaked, but that’s too bombastic. Because while I did feel like a part of me that had been missing was finally back, I couldn’t help the other feeling I had. Reflecting on all that had happened without my truck, I realized that a lot of good stuff happened. The mojo I thought would be at the campsite had been with me all along. I didn’t have to click my heals together. I just had to act on the desire to work hard at something. It was there when I planned out my November novel and it waited on me until I finally took some initiative and got the truck fixed. I don’t know why I waited so long.

So if there is another catastrophic failure, worse than the last, of course I will be disappointed and upset, especially if I don’t get a chance for a sabbatical. But it won’t be the end of the world. I proved to myself that I can manage without it. I also showed myself that if I want to accomplish something I can’t wait for the wind to blow everything into place.

I am thinking about taking the road trip that I wanted to take again this coming October. I want to take the same route I had planned the previous year and sit up at Mahogany Flats and write outlines and character descriptions. And here is the odd thing I realized. I am looking forward to National Novel Writing Month more than the Sabbatical. Planning out my Novel will combine the two though. Pretty soon it may turn into all I think about. And it will be a good thing to meditate on after months of blogging aboutloss.

Like in life, sometimes one just has to get their own rear-end in gear.

Gang aft Agley

 I’m more than a little disappointed. But I don’t know what the appropriate feeling is. I’m trying not to sink into a sulky depression. I just don’t know how to feel.

     I wasn’t sure I would ever take another sabbatical again. The little getaways off by myself where I take a road trip, camp overnight, and spend some time alone are what I call a sabbatical. I tried not to fix on the idea that I was entitled to these escapes. I already have a low-stress job that I spend a lot of time alone at. If I want time alone I can go to work or even just get up early like I do when I write. And whether or not I deserved to get away, I also questioned ever going off when my questioned even owning my truck. I don’t need to drive to work anymore. I have no real use for this 1992 Toyota four-wheel-drive pickup. There are other, more important expenses and we try hard to live within our means.

     So after two years in a row of getting away in late summer with me thinking it would be an annual thing, last year I had to cancel my plans to go back to Death Valley. It just didn’t work for us that year. So I dealt with it. I blogged about it.

     I was thinking that this year I might make it out. The truck was running a little rough, though. But a friend fixed some minor problems and suddenly the truck was running great. I set a date and location. I wanted to go to Mahogany Flat, campgrounds at an 8000 foot mountain summit inside Death Valley National Park, east of the Valley Floor. I had been there before. It was peaceful. The night sky was bright with stars. And I could only get there with four-wheel-drive. I didn’t know how much life my truck had. I thought that this might be my last opportunity to get away to this location.

     Gas prices leapt. I stuck with the plan. I had refrained from listening to some of my favorite CD’s for a few months, saving them for the long road-trip. I mapped out my route, scrounged up the family’s shabby camping gear, and got my food together. I also packed a blank notebook. I wanted to sit up in the campgrounds and plan out what I was going to write this November for National Novel Writing Month. I excused myself from teaching Sunday school and attending a staff meeting, telling everyone my plans and trying to not sound too excited. No, I wasn’t going with anyone. I was going alone. Yes, to Death Valley. No, it probably would be cold where I was sleeping.

     I could barely sleep the night before. Sunday morning I got up at 5. I packed my last few items. (I had started a list weeks before.) Kissed a sleeping Prajna goodbye and I was off, on the road by 5:45.

     I was in Victorville in just under an hour and I topped off the gas tank. Then I went to McDonalds to use the restroom and the Wi-Fi. Then I got onto highway 395 and started heading North. The sun was up and the air was still cool. My first CD ended and I put on the next one.

     At about 8:30 I was about 35 miles from Victorville. The CD was less than halfway through when I began to hear a noise. It sounded like wind whistling through a bottle. I thought it sounded like an overheating sound. My gauges all looked good. The noise got louder and then I felt a roughness like a bad rear tire. I got to the side of the road. As the truck slowed, the roughness became intense. I stopped and got out. Checking out the truck, the tires looked fine, but I saw a little curl of smoke coming from the differential and a burnt chemical smell. I don’t know a whole lot about cars, but I know that the differential has gears and bearings inside and needs fluid to work. The truck had broken down. It would not drive any further.

     I called the auto club, then Prajna. AAA called me back and asked for a better description of where I was. I told them, no, there were no landmarks. But I had re-set my odometer in Victorville and I could positively say that I was 36 miles North of the city on Highway 395. If the driver was coming from that direction, he couldn’t miss me.

     Then I sat in my cab and read Writer’s Digest while long-haul trucks, RV’s and other traffic sped by between quiet empty pauses. The tow truck driver was a friendly young man. I answered his questions but didn’t ask any back. I spent the drive back composing a blog.

     “Just my luck,” the driver said. “I’m hitting every red-light.”

     “Yeah,” I agreed.

     I didn’t consider myself unlucky. Yes, the rear-end of my truck had a catastrophic failure. But it was within the range of AAA’s free towing. And it hadn’t happened inside the National Park or up the side of a mountain where I could have been stranded for a day or so. I was lucky… blessed is more like it. But I still felt disappointed, and guilty for feeling that way. Who was I to think I should be able to get away, spend money on gasoline only to amuse myself?

     Our tow truck passed a very expensive-looking speedboat being pulled by a nice Dodge Pickup. I tried not to be jealous. Of course I don’t care for boats, but I could have a nice little with the money it took to own and operate a speedboat, right?

     I felt not only guilty for feeling disappointed, I felt embarrassed. I would have answer to people why I was back early or how my trip went. And topping it all off was confusion. Should I grin and tell people that it’s okay? Or should I clam up and shake my head when they ask me? Be artificial or honest?

     I wanted to go home and read Of Mice and Men and nap all afternoon. Instead I went to the meeting I opted out of. Everyone was sincere in their sympathy.

     I’m trying to be honest, but polite about it. I am trying to face the truth. I can’t deny my disappointment. I can’t deny how blessed I was that it happened the way it did. I can’t deny that my truck may never drive again and that kind of hurts. I can’t deny that there are people nearby and all over the world with greater needs than me and I should be thankful for everything. And I am. I am. So the disappointment and the thankfulness battle it out in me and here I am writing about it. If anything good comes from this I will try to harness the feelings and use them in a self-indulgent blog entry.

     I’ll get over it and move on. 

    

           

Where I ought to be

Last year in the late summer I took a little vacation by myself to The Mojave Desert Preserve. The year before that I drove out to Death Valley. I used my four-wheel-drive to get to Mahogany flats, an eight thousand foot mountain in the middle of Death Valley National Park. I took a long drive out there, made my meals, marveled at the night sky and explored the park the next day. Both trips I was alone for the whole time. I called these getaways sabbaticals. One of the good things about these was looking forward to them as they approached. The planning and anticipation sometimes made the weeks leading up more thrilling.

Over the past month or so I was putting together another sabbatical back to Death Valley. I was going to take a slightly different route to Mahogany Flats and spend more time there. I was planning on reading at least one novella while up there. I would leave later in the day and skip Badwater Basin this time, still taking the long stretch of highway down to Baker California on the I-15 and then home. The air conditioning on my little 4WD Toyota has been broken for almost a year now. I figured if the pioneers and the Joad family could do it then so could I. But the truck also needed a few other little repairs. And I would be filling the gas tank perhaps four times for this trip. The costs all began to add up. The trip was supposed to be this weekend. I canceled it. The plan was that right now I would be alone in my little tent maybe thinking about waking up and cooking breakfast for myself. Instead I’m sitting here composing my blog while my kitten burrows and kneeds inside my bathrobe.

It would have been sour grapes to wish for a gully washer of a thunderstorm to hit the desert out there this weekend. But the rest of this entry is not sour in any way. I’m not bitter about this. I had a long day at work on Saturday. I was planning on leaving very early Sunday morning. Turns out that Sunday morning I was pretty tired and sore. It was nice waking up in my own bed and taking it easy yesterday afternoon.

And last night I built a fire in our little outdoor fireplace. After supper we went outside and sat around and watched the flames get warmer as we waited for good coals to toast marshmallows. We watched the International Space Station fly over as forecast. We cooked marshmallows on sticks and sang campfire songs, Sunday school songs and whatever else we could think of. (Prajna drew the line at the worms crawl in the worms crawl out song.) We fed the fire endured the smoke and told jokes. Nathaniel told a bizarre story about a boy who wanted to go to South America but his father said he couldn’t because they didn’t have French fries in South America. The boy argued that they did and continued to discredit his father’s sources to that information. I’m not sure how much of the story Nathaniel made up on the spot, but I don’t think he can ever tell it the same again.

I got to bed earlier that I usually do on work nights. I’ve had several blog topics in my head. I don’t usually run them by Prajna but she advised me against one about Halloween. So this morning I got up a few minuets before six thinking about the campfire last night and maybe writing about what a mook I was 20 years ago and somehow linking it to last night. Then as I sat down and the kitten jumped up I got out my MP3 player. I remembered my playlist titled “Sweltering”. I made it years ago mixing up instrumental surf music with spaghetti western type music. It’s my desert music. Then I remembered where I was going to be this morning. The kitten settled in and I had my topic. Yeah, I am bummed that this year’s sabbatical is off. Mahogany Flats closes for the winter months and there is no good weekend for a while now. But I have been busy at work and content at home and for the first time in a long time a disappointment like this hasn’t sent me spiraling into depression. And it isn’t a great feat by me as much as it’s friends and family looking out for me that helps me accept this. The population I sought to escape from ultimately is what I need. Thanks everyone. It’s good to be home.

love in the hand

I completed a movie and posted it on YouTube of my Desert getaway. I put Spaghetti Western Music behind it. My first version, however, had the theme music from Mad Max beyond Thunderdome. Tina Turner sings savage lyrics along with a war drums. But I changed it. I dressed very practically for the desert in light colored loose clothing. Like last year I had to overcome the desire to wear my long black coat, black clothes and of course my heavy leather boots. Maybe it’s a sign of maturity that I’m being realistic.
One thing I did take along was a Hot Wheels Car. Nathaniel seemed concerned about me and just as I was leaving he stuck himself out through the hole in the screen of his bedroom window. He offered me three of his Hot Wheels Cars. I didn’t know why at the time but he wanted me to be able to play with it if I got bored. It didn’t matter that I had book seven of the Dark Tower or that I can sit in a camp chair and stare at mountains for a long time and not be bored. It this case it really was the thought that moved me. I choose a red 1969 Dodge Coronet.
That night it got pretty creepy and lonely. Even with the moon it was very dark. The wind blew over the rocks and ground creating a discontinent uneasiness. I drifted off to sleep in the tent only to have the wind flap the tent and wake me up.
I had emptied my pockets and taken off my belt with my phone and knife and tools but I still felt something in my front pocket. There next to my lip balm was the car from Nathaniel. I turned over in my sleeping bag and held the car in my right hand.
‘What a loving gesture’, I thought.
And the night grew just a little less lonely.

Travel Log

Sabbatical can be defined as a break or change from a normal routine. The term is usually assumed for a term longer than a weekend but I have come to use it to describe my gettings away that I described last week. I got the idea from Larry Niven’s character of Louis Wu. When he tired of human company, he took a vacation or "sabbatical" for several months or more, exploring alone in his starship beyond the fringes of Known Space.
Sunday I left home and look the I-15 to Zzyzx. Zzyzx has been a mineral spa, evaporate mine and is now used by CSU for desert studies. I went to Baker for lunch and then drove into the Mohave Preserve. The weather was cool enough to drive with the windows down and I had made a CD for the drive with lots of Spaghetti Western Music. I visited the Kelso Rail Depot. Then I drove deeper into the park over paved roads and washboard dirt roads to the campsite I had picked out. It was about 4 in the afternoon by then and I had my priorities to consider. I started a kettle of water for coffee. The campsite had a fire ring and I regretted somewhat planning to have no campfire. Prajna recently got a very nice Coleman stove. I pitched my tent and sipped coffee and listened to my tinnitus.
I had canned beef stew for supper and watched the sunset over a nearby hill. It began to get even cooler by then. I lit my lamp and sat down and read my book for several hours. I occasionally got up to check the stars. Although I think I could see the lights of Las Vegas glowing over 100 miles away the sky was unspoiled by any light pollution. The Milky Way arched overhead. It was cold and dark and windy. My tent buckled o few times under the wind until I fastened a few bungee cords to it. When the moon came up the wind died down a bit. I turned in about 11 and slept fitfully with the wind flapping the tent once in a while waking me up.
I thought I would sleep in the next morning. But I woke up before dawn and decided to watch the sunrise. I boiled water and added my Starbucks VIA® Ready Brew. I got some good pictures of the sunrise.
I took my time cooking breakfast and cleaning up. The day began to warm up but AI was still comfortable driving with my windows down listening to Hawaiian Music. I went to the Kelso Dunes. I hiked for about 15 minutes toward the high dunes but I didn’t feel prepared to spend 90 minutes hiking up a high sandy slope so I headed back.
I left the park and took the I-40 to Barstow. I had never been on this freeway and the vast emptiness was exhilarating. In Barstow I had In-N-Out and then got back on the I-15 for San Bernardino and then home.
My goal was accomplished. The solitude was refreshing.

a thirst not for water

I never got island fever living on Maui. Maybe growing up there prevented me it. After moving to Southern California and driving up in the San Bernardino National Forrest I realized that if I ever went back to Maui I would grow anxious with little places to travel.
In 2003 I drove solo up to Santa Cruz for a writer’s conference. It was my first and biggest sabbatical in years. A few years later I went camping at Joshua Tree. I set up at Hidden Valley and spent the evening reading a book by lantern light.
For most of my life I’ve been fascinated by the desert. It is not the heat or the wildlife or flora. It’s the vast emptiness and apparent desolation. Death Valley in particular enthralled me to the point that I wrote stories about it as a kid with secret science fiction bases hidden there.
So last year I went to Death Valley. I loved my weekend away there from the road trip there and back. I camped at Mahogany Flats at about 8 thousand feet above sea level. The highlight may have been seeing the stars that night.
This weekend I still plan to go out to the Mojave National Preserve. I may camp out on the desert floor if it’s cool enough or 5 thousand something feet at Hole in the Wall. It’s another road trip out there and another sabbatical for me to slake my desire for solitude.