Now where were we? Oh yes K Stew and I were just about to…

According to locals the temperature of the water can reach up to 118 degrees in the summer. Some go as far to say that the heavy salt content (twice the paltry ocean ) is good for your skin, hair, mind and body, I’ve also heard say that it smells of mushroom soup and death, you decide what’s best for your life needs. I said no thank you.

Right out of a Sci Fi movie

In my head it took 47 hours to make my way back to the car, first thing is get into the trunk, grab the ice chest and drink some water.

Reaching in, I grab the water bottle and swallow hard and heavy. It does no good. My head is spinning in all directions, puke up the water immediately. I’m officially in trouble.

There is no shade, no air conditioning, and I am 30 miles from my hotel room.

It really is beautiful, if you can stand the rotting fish smell

I have no choice but to get in this oven hot car and drive. If I don’t, well I’ll get to meet the Erinyes today.

As I floated towards hypothermia some randomness of  voice came from my cooked brains and says “Hey stupid you know that towel you keep in your car, Why not try soaking it in the ice chest?”

I douse myself in the ice cold life chest, my skin was drinking it, I swear my skin was drinking the water, my head slowly starts to clear.

I sat down right there in the sun of the desert and lowered my head down between my legs, just pouring that ice water over my entire presence. After a few moments it worked. My mind slowly starts coming back and as it did I instantly realized I needed to get the hell out of there, NOW!

“Damn it fat man stand up and get your ass in that car!” 

And for the second time in as many hours my feet, respond.

Now that’s a jet ski

Start the car. My phone is useless. There is not a living soul for 10 miles in any direction. I can jump out of the car, run naked across the desert playing drums and offend nothing but my own sweaty sensibilities.

Well you wanted to, what was that word you used? Oh yeah, disconnect. I think this is the very definition of disconnected.

 Where are my drums?

Hell no I can’t use double kicks

 Only thing left in the  ice chest is 1/3 of a bottle of water, 6 lager beers and a Diet soda, none of these things are appealing. I drink the water and pray for death.

Don’t fall and break anything or you will die out here

Using the water soaked towel I drive slowly out to the roadway (I was going to say highway but thought some Judas Priest fan might beat me up) the water filled towel on my head is keeping me moving, the breeze coming in from the open windows, yes it is a breeze that reeks of rotting corpses, but with the ice water I swear my skin is cooling down.  

As I drive back towards my hotel room, I pass not one single car for 30 plus miles, not one. The first car I see isn’t until I get back to the city of Coachella.

The most desolate place I can ever remember being

By then most of the shakes have subsided. Not sure exactly how, but I make it back to the hotel room, stumbling insanely through the door. Blessed refrigerated canned air fills my lungs. Suddenly everything goes black and “Down goes this very Rhapsode” face plant right there on the floor directly in front of the hotel A/C.

I lay unmoving for God knows how long dreaming of playing drums while on fire.

Occasional waking, drink water and then pass out again, drifting back down to fire world.

You look like you could use a cool one

Thoughts of food posses and torment my reckless slumber, (KFC chicken sandwich no mayo please and a small side of slaw) no chance, passed out again.

Several weird hours have elapsed, the world swims slowly back into focus.

Suddenly some old legend from my past occurs to me, it said that if you ever find yourself in the desert southwest at night you are supposed to smoke a bowl then go outside, find someplace dark, close your eyes and then open them to see the most spectacular star show of your lifetime.

This I must see. 

By now I was able to crush a couple of cool ones and I hear myself say right out loud, “I want that star shine love on my face.”

Out the door seeking further adventure I go.

First thing I notice is the blast furnace that is the Coachella valley at 8:00 in the evening, well, it is July, next I notice all the Goddamn flies are back for more. Great, so what should I do?

Go out into intentional scorching madness or, stay safely here in the refrigerated air? 

I take one step out of my room,

Not so much the heat as the humidity, no it’s the heat

When suddenly, I hear my room door click shut behind me,

“Hey dude did you bring your room key?

What? 

Dang it. 

Standing there in my socks I will now have to cross the worlds biggest, hottest  parking lot to get to the (stupid stars, couldn’t see shit anyway some damn casino next door) hotel office for a key replacement.

An eternity later.

Feeling like a sunburned old pilgarlic, I saunter back to my room with the key securely fastened in my pocket trying not to look homeless as I wander around like a ghost in socks, desperately trying to traverse this smoldering parking lot. 

Getting back in my room a film clip runs through my head “Never get out of the boat”

Had to cover this nightmare painting with a towel

No more, not tonight just stay here in the frigid temperatures of your nasty room.

I know what I’ll do, smoke another bowl and take a few space moments to start planning my trip for breakfast at Salvation Mountain, just the name alone. Salvation.

Grab my phone to do a little research (my phone came back from the dead) only to discover that my destination is 62 miles away, Oh crap.

I have hotel reservations (non-refundable) in Fresno tomorrow night, so counting just the two hour round trip to the mountain and back to here, now let’s just say I see something that inspires me, something magical that I want to explore?

Isn’t that precisely why I am here in the first place?

The drive to Fresno is at least 6 hours so if I go down to the mountain it will take at least 4 hours to do what needs to be done to save my ailing soul, when it dawns on me.

It’s time to realize this simply can’t be done.

How do you miss a mountain? It’s a bloody mountain. 

I hang my head in shame and pass out drunk under the mechanical frozen savior.

No Salvation, only more hell?

Have you ever been to Visalia? 

Some folks say it’s comparable to hell in many ways.

Could this possibly be the magic that I seek? In Visalia?

One thing is now certain, If I am indeed supposed to be saved it is going to require a return trip down these same lost deserted roads.

I awake in the morning and do not even torture myself over the blunder, “This is not over I proclaim!” Jump into the unbelievably hot car, roll down the windows and melt for six hours as I drive from Palm Springs to Fresno during a heat storm in July.

I spent a week with my son and his brood, before running screaming into the night. Terrifying place.

Was home for two days and the feeling rolled over me again, the madness is still everywhere, nothing has changed. It might be worse. I have to go to Salvation Mountain and watch the sunrise, it’s my only shot at redemption.

I’m going back, I have no choice. I lived through it once, barely, and now I’m considering going again? Christ fuck dude, what are you doing?

I have to. That simple. I have to!

I promise myself I’ll be smarter this time.

To Be Continued 

le sang du christ est sur mes mains