Prompt #137: Friendship

Friendship break-ups (and sometimes, staying together despite differences)

Hi Friends,

We’ve just returned from a three-week van trip, where we visited seven states in the western United States. We experienced snowstorms, windstorms, and sunny skies. We skied in the Sawtooth backcountry and slept in a yurt for three nights, which I wrote about here; we then spent a few days at Idaho and Utah ski resorts before visiting family in Santa Fe and heading to the Sonoran desert, where we hiked, and I taught a travel writing class in Borrego Springs.

And by the way, if you’re interested in a virtual travel writing class, I’m teaching one with Story Studio Chicago that meets four Wednesday evenings, beginning April 16th. Information is here. These courses usually fill, so if you’re interested, sign up soon.

Moab, Utah

One of our roadtrip stops also included Colorado’s Canyons of the Ancients National Monument, which contains the highest known archeological site density in the United States. We then drove to Arizona’s Kofa National Wildlife Refuge to hike among saguaro, ocotillo, and cholla.

Sunset in Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, Arizona

We had visited the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge before, but that had been in the shoulder season when it was quiet. This time, though, was right in the middle of the peak season; nearby Quartzite, a mostly pop-up winter town made up of RV parks and gem stores, was bustling (2 million snowbirds flock here each winter). We got gas, perused a rock shop, and then headed for the wildlife monument, seeking solitude. Tightly packed RV parks in town included a MAGA RV Park and more spread-out settlements scattered at the edge of the desert and into the monument.

We followed a highway and then a dirt road that became rocky and narrow enough that large RVs couldn't navigate it, so we found a fairly quiet camping spot along Kofa Queen Canyon Road. The next morning, we hiked up the canyon toward Skull Rock. Gray clouds pleated behind red mountains, and the wind carried the smell of rain. We walked past saguaros, ocotillo, cholla, and palo verde. We scanned the craggy mountains for big horn sheep (the biggest herd in the American Southwest lives here, though we didn't spot any). The canyon was quiet except for chirping cactus wren.

Teddy bear cholla and ocotillo

We heard their engines echo through the canyons before we saw them: seven off-road vehicles rumbling up the canyon. We clamored off the dirt road to let them pass in a cloud of dust. Their drivers wore goggles and face masks. Most steered with one hand, held a PBR Tall Boy in the other. Long flagpoles attached to the back of their buggies, displaying the American flag, often accompanied by a second flag—one with a drawing of an AR-15 with the words COME AND TAKE IT or DON’T TREAD ON ME, another that read FUCK BIDEN.

Skull Rock

Of course, I shouted into their dust: “But you’re happy to let billionaires tread on you.”