Putting aside the shattered wrist and accompanying titanium plate, this trip was epic. Blustery temperatures, nary a soul on the trails and vistas that surely inspired many a spaghetti Western.
Once again the crew assembled for a long four-day weekend in California’s southern deserts. We do this every year but quite often schedules do not sync up and we ride without a bro or three. The stars aligned for this one.
Torrential rains had blasted the west coast and sprinkled these dusty highlands with the quickening power of water. Flowers, FLOWERS! They stretched up in abundance and an admirable zest amongst the detritus of broken stone littering the hills.
Rivers that only flow during storms were humid in the shadows and just moist enough to eliminate dust from the rider ahead.
The dry lake bed we always visit was freshly crackled.
The sands were blanketed in little yellow blossoms that when combined by the wind filled our noses with nectar of the desert.
In short, we witnessed what few people do in the badlands: Life.