The Pit

I have reached a new high... in the bottom of a sand pit.

The trek across the mountainous desert from Vegas to San Diego was nothing short of breathtaking and inspiring. The week's stay in San Diego was filled with adventure, good people, amazing sushi, and beaches. But there's just something about nothing that makes me feel right at home.

I rolled into Joshua Tree a few days ago and took a little 30 mile drive around the National Park, watching the landscape transition from mounds of rubble into huge granite boulders, with pristine cracks splitting them in two -- a climber's dream. The sun was high, the sky clear, the temperature in the 70's, and the wind a gentle breeze. The windows were rolled down, an arm hanging out the window, and we wound our way up and down the hills and winding road.

As the afternoon was drawing to a close and evening settling in, I made my way back to civilization to chat with the locals in the climbing shop. I had heard about a place nearby called The Pit -- literally a hole dug into the ground where people could camp for free, sans amenities -- so I inquired as to its existence. Sure enough, it was still intact and had a handful of residents. Perfect.

That evening I rolled in, found a suitable place to park, and made myself comfortable. There were a few people milling about, so I decided to introduce myself and get the low down. I was kind of surprised to find older people there -- two gentlemen in their 60's -- as well as a couple people my age. After only 15 minutes of conversation I realized how amazing these people were. Their humbleness masked the grandness of their life's achievements, but between the lines you could catch a glimpse of it. Later that night at the campfire, spurred by booze and everyone's favorite herb, the stories started to flow. You wouldn't know it at first glance, but by today's standards they've been wildly successful in their lives, climbing some of the hardest routes in the world, running their own businesses, traveling to every nook and cranny in America, and working in almost every trade in the book. But here they are, living in the bottom of a big hole in the ground, surviving on the most modest of lifestyles.

It's like that everywhere, it seems; beneath the hustle and bustle of the modern world is this subculture, thriving beneath the radar, feeding off the things in life that no one else has time to even notice. It's an alternative that no one talks about, mentions, or probably even knows exists, but here I am, passing through it from one place to the next, getting a taste of all things vagabond. And the more I experience, the more I realize how little I've actually accomplished. The grandeur and magnitude of everything one could potentially achieve is overwhelming, like being a little kid at the base of El Capitan, staring upwards. You feel dwarfed. It rides the very fine line between impossible and improbable: the best kind of challenge.

I wish I could explain the feeling of standing on top of a hill in the middle of a desert, the entire horizon jagged with mountains, and the sun slowing setting. I wish I could tell you how amazing it feels to be surrounded by hundreds of miles of nothingness and the feeling of silence. I wish I could take you to the middle of nowhere and show you the stars, then fill you with the realization that you're stuck to the outside of a giant ball, hurtling through the cosmos at 67,000 miles per hour, then watch as you try to hold onto the ground so you don't fly away.