Beyond the Setting Sun

Bally High and Lovely Legs

The wind died away as I moved beyond Kingman and I hoped that was the end of the curse.  The arguments and negative atmosphere of the last few days had drained me of energy.  The weather, too, had been oppressive, with heavy grey cloud, high wind and dust.  But now, the skies began to clear and the sun was warm.

Highway 93 led to the Hoover Dam and Nevada.  A narrow two-lane strip of grey, it was marked with white crosses where people had been killed in accidents.  'No drunk driving' signs and other warnings were dotted along the roadside, alongside huge billboards showing half-naked women astride motorbikes.  Vegas lay ahead.

From a Bible College to Sin City... it was quite a contrast.  Ahead of me was an eighty mile stretch with no towns.  In my pack I carried a gallon of water in a special plastic bag, which I'd carried, neatly rolled up, ever since my journey began.  In Kingman I had stayed in a motel, had a good long bath and filled the bag with water, ready for two long days of walking.

Ahead of me, on Highway 93, was a valley ringed with rocky, dusty mountains that were smudged against blue skies.  Along the road's edge were spiky yellow bullhead plants.  The bullheads were masses of inch long spikes.  Tramping through the dusty bullhead brush, my running shoes became covered in thorns.  Every now and then I'd stop, hop on one leg and pull the dried woody debris from the soles of my shoes.  With the seventy pound pack on my back, this manoeuvre wasn't easy.  More and more holes were being made in the bottom of my shoes.  In no time at all more of the plants would end up stuck to my shoes.  In the end I gave up and walked on with masses of vegetation hanging off my shoes.  The bullheads didn't penetrate their way to my feet, but they were having a good go.  I wondered how long my shoes could take this punishment.  With the road being so narrow and the cars shooting like bullets out of Las Vegas, I had to stay in the vegetation.  Endless traffic shot on by.

My socks were dusty and gritty from the loose desert soil.  From time to time I'd stop and empty out my shoes.  I watched as grey-brown sand fell out.  It seemed that the curse had taken a new turn.

Lunch on the day out from Kingman was peanut butter and crackers.  I sat on my pack amongst the thorny bush and munched in silence.  Across the valley floor, Joshua trees poked their dark green heads out of the lower bushes and dust, and raised their arms to the sky.  Covered in sheaths of leaves, the Joshua trees sought to hold on to any water they could find.  Out here only a few inches of rain fell each year.  My gallon of water would have to see me through to Boulder City, or so I'd planned.

The temperature was well into the sixties.  As I moved up the valley, though, I slowly began to gain altitude again.  On and on and up and up I went.

Up ahead a roadhouse appeared.  I walked on up.

'Hey, son, what ya doin?'  An old man stood outside the bar, cigarette in hand, and called out as I approached.

'Hi.  I'm walking... from New York to San Francisco.  It's all to raise money for people with cancer.'

'Hell, d'ya wanna drink?'

'Sure.'  We walked on into the dark, cool bar.  Inside, the old man called out to a dark-haired young barmaid.

'Hey, Jeanie, this fella's walkin' fer cancer, give him a drink won't ya?'

The girl looked my way.

'That so?  Wheredya start, honey?'

'Kennedy Airport, New York, on 15th July.  It's all to raise money for hospices.  I've come 4,200 miles now, give or take a few.'

'Well, I reckon that deserves a drink.  Whad'll it be?'

'A coke'd be great, thanks.'

In no time at all an ice-cold coke was before me.  Caffeine, sugar and fizz... it tasted good.