Shortcut to Nowhere

October 13-15, 2025

We’re still in Joshua Tree. Today was actually a workday, which turned out to be perfect because it was wildly windy outside—like, “open the door and lose your hat” windy. The problem was that it was also hot, so we needed the windows open for ventilation. Unfortunately, the dirt just blew right through the screens. By mid-afternoon, the inside of our camper looked like a light dusting of cinnamon had been sprinkled on everything. Kinda felt like home in the Tri-Cities. 

After a full day indoors, we came down with a bad case of camper fever. So when George suggested a thrilling evening of “taking out the trash and refilling the propane in town,” I jumped on it like he’d just invited me to Disneyland.

Big mistake.

On the way into town, George decided to take a shortcut through one of the dirt-road “neighborhoods.” Google Maps showed a whole grid of named “roads,” but in reality it was a maze of rutted, sandy tracks—basically trails made for four-wheelers, not regular cars. No signs, no pavement, just the occasional fenced-in property with an off-grid survivalist living in an RV parked right in the middle of nowhere. The whole scene felt very dodgy. 

As the sun dipped lower, it started getting dark, and we realized we were slightly lost. I kept telling George we should just turn around and retrace our steps to the paved road, but he was convinced we were “almost there.” (We were not almost there.) Finally, on his own terms and timetable of course, he did turn back the way we came and we made it out.

The next day? More work. More wind. More dirt blowing through the screens. This time, George went into town alone to run errands—gotta have that "healthy time apart."

The next day? More work. George had to give a legislative update to a bunch of HR folks that afternoon. We have an unspoken agreement: I do the research and prepare the slides, and he gives the presentation. I hate presenting—I’d freeze and forget everything I know. George, on the other hand, thrives on it. He went full “Zoom formal” for the occasion—white dress shirt on top, shorts on bottom.

After George's presentation, the work was done and the weather calmed down, so we headed back into Joshua Tree National Park for some more exploring. Our fellow park-hopping friend Jake told us about a secret “iron door” hidden somewhere in the park, not mentioned on any park map. Which of course meant we had to find it.

Turns out it’s ridiculously well hidden. You can walk right by it and never know it’s there. The door is built into a boulder, with a little room dug out behind it. Legend has it that a rancher once kept his mentally ill son inside. Creepy? Yes. Interesting? Also yes.

After that, we hiked to Barker's Dam—a small reservoir built by ranchers back in the day—and then checked out some petroglyphs. We tried to make it to Pine City (apparently a rare grove of pine trees in the desert), but ran out of daylight and turned back just before we were sure to get there.

Now, about my bathroom luck on this trip. Let’s just say… it’s been eventful.

At Sequoia, the lock on my stall failed as a man jiggled the handle and walked right in. I screamed; he jumped back like he’d seen a ghost. I’m pretty sure we both have bathroom PTSD now.

Then, after the Pine City hike, I told George I was going to use the pit toilet. The smell was already rough, so I decided to leave the door open for “ventilation.” We were in the middle of nowhere with just one other truck in the lot so I told George to stand guard. He promised he would.

He did not.

Next thing I know, I heard footsteps and strange male voices rounding the corner. I leapt up, yanked up my pants, skipped the zipper entirely, and tried to make myself look composed, like it was totally normal to go to the bathroom with the door open. The poor guy was so confused. Meanwhile, George was resting in the car, blissfully unaware.

Marriage. It’s all about teamwork.