Amusings

Part II – Tripping

My alarm went off at 5:30… After five hours of sleep.  I had spent a considerable amount of time planning for this trip… A large  backpack… A small but powerful flashlight… A small speaker with a memory card for music… Travel toiletries to conserve backpack space… Three plain blue and black T-shirts… Two pairs of athletic shorts… And the conscious decision to take a hat… And leave the hairbrush at home.  

My preparation and packing mirrored what I anticipated my accommodations to be… Rural and with only the bare essentials available… In the Aravaipa Valley area of Arizona… Close to the Saguaro National Forest… And enveloped in desert heat.

After landing in Tuscon and securing the rental car, I started the drive… To a completely isolated ranch in the middle of nowhere… In the Arizona desert.

All arrangements for this trip had been handled through email… I had not actually spoken to anyone from the place to which I was heading… I need to arrive at my destination by 5:00 today.

Today at 5:00, I will begin a 24 hour fast… Tomorrow, at the same time, I will participate in a peyote ceremony… And the following morning, I will be free to leave and contemplate the experience.

But, for now… I needed to get there… An hour-long drive by interstate… Followed by thirty minutes of white-knuckled tension on winding and mountainous dirt roads down into and through a canyon wilderness.

This should be interesting.

The interstate drive gave me an opportunity to take in my surroundings… And I was amazed at everything I saw.  I had just landed on the moon.  Brown mountain peaks with random trees speckled across them.  Yuccas… With their spear-like flower stalks jutting out of spikey, globe-like canopies… Were everywhere.  

I exited the interstate and stopped in a small town near the dirt road that led to my destination.  I gathered some last minute supplies at a grocery store… Fresh fruit and a bag of trail mix to break my fast after the experience… And three bundles of firewood.    

Knowing that I would be fasting… And barely having eaten since my alarm went off… I asked for a restaurant suggestion from a local… Who turned out to be a local from another town and at a loss for suggestions.  After consulting Google Maps, I found a steakhouse nearby.  I was on vacation after all.    

I arrived at the steakhouse to find a gravel parking lot next to a shabbily painted building with a singular pickup truck in the parking lot.  Upon entering, it was apparent that this was the steakhouse that fancy forgot.  I took an empty seat at the four stool bar… With two women to my left and a man to my right.   

The three other patrons knew each other.  The man to my right was trying his best to flirt with one of the women on the other side of me… He seemed somewhat successful in getting her phone number later in their conversation.  

I perused the menu and chose an open faced hamburger on Texas toast… Covered in pinto beans, cheese, onions, and jalapenos.  My first bite was divine… A fantastic combination.  I only ended up eating half of the meal… It was a bit much for my stomach and I hadn’t eaten since the night before.

I made a comment to the bar maid about not finishing my meal… Letting her know that I thought it was delicious.  

“It’s hard to eat when it’s so hot out.” she said. 

“Well, maybe I should move here then.” I laughed.

“No, you don’t. It’s awful here.” was her reply.

People who live out here have a different set of social norms.  There are no well-manicured lawns or neighborhoods of cute houses to be seen.  In regard to the general appearance of everything, “That which doesn’t matter is truly let slide.”  As far as the reasoning and origin of this culture, I couldn’t figure out which came first… The chicken or the egg.  Do people move to the desert in the middle of nowhere to be left alone and live how they want?  Or, do they adapt to a certain way of living because they’re living in a desert in the middle of nowhere?  

I turned off of the paved road… Onto “18 – 20 miles of unpaved road that can be washboardy… And… Can be treacherous during rainstorms… And subject to flash floods.”  Barely a cloud in the sky… I should be fine.

The directions said I would cross nine cattle guards… After about six, I lost count.  I was too concerned about potentially sliding off of a gravel cliff.  And the only road signs I saw consisted of sheets of plywood spray painted with “WATCH FOR COWS!!”  

After forty minutes on the winding roads, I arrived at my destination… Which greeted me with a cattle gate and a decoratively hand-painted sign that would look more at home in a New Orleans voodoo shop than a ranch in the middle of the desert. 

I drove onto the grounds and found the ranch house.  As I arrived, I met the guide for the weekend… He showed me into the house and to my room.  I also met the two other people participating this weekend… One was from New York… And the other was from Iowa.  Very shortly after being shown the accommodations, our guide left and said he would return after our 24 hour fast.

The accommodations were pleasant and simple… Akin to staying in a hostel or pension.  The walls inside the house were covered in art… It seemed as though most of the artwork had been sent to the ranch as a thank you for the experience.  All of them seemed beautifully and vaguely spiritual.  

There were several books in my room… And a small library in the front room.  The authors of the books included names such as Graham Hancock, Terence McKenna, and Albert Hoffman… The authors were very familiar to me through my personal research… But I had never read their works.

I read a booklet about the origin and history of the ranch and the beliefs that spawned it.  It seemed to have a wisdom that we would all believe to be true… If we were not caught up in the trappings and technology of the modern world.

I began to relax in my room after the eleven hour journey I had just taken.  The fans in every room made a constant whirring sound… And created a tropical breeze throughout the whole house.  And eventually, they lulled me to sleep.

***

4:30 P.M. on Saturday… Our guide arrived for last minute instructions and to give us our tea.  Each of us received an insulated water bottle and a small Tupperware container of lime slices.  One half ounce of tea… Every twenty minutes.  The lime slices were to help with the taste.  And… Then it is time.

A short drive to our individual campsites… Roughly a quarter mile from the ranch house.  I was the first participant to go… I climbed into the pickup truck… And the guide drove me with rapid familiarity to my campsite… Through desert brush along rocky paths.  I climb out of the truck… And, in an instant, the truck disappears leaving only a cloud of dust.

I looked around.  The campsite is basic… With a simply-fashioned permanence… A popup-type shelter and a ring of rocks in which to have a campfire.  I sat down in the reclining lawn chair to take everything in for a moment.

What in the fuck am I doing here?!?

Here I was… Alone… In the middle of the desert… In 100℉ heat… Sitting in a lawn chair… Under a popup shelter… Holding a bottle of Peyote tea sweating with condensation… And a container of lime slices.

Better not to over-analyze the situation, I thought.  I opened the bottle of Peyote tea and half filled the provided shot glass… One half of an ounce every twenty minutes… That shouldn’t be too difficult… Right?

I threw back my first swig.  I had a fairly good idea of what to expect in the way of taste… And the Peyote tea did not disappoint.

The taste of cactus tea is not pleasant… A mixture of herbal, wet hay… The bitterness of grapefruit pith… And the consistency of freshly-blended, snotty tomato flesh… Basically, the worst smoothie you can imagine.  The taste is one obstacle…  But, your stomach and body not wanting to accept this substance is probably the bigger factor.

A sense of nausea sets in fairly quickly… Your stomach tightens shortly after taking a shot.  And you spend time… After each swig… Really concentrating on keeping the nausea at bay.  And then… Spontaneously… Your stomach clenches… And you instantly need to do everything in your will to keep from retching.

Then the body load begins to set in… This is not a recreational experience… I didn’t feel like getting out of the chair… I felt heavy… Hot… Nauseous.  I tried to relax and be still… And find relief from feeling the constant, hot desert breeze.  I began to vacillate between sweating profusely and being wracked by chills. 

My campsite was out in the open… With tall bushes and trees surrounding it… The tops of the mountains were in the distance.  The sun began to set.

Fast forward… I had now been swigging cactus juice every twenty minutes for four hours… The equivalent of six ounces, or shots, of cactus juice.  I had been using the timer function on my phone to keep track of the time… Every twenty minutes, the timer went off… And I took another swig. 

By 9 P.M., the sun had retreated to a glow behind the distant mountaintops… And the temperature had dropped precipitously to 40℉.  I began to realize that I might be ill-prepared for the total experience.  I was wearing a T-shirt and athletic shorts… And I had brought along a sweatshirt… In case I became chilled.   

My phone alarm went off… And I made the sudden decision… That I could not handle any more Peyote tea… I had managed to avoid vomiting for four hours… I did not think I would be able to continue doing that if I took another swig.

And, at that moment… As I set my phone back down… I saw visual tracers of my hand that left a brief trail of motion… Similar to seeing the trail of a sparkler on the fourth of July.  I felt remarkably unconcerned about seeing tracers… And I also felt relieved that I had made the decision not to consume any more tea.

The next five hours were miserable.  I started a small fire earlier… But ants crawling on the ground prevented me from wanting to sit close to it… And, as the tea began to take hold, the act of keeping the fire going seemed more trouble than it was worth.  I used the provided sleeping bag as a blanket while sitting in the chair, but remained inconsolably cold.  I retreated into the hammock hanging from the shelter.  But nothing made me feel comfortable and my chill was unrelenting.

And then my mind wandered.  And the coyotes began their nocturnal crooning.  It sounded like a symphony of laughter… Were they laughing at the poor soul in the hammock who they were about to dine on?  What other hungry animals rustled the bushes around me?

I began fighting myself… Mentally.  I held myself in suspended animation in that hammock… Absorbing aches in my contorted body.  Not wanting to move… And then making the decision to move around and get comfortable… And then being equally uncomfortable in my new position.  The chill of the environment had permeated me to the core.  And I did this for five hours.

I suddenly made the decision to abandon the campsite and try to find the ranch house.  All I wanted was to be comfortable again… To be warm again.

I only vaguely had an idea of how to get back.  The ride from the ranch house to the camp site had been brief… Now in the dark and shivering, armed with only a flashlight, I just hoped.  After a brisk walk, I saw the ranch buildings and the ranch house.  As I took my shoes off at the door, I noticed another pair of shoes.  One of the other participants was already back.  I found my bed and curled up in the fetal position under the blanket to find warmth.

Three hours later, I woke up hearing someone else in the house.  The sun was up… And now, so was I.  I quickly packed my belongings and prepared to leave.  As I walked by the front door, I noticed that the pair of shoes I had seen earlier were gone.  They had been replaced with a pair of boots.  I walked into the kitchen.  On the table were two sets of car keys.  One participant was gone… And the other was sleeping I presumed.  I grabbed my rental car keys and headed out the door.

As I was walking toward my car, our guide suddenly appeared.  He asked about my experience.  And immediately, I was a well of emotions.

I had just traveled halfway across the country…  Come through hell and high water to get here…  And just experienced one of the most miserable nights of my life.  And all I wanted to do was leave with a little dignity and privately come to grips that this experience did not turn out how I thought it would.

While I briefly related my experience to him, he absorbed it with a concerned expression.

He then said, “Pay attention to your dreams.”  I shook his hand and set off.

As I drove toward the gate of the ranch, tears began streaming down my face.