Two consecutive years during the early 90s I took my family for springtime holidays out to the Mojave Desert. Both times we ventured into Death Valley. This picture is Mesquite Flat Dunes and I. Nearly a mile east of Stove Pipe Wells we stopped, got out of the rented mini-van and proceeded to compose a photograph. I remember walking, turning around, walking forward some more, turning around again; an incredible urge to keep on going nagged at me. My wife finally hollered at me to stop. I effected what I thought to be a desert rat kind of stance. And there you have it.

Of all the places I've been in my life (not too many) our trips to the desert hold on to my imagination the most. The quiet and remoteness held a spell over me though I admit that the spell would become a might oppressive right around dusk. Something about the austere skyline and the chill in the air would make me hanker for something, what? A fire! We didn't go camping during our trips. That's what was missing. Perhaps a small campfire, with the family around it would have dispelled my uneasiness.

About roads. My impression of Death Valley is greatly impacted by the presence of the main roads. The ability to zip from one end of the park to the other (past the golf course ... Golf course?) is a temptation; a great compelling urge tugging with the convenient power of the motor. The main north/south road bisects the valley into two distinct objects. Views for consumption? I remember how odd it seemed, while we were having a lunch break at a picnic spot near the entrance to Titus Canyon, to watch the kids running and jumping a few feet to the west side of the pavement. It was like they had jumped into a photograph. Am I making any sense here? Do you know what I mean? These impressions, of course, came back to me strongly while reading Desert Solitaire for the first time. Now I just need to find out what to do. First thing I must do is get back to that desert.