Cows

 For all the cows on highway signs I didn’t see a single cow, just tumble weeds and a type of meadow sparrow that swooped dangerously close to my car. The grasses were golden in the sunshine and the mountains blue in the distance. For the first hour I drove I saw only two other cars on the road, both headed into the opposite direction towards Nevada. I decided that morning to go to Zion opposed to the Mojave or Death Valley. If I did camp again I didn’t want to spend another night sleeping in below freezing temperatures. 

  I’d found fleece leggings at the goodwill in Utah but they’d become casualties in the great laundry freeze. Despite laying them out on my car before my hike yesterday, none of my clothes had dried. None of the clothes I had packed made any sense for this trip. I’d been experiencing considerable emotional distress. Further on I pass signs for wild horses, but the only one I see is a blood bay dead on the side of the road. I keep an eye out for bones. I  find a place to pull over because I want to sit in the desolation for a while. It’s a lot colder outside of the car. I keep finding myself surprised at this. The wind sweeps across the lands with nothing to resist it. What I know about the desert is that it is dry. In my mind, dry equals cold. But it isn’t. It’s only 58 degrees but even a few minutes after I get back in the car, I can still feel the cold bite of the wind on my skin. 

I went to the stargazer general store to drop my key before I left. Their signage touted coffee but they only had brewed. Sending id wanted espresso, the woman offered me frothed milk. I tried it? It didn’t really add the experience at all, I still felt I was drinking bean water. She asked me about my hike yesterday and whether I would be coming back. I answered with different iterations of 

“I didn’t finish, it was too cold” and “I want to come back when it isn’t so cold.” I’d done winter excursions before, like a memorable summit on Christmas Eve to mt San Antonio I did with a single crampon, but I feel like I haven’t been able to get warm since my first night when I slept in my car. I had to hike in a few miles on a gravel road due to winter closures and had the wind slicing through me since there wasn’t any tree cover. By the time I got to the travel itself my boots were already leaking in melted snow and my fingertips were hurting. I found a valley about a mile in and spent an hour or so writing in the sunshine until my trembling got so bad my writing became illegible. It had been a very pretty hike but I wasn’t sorry I hadn’t summittedj. My face was bright red with wind burn by the time I got to the car and I spent the rest of my afternoon drinking white wine with my cabin heater blasting. 

I see the mine before I see the historical marker sign, so when it appears I zip into the turn so fast that sand flies from my back tire. I’m hoping for an access point so I follow a dirt road down to a gate that says “industrial area, no trespassing”. There is a green Tacoma parked outside of it and a man is sitting on the tailgate. Industrial, my ass. If anything there’s still an attempt being made to mine gold. There is another dirt road that takes me to a cemetery. From there I see a dirt path connecting to roads. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be here or not. 

I suspect, that since it’s a Sunday, even if I’m not supposed to be here no one will come bother me. I follow the dirt trail over man made drainage ditches. Over one hill I see a formidable brick entry way. The mine must’ve been protected like a fortress. 

There’s glass strewn around, shards of turquoise and lavender glass. I pick some up, think better of it, and drop it. There are also ancient pull top cans that have browned with rust. I’ve seen them before (and been amused by their cartoonish appearance) but here there were hundreds. Other bits of browning metals, drums, barbed wire littered the sand. 

Little brick shanties crumbled into the sand around me. The amount of them had been hidden by the hilly terrain. I crossed a dry creek bed (there was a fallen bridge built above it) and hiked to one of the buildings I’d seen from the road. It was not lost on me that I was a single woman hiking alone in an abandoned mine yard. I clutched my bottle of pepper spray and gave the building a wide berth as I approached. Two smaller huts with too-solid of walls for my liking stared at me with vacant, haunting eyes. Something thudded from inside the main building. I considered scaling a mound of sand beside me to gain a better vantage point into the building. But then, the wind blew and I noticed a rusted metal shingle was hitting a wooden beam from the ceiling. The brick facade of the building was crumbling. Bricks had recently fallen out of the doorway and onto the foyer. I thought better than to venture inside. The wind was gusting too much for my liking, and besides, I could see everything in the building anyway as only the skeleton was still standing. 

Above me was just the blue sky, occasionally I’d see a pair of corvids and say hi to “hugen and mugen”. Ravens (or crows, I couldn’t tell them apart really) seemed oft to travel in pairs which is where I assume the nords got it from. 

I made my way to the the arena behind the house that had been blasted into the mountain artificially. Here, there was a gaping hole in the side of the cliff surrounded by wooden boards. I listened around me for a moment and then crept towards the hole, sliding in the sand as I went. The mineshaft itself was covered with thick rebar but I still felt a flutter of anxiety looking into the deep black pit within. From there, I followed a makeshift road to another wooden shack whose stove pipe intoned ominously in the wind. Behind it, another mineshaft.

There real bit I wanted to see was the browned and rusted mining machinery that perched on a cliff above everything else. The road I’d been on didn’t leave this way. I walked past some crumbled white rocks (I would venture a guess that there was a shaft they couldn’t rebar so they just bulldozed rocks in front of the entrance.) The road from there went back down the hill. I wanted to go up. I weighed my options and decided to cut across the hill by hiking straight up the crumbling gravelly sides. I made quick moves finding footholds above larger boulders and scraggly pines. At one point I held my weight with a thin branch of a juniper and it snapped in my left hand. I stuck my right hand into the shale to save myself, missing a rusted cord of barbed wire by about an inch. The wind blew horribly but I found a decent resting place to view the mining operation. The man in the green Tacoma had driven up there and had gotten out of his car. Horror stories about rapist keeping women hidden away in mining shafts flashed through my mind. I remembered my mom telling me something about “the gift of fear” and to pay attention to it. Maybe he had come to feed his prisoners or something. I didn’t know. There wasn’t a road connecting me to the mining operation, which was a blessing. There was, however, the ruin of another building right below me. I crept down towards it hoping to reassess my options. As I got closer, I realized the floor had been covered in concrete that was now collapsing in on itself. Through cracks could see there was a basement or something below it. I didn’t wish to tempt fate any more than I already had. I side stepped down the shale while leaning my weight towards the side of the mountain. When the wind gusted I paused, just in case, and bundled myself deeper in my coat. Finally, I reached a light foot path that I hadn’t noticed before. I followed it down to the crushed white rocks that I assumed covered a mineshaft. I found the road again and followed it down. I had seen the Toyota but I assumed he hadn’t seen me. But now, I saw him creeping along the road above me. He then stopped. He got out of his car and waved, which for some reason terrified me. I said “hi” anyway, to be polite. I picked out my car in the distance and then headed that direction off trail. If he was going to come after me, I didn’t want to make it easy for him. I clung to my pepper spray the whole hike back. At one point, I saw the Tacoma behind me but it turned down a different direction and disappeared. I got to the car feeling foolish but exhilarated. 

I pass the green Tacoma on my way out. He’s holding a fancy looking camera and he looks a lot younger than I had assumed. “Well I guess you don’t, but I was gonna ask if you worked here.” I tell him from the safety of my drivers seat. I was looking to see if you had a mining authority jacket on. Sorry if I freaked you out, I’m sure walking across the dune like that wasn’t the funnest thing ever.” 

“Do you know if we’re allowed in there?” 

“Oh, no, this is allll trespasssing,” he laughed. “So I’ve been trespassing real bad today.” 

“Me tooo!” I say. Then I give him a thumbs up, “Have fun,” I say. 

I leave wishing I’d asked him more about who he is and where he’s going.

At Milford a Scotty dog trots in front of my car with a noticeable limp. I pull over and yell “you stop it right there! Where are you going?” He actually does stop and wait patiently. He is clean with no collar and when I examine his paw there’s a pricker sticking out of it. I pull it out and pick him up.   When someone drives past I ask “do you know where he lives?” And she points down a row of houses. I carry him down far enough away from the road and pat his bottom and tell him not to get hit by a car. “Go on now, get!” I yell. He begins to walk home but then glances back. I yell, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be! Go, leave me, go on now!” 

Stopped to see petroglyphs, scaled up the side of the canyon fighting against the wind. About half way up I found an atv track. “You can jus -“ the wind took my words away. I panted out again, “you can jus -“ I then took a deep breath and gave a garbled shout. “You can just drive?!” But I would’ve wanted to hike in Zion but it was already getting too late. It would be just as well to do it here. 

I get to the summit cursing my god and all the other gods, just in case. I also admonish myself and ask myself “why do you do these things.” Followed by a good old “Christ on a cracker.” For good measure. The cliffs slope off either side of me so I can see a sheer drop on either side. I get little charges of fear and I cling to the boulders as the wind rushes around me. “Because it was there.” I say to myself scornfully. I get to the top and stay in a cross legged kneel, too scared to stand. The view is beautiful, of course. And worth it. I begin picking my way down the canyon slowly. All of a sudden, I hear the sound of drums. I peek over the side to the parking lot, expecting to see some kid banging on the walls of the bathroom or something. There isn’t anyone there. I look out over the horizons, perhaps there’s a reservation in the distance I’m not seeing. 

So I stopped earlier to see some petroglyphs in this little canyon in the middle of nowhere. This was off like one of those roads where you could drive for like thirty minutes without seeing another car or even a house or anything. I walk around and look at them for a bit but then I notice there's a little trail that takes you up the side of the canyon. I climb up it, of course. It's like super sheer and the wind is gusting really hard. It's pretty scary. Plus, I didn't eat all day so my hands were shaking a lot. I took a video that's on ig, I doubt it'll send directly. Anywayyyy, I start picking my way down and I start hearing drums. Like Native American war drums. It was the craziest thing. I thought I was having a spiritual experience or that I was actually losing my mind. The wind is blowing crazy, there's a storm approaching in the distance, but I kept hearing bits of drums and sometimes a flute. I peek over the cliff to see if there was anyone in the parking lot. I even googled reservations in the area to see if maybe it was coming from a place nearby I couldn't see. The closest reservation to the petroglyphs is about an hour away.  I tried to get down as fast as I could but my feet kept slipping on the loose gravel. Sometimes the rocks would tumble and sound like horses hooves. It was super weird, I really thought I was losing my mind. I basically run towards the parking lot when I see a chubby white guy holding like a box of some sort. I yell at him to wait. I hustle over and I ask him if he was playing music. He opens up his box and there's a flute in there. A "traditional Native American" flute, apparently. I ask him if he had been drumming and he said he had. I told him he nearly convinced me I had gone insane. Keep in mind, this is the middle of nowhere so this dude had to go way out of his way to just haunt tourists. Super strange, super random, 10/10 experience

See a sign for dinosaur tracks and exclaim “well, fuck! I’m never going to get anywhere!” I walk a little of the ways but hunger and cold end up winning out. If I remember I’ll stop here on my way back. My next move is to beeline it to cedar city before my stomach finishes digesting itself. I pick an “authentic Sicilian” restaurant because they have steak on their menu and I figure I take some pasta to go. I’m ravenous so all I can think about is stockpiling as much food as I possibly can while I’m still in civilization. 

It must be authentic Italian because there is a neon sign out front but inside the waiters are wearing ties and vests. There are crystal chandeliers and real candles on the tables but the menus are plastic. It’s as if Tony Soprano designed a restaurant and I’m right: the food is *banging*. I eat funghi ribiali right out of the serving dish, still wearing my hiking boots and dusty pants. I order the house red (cab) and the filet with veggies and pesto mash. I only a leave a few bites of the potatoes which I box up and eat with my fingers later. I keep trying to acquire more silverware but every time I go somewhere I forget to keep my eye out for the little plastic packages. 

  On a full stomach with a headache from the Cabernet, I drive to Zion. I make it in time to do a short sunset hike and then head back to the BLM land to car camp. A gas station attendant tells me that the cops in Springdale are very strict about people sleeping in their cars. She told me she’d been sitting in her car once after work and been hassled by a cop. “That’s good to know,” I tell her and thank her. It takes me a minute to find the camping sites (all primitive, no services) and even longer to pick a spot. 

When I finally do, I fall asleep to strange dreams where I am slicing my arms open and blood pours down my forearms. A boy tries to comfort me and I yell at him to “leave me alone, I’m trying to HEAL!” But then he shows me his scars, neat little rows of white and criss cross up his arms. I wake up feeling feverish around 5am. 

   I drive to Springdale in the dark, I am thinking more and more about the court case. I had posted to my Onlysfan “instructing my followers to harass Dylan” as I’d said “bonus points if you tell him what a fucking loser he is.” Well, he had porn up of me, sir. Plus, no one did it. I really did miss an opportunity there. He’d asked if I’d done it, and I said “Yes, I sent them to an account that was impersonating me so essentially for all they knew, they were talking to me.” Not a good argument, and his attorney called me on it. “But Dylan was running the account.” He said. He might’ve phrased it like a question. What I should’ve said was, “Well, if he deleted the account, it would’ve all gone away. It’s not like I gave them his contact info.” I can imagine myself giving a “Sure” with a shrug. 

  What gets me the most is that for all my preparation and obsession, I had failed. Sitting in Zion in a coffee shop as dawn breaks is a consolation, of course. I don’t really blame myself. I did do the best I could. I don’t even think it wasn’t that my “best wasn’t good enough.” It was a culmination of things. The judge had seemed to have his decision before the case had even started. I prepped myself but I hadn’t really been prepped. My attorney flubbed when it came to destroying his credibility. (We had him, I swear to God, we had him.) But, the texts he omitted had been found by me and she used them. That was a compliment, I guess. 

Im still trying to get distance between me and the court. I don’t know if I feel it fully yet. I don’t even know why I care this much. So what, I got a restraining order. Big deal. I’ve still never been caught doing any of the other illegal shit I’ve done. I’m still clever. I’m still doing cool shit. I think it says a lot if you can turn a loss into a win, (you still have to wake up for work in the morning and I’m sitting here deciding whether I should go to Zion or drive out to Bryce Canyon). I just don’t know if I’ve ever really lost at anything I’ve tried that hard at. I was never on a sports team and I didn’t put myself into playing clarinet. The things I’ve really tried at, like art, on occasion, I’ve had a level of success at. (People bought my stuff and therefore validated me.) I’ve never had “real” success but I’ve also never had “real” failure. 

  This whole situation feels like a real failure on two fronts. I failed at the relationship so spectacularly that he blocked me and refused to ever talk to me again. Then I failed at the court case where I had sought acknowledgment that he had used me for personal gain and then discarded me when he got bored and the relationship got difficult. These were both very personal things. My perception of the relationship and his behavior were deemed invalid. I’ve been told I’m a toxic person and not someone worthy of consideration. I was discriminated against for engaging in sex work. To top it off, I really lost my temper and I really did say things I wish I hadn’t out of anger. Real, visceral, wanton anger.

  It’s not even that he forgot to take it down. It’s not even that it took him over a day to do it. It’s that he refused to acknowledge or talk to me when we broke up (to quote myself from the texts he submitted to evidence, “you can’t even be nice to me because you NEED me to be the enemy.” It’s not like I hadn’t thrown a tantrum or two. I stormed out of his house once because, get this: he refused to talk to me. But to act like someone is so toxic they’re beyond redemption all because your communication and lifestyles didn’t match is absurd. We could’ve just had a “hey, this was great and I care about you a lot but it isn’t for me” talk. Yeah, maybe the feelings would’ve stayed hurt for a while but the door would’ve stayed open to like, at least being on good terms. What I said on the stand was true, even it was ill-advised: when we broke up I was completely blindsided. I had expected someone who begged me for a relationship to at least do a little work when things got hard. That summer, I went through a cancer scare, my brother went back to jail, Dylan’s roommate totaled my car, found out I had severe anemia (which depletes your energy completely) and then I was stressing about maybe moving into Dylan’s. Any nice, normal, compassionate, considerate person wouldn’t take that time to start a fight with their girlfriend because - still woozy from anesthesia - she didn’t “take your advice” not to take her gauze out when you picked her up from her wisdom teeth removal. 

  I think a lot of our problems came from a conundrum that I often faced in our relationship: how do you take that shit seriously? It wasn’t a personal offense and any logical person would’ve seen that. I thought a judge would’ve seen the *receipts of petulance* but instead, he only saw Dylan’s *receipts of emotional abuse*. I had fought and failed against a guy who ate a bag of sweet tart ropes every night before bed the entire time I dated him. It’s a blow to my pride. I don’t know how to reconcile it, besides going to beautiful place after beautiful place because I can, because I’m free, because no one can tell me not to.