Today’s dog walk was, what I will for now on call, “The Canyon Clamber”. It is the same canyon as the earlier post, so look there for pictures. This time, I came from the bottom instead of the top. My goal was to power to the top as fast as possible, but the beauty of that cleavage of heaven was too much. For a brief period, as I rise above the filth of Bakersfield, I can forget, for just a moment, and I can feel the world through an innocence of humanity. I see the tire marks of enduros riding through the most difficult terrain I have seen tire tracks. I’m sure those riders didn’t notice the wonders I did, but I saw the wonders of the paths the selected and the obstacles overcome, and I can be amazed. Any other human artifacts are rusty relics. Times long gone, people long gone, turns their litter into an humbling monument of innocent callousness.
I finally checked out a hunk of rust I have been curious about. After getting to the top of the bluffs, I walked along a little bit and came across what I suspected was a truck cab. I looked down and contemplated a path for a controlled downfall off the face of the bluffs. As I am sliding down, I see metal sticking out of the dirt, it is a transmission. I am sliding down a 70% grade, and there is a random transmission sticking out the face of the bluff. I spent time considering the geologic wonder that lead to this transmission being buried dozens of feet underground, and exposed on the face of the bluff, then fell on.
Sliding down, now a much steeper grade, I’m noting I am near vertical, being supported mostly by the avalanche being pushed ahead by my feet that is completely showering my dog with sand. A typical favorite thought of mine at this point is, “I wonder why my shoes never seem to last.” Another thought, a newer thought placed into my mind, maybe having somebody to love me enough to note I am missing and have not returned from taking the dogs potty, that may have a clue as to where I may be, would be nice. That less then gentle landing, a protesting ankle, with only ravens to laugh, highlighted that.
Turns out that rusty metal was a truck cab, 67-72 Chevy C10. I do feel a spirituality when I come across such monuments where you have to wonder how, and why. It is the partial skeleton of so many lives being indirectly touched, rusting and wasting away, waiting to be buried with the next failure of the cliff.
The dogs and I made it back.
Then people happen.
-Duckin’ Kev