Mojave Desert To San Joaquin Valley Poem by Bill Galvin

Leaving southern Nevada was easy at first,
Till the trailer pulled the car off the highway
Into the desert median a few hours before.
No clue about injuries; clean up only.
An hour out, and it takes 2 hours to go 4 miles.

The temps this time of year run 59-66 mid-day,
A lot better than summer 100s like before.

The mountains around here are dry, gray-brown;
Uninviting; bleak; the desert is stubble only,
Like a two day beard with occasional low yucca;
Then with distance, closer to mountain moisture,
Joshua trees occupy a smattering of space.

The desert drive reminds me of Deb’s trip
Cross-country solo in May ’78.
Her plans with friends in Taos did not work out,
So she left after a few weeks
For to stay with better friends in SF.
She wrote me, or spoke on land line,
And I recall three exceptional experiences
Which prove and verify her womanly courage.

I am travelling near, but not through, Needles,
Where Deb stopped at a local dive
To quench a thirst with four beers.
She of the long, straight blonde hair,
Attracted attention, and deflected same,
As she wrote notes to send home to me,
When a liquefied cowboy sidled up
To sniff at the sexiest thing to grace the bar in a while.
She calmly said she was writing an article
For Time Magazine and would like his name.
She got a few names and a few free beers,
And left when she was ready. Clever and brave.

Another time, she rides the hot blacktop
In her now aging ’73 Corolla, at the speed limit,
And guys alongside to suggest she has a tire issue,
Pull over they say, and they’ll help.
She does not. Not right away.
Later she discovers an air bubble,
And decides to drive in the cooler evenings,
Rather than in the hot, high sun.

And finally, the no-tell motel…
Deb was on a tight budget; $22 was thrifty.
She walks from her car to her room,
With lecherous, smoky, parking lot eyes upon her.
She gets to the room and there’s no lock;
No lock on the door!
She hastens to the manager she just paid;
Oh, we can put one on there right away, he says.
No, thanks, says she, give my money back.
She leaves, wearily returning to the highway,
Not knowing how far to the next possible rest.
Miraculously, five mile down the road,
She finds a family-oriented Holiday Inn.
Feeling safe, she is willing to pay any price
To wash that uncleanness out of her spirit.
The cost of a clean room with locks? $22.

I still admire the courage of our Deb,
Back then and all through her life;
All the way to her brave passing from ALS.

Driving the Barstow-to-Bakersfield Highway,
The desert mountains begin to green slowly;
A rider passes Edwards Air Base where shuttles landed,
Massive wind and solar farms,
Green oases where springs dot the desert.
While crossing the Tehachapi Mountains,
Dropping three thousand feet, an expansive view of
Fertile San Joaquin Valley lies ahead
And the parched Mojave Desert is left behind.

Once in Bakersfield, the southern end of the valley,
Panoramas change to early season green.
Huge fields awaken with spring vegetation;
Figs, alfalfa, olives, grapes, oranges, almonds.
The highway 99 medians have flowering bushes;
The roadsides are more welcoming with leafy trees.

I enter Fresno for to spend two nights;
Local TV speaks of pollinating
Oak, juniper, and poplar; Fresno in Spanish
Means ash tree, which lined the San Joaquin River.
Tomorrow on to explore King’s Canyon and Sequoia;
Parks we first met on one of our western visits.

This hotel has a three-story high waterfall
That dominates the indoor atrium and adds ambiance,
Reminding me of our recent river reunions.
I sit alone in this dinner booth, a tranquil environs,
Where sounds of falling water dominate the indoor space.
I dare to envision you sitting across from me,
Dressed so fine in your casual best;
La-di-da is what you might say or think.
You’d love this place…
Your light-hearted mood and smile good indicators.
I dare to envision us in the good old days;
Then the later, better married years.
Loss is still lingering…

Let’s have another drink, Babe, and bring it upstairs.

4-9-2015