I’ve only been to Barstow once. I dimly remember a blistering hot highway and a ridgeline with windmills. There was lots of dust as my motorcycle and I were sandblasted by hot desert winds. It was hot. I don’t know if Barstow can ever be cold. All I remembered was wind and sand and air hotter than the balls of a scorpion in a frying pan.
It was -18f outside my window and I was pulling out all the stops to keep the room where I was working a barely tolerable 61f. Heat exhaustion sounded like bliss.
I had a new pile of maps to supplant the old. Trails in Death Valley. I’ve ridden my street bike across Death Valley and it was wonderful. I’ve never gone into the backcountry. I was delighted with the prospect.
Next to the maps was a pile of ATV sales brochures. This new ATV was going to get a maiden voyage for the ages! A small stack of camping gear had started coalescing in the corner.
Then, the phone rang again…
