It was just an ordinary brown highway sign along Interstate 8.
I had passed through the town of Gila Bend countless times on my way to Yuma, but today my travels took this exit instead, and next thing I knew I was four miles from the Mexican border, deep in the Sonoran Desert.
It’s funny how things here in Arizona are reversed from what I’m used to. Summers are miserable and most people spend the majority of time indoors.
Camping season is November – March.
On a weekend in January, I set up my tent, make a fire, and relax in the wonder and splendor of this desolate place.
I see new cacti, hike desert trails to mountain peaks and sunset vistas. I kick a cholla into my ankle and scream in pain as blood soaks my sock.
I sip whiskey in my tent as night comes and a light rain falls.
It sounds like the sweet taste of a tangerine.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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