Love Story: In The Web of Life

sometimes forever across the Mojave Desert. On acrystal-clear morning, I can see the blue outline of the southernend of the Sierra Range. Although it might be 105 degrees duringthe heat of the day, the evenings cool off and I often put on adown parka. On this night, the normal desert breeze was stronger.The soaring thermals wouldn't amount to much tomorrow.
Tina called, "let's have dinner on the backpatio, sheltered by the mobile home, out of the wind."
We ate our salads and had a glass of winewithout too much conversation. I was still silently mulling overthe event of the day. Tina was also deep in thought.
As it grew dark we heard a pack of coyotesyipping as they pursued prey, probably a jackrabbit running for hislife. Then, it was quiet.
I broke the awkward silence. "I love theevening sounds of the desert. Later, we may hear the sounds of thekangaroo rats shaking seeds off bushes. When I first came out here,I thought it was the sound of rattlesnakes, and was afraid to gooutside at night."
Tina eventually said in a somewhat serioustone, "If it is not good soaring weather tomorrow, lets go toRosamond Dry Lake and you can introduce me to your new Mason jarfriend."
"I can't," I said. "It disappeared after thetow plane showed up."
Tina paused a long time and observed myexpression. Then, got up from the table, walked over, kissed me,and said, "I think we should forget about this in theshower."
I woke the next morning as the sun brightlyshown through the window. I could smell coffee and hear Tinaworking in the kitchen. I walked in. She was wearing one of my teeshirts that came down to mid-thigh, and chopping vegetables at thesink. I hugged her from behind and kissed her on thecheek.
She shrugged her shoulders and pushed me awaywith her head saying, "Careful, I'll cut my finger or drop thisknife on your toe. Get yourself some coffee."
I drew a cup of coffee, leaned my rear endagainst the counter, and glanced at Tina. She had her hair in aponytail and had her usual mischievous expression on her face. Iwondered if she was putting something unusual in the omelet. Sheglanced back at me with a questioning look in her eyes. "I wasexpecting a much bigger smile this morning after..."
I interrupted, "I apologize, I was thinkingabout what happened on the dry lake as I was waking up." I walkedover and gave her a big kiss.
"That's more like it," she said. "Is it goingto be a good soaring day?"
I replied, "No I don't think so. There isalready a little breeze. Those high cirrus clouds are a bad sign.Also, I am still a little distracted."
"Good," she said, "One of the ladies at thepool spoke with me about the Devil's Punchbowl in the hills not farfrom here. It sounded interesting. It is supposed to have aninteresting energy, er, rock formations. It is a State Park withtrails and self-guided tours." She showed me the State Park pageshe had looked up on my iPad. "Pinyon Pines, chipmunks andCalifornia Ground Squirrels. It would be fun to go for a hike. Theyhad a spot of rain up there last week and there may be some springwildflowers in bloom."
"Sounds good," I replied somewhatreluctantly.
"I'll pack a lunch and clean up here and packeverything into the car while you go and put your little sailplaneaway. We can leave for LA from the park. I know a great place onthe way home to have dinner," she added with someexcitement.
As we ate breakfast, I could sense herexcitement. "I love the desert." She said. "Desert tortoises,snakes, kangaroo rats bouncing around at night, coyotes yipping andhowling...and then there are the wildflowers."
I was feeling better. "Snakes!" I exclaimed. Imused to myself, 'Talking to spirits, forget it.'
She thrust my hat and a bottle of water into myhand and practically pushed me off the porch to get me started tothe runway.
CrysalAire is nearly on the San Andreas Fault.The San Andreas Fault is like a big rattlesnake that has its tailin the Sea of Cortez between Baja California and the mainland, andmakes a serpentine arc up California east of the various mountainranges to Palm Springs, and then curves around the San Bernadinosand San Gabrials, which separate LA from the Mojave Desert. Itturns north again and runs inland to Silicon Valley, San Francisco,across the Golden Gate, to it's head in Bodega Bay. Everyone fearsthis snake when it wakes up.
The Pacific Oceanic plate slides against theContinental plate along the fault and pushes up the coastal ranges.The Devil's Punchbowl is near the fault, where the sandstone iscrunched and pushed up into jagged sky pointing layers. The park isin a three hundred foot deep valley in this contortedlandscape.
"This is really fun," she exclaimed, as wedrove with the top down into the hills. She was wearing brief jeansshorts she called her "Daisy Dukes" and a yellow tank top and herball cap. "Here, drink lots of water today," she said as she took asip from a bottle of water and handed it to me.
"I have often flown over here in my sailplanebut have never seen it from the ground. The punchbowl is a goodsource of thermals," I said. "All that sandstone picks up heat inthe sheltered valley and boils off into a thermal, sometimes thefirst of the day. See over there! That little wisp of a cloud mustbe over the Punchbowl."
Before I cold entertain many thoughts aboutgoing back and breaking out my sailplane, she looked at the map inher lap and said with excitement, "Turn left on that road up there.That sign says Tumbleweed Road. This is the way; we must not befar."
Soon, we were in the Park visitors’ centerparking lot. We walked to the small weather worn visitors’ center,went in, spent some time looking at the exhibits of stuffed birdsand animals and bought an area map. Outside, we began to walk downthe loop trail into the Punchbowl. It was a spectacular site, ayellow sand, and gravel trail descending into a water worn valleyin a jumble of broken sandstone layers pointing diagonally to thesky, with opportunistic small clumps of shrubs and