|
ANGELS IN DEATH VALLEY
By Johnny Ray Martin
Three summers ago, my friend Bobby called from his aunt’s house in Bishop. He was winding his way to the Burning Man Festival in Nevada, and his VW camper had broken down in Death Valley. That was no
surprise. His van was always breaking down.
“Hey Dude, I need your help,” he said. “I was trying to find these awesome hot springs in the Saline Valley, but my camper got stuck. I got it pulled it out, but the front tires are shot and I need a new
battery.” I asked if that was all he needed.
“That’s it, bro.” Bobby was his usual upbeat self.
“Well, be careful then. And have a great time at the burn. Stop by on your way back and tell me all about it.”
“Will do, brother. And don’t worry. I’ve got my angels with me.” I wired him some money and didn’t give it much more thought.
I first met Bobby a few years earlier at a street fair in Palm Springs. I had noticed the tattoo of the Burning Man on his arm. “Hey man. Nice tattoo. I’ve been to the burn a few times myself.”
We hit it off right away.
Bobby was a free spirit, to say the least. He worked in LA and pretty much lived in his camper. Whenever he had a few days off, he’d escape to the desert.
The drive was always an adventure. The brakes had given out, or the muffler had fallen off, or he’d been pulled over because of a burned out light. There was always a story with that vehicle. The back end
was so soiled from the grimy exhaust stains, you could barely read the wall-to-wall bumper stickers…a collection of slogans to promote world peace, save the planet, or aggravate the religious right. The
camper was a wreck, but it was everything Bobby owned. It was his home. Both parents had died when he was young, and he was used to bouncing from place to place.
Material things meant little to him, except for that precious camper. Bobby had faith that the universe would provide the things he really needed. This both annoyed and inspired me. He seemed to be right.
Always broke and his vehicle constantly in need of repair, he found a way to keep himself and the VW going. No real plans for the future, he just lived life as it came his way, counting on his good Karma
and his angels to pull him through.
Weeks went by after that phone call from Bishop, and I wondered when he’d show up again. He never did stop by on his way back from the burn.
Then months passed with no word from Bobby, and I became worried. His email address was no longer active, and his cell phone had been shut off. Finally, I was able to track down a friend of his in the low desert.
“Hey, Dave. What’s up with Bobby? I haven’t heard from him in ages.” I was hoping they had been in touch.
“I’m sorry to give you the bad news,” Dave said. My heart sank. “Bobby died in Death Valley last summer. His camper broke down. He was on his way back to fix it with a couple of tires and a new battery,
but he never made it to his VW.”
“Dave, I wired him the money for those tires. He called me back from the Walmart in Bishop to thank me. He said he’d gotten a ride back out to his van, and he had to go.”
“Then you’re one of the last people to talk with him.”
After hanging up, I googled four words: first name, last name, death, valley. I was stunned. Could it be possible that I let nearly a year go by wondering what ever happened to my friend when the
answer was a simple Internet search away? Several hits came up, revealing more details.
Bobby’s van had become mired in a salty marsh where he was stranded for six days. He was on his last bottle of water when a Range Rover carrying a group of British youth on a survivalist trek happened by.
They drove Bobby eighty miles to the nearest ranger station. He kissed the ground and thanked his angels when the ranger told him he would have lasted only a few more hours on his own. He never mentioned
any of this to me.
Bobby spent the next three days recovering at his aunt’s house before finding someone to drive him back out to his van. They pulled the VW out of the muck only to reveal two blown tires. So they returned
to town and that’s when I received the call from Bobby.
Supplies in hand, Bobby got another ride back to fix his vehicle, but this time via another driver on a different road. One that Bobby wasn’t familiar with. Upon reaching an impassable washout in the
road, he headed out alone on foot, evidently not realizing how far away his van actually was…twenty miles in 115-degree heat.
He made it half way before straying off the road where his body was eventually found.
I wondered how the driver could have allowed it to happen. Just let someone out in the middle of the desert like that. But Bobby was so confident that nothing bad would ever really happen to him. He had
his angels and all that good Karma he’d been working on for years. I can see how he could have convinced the driver that he had everything under control.
And I wondered about his angels. Did they let him down this time, or did they help him through those final unimaginable hours.
Then I became angry with Bobby for doing something so stupid. I can say it was stupid, because I was his friend. It bothered me, though, when the newspapers said it.
L A MAN FOUND DEAD IN DEATH VALLEY, the headline read. “In what some have called an ‘idiotic’ move, a 35-year old Los Angeles resident attempted to walk 20 miles…”
There was even one blog that had featured Bobby as the “Moron of the Month,” making his last days out to be one big joke. Yes, it was moronic. But was it funny?
Now I’ve been known to get a kick out of the unfortunate consequences resulting from someone making a really dumb move. I heard a story on CNN recently about a robber who accidentally shot off his own
right testicle while reaching in his pocket for his gun. It did make me laugh. But he didn’t die.
To make a bad decision in the desert can get you into real trouble. Sometimes, even you angels and your good karma can’t save you from your own poor judgment.
Bobby’s sister flew out from Florida and took his ashes to Burning Man that summer. He made it to the burn after all. And I’m sure his angels were with him. I attended the burn the following summer,
and threw some things Bobby had left in my camper onto the fire. He would have liked that.
Johnny Ray Martin is a musician and writer living in Pioneertown, CA. After growing up in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, he attended college in the Shenandoah Valley and moved to Northern
California in 1979. Still influenced by the music and stories of Appalachia, he now calls the desert mountains his home and can be seen around the Morongo Basin performing with his autoharp.
|
