Left at Salvation Mountain

Every woman should wander the desert at night with a man (or woman) she loves, looking for a slab on which to rest her bleary-eyed head. It might feel as if the breeze shimmying the tinsel-strewn creosote bushes has blown her onto the pages of a romance novel. Or even a Bible.
 
“Take this road here,” hitchhiker Morgan ‘Salman’ Strub had instructed us back at The Range. “Then take a left on the paved road, and when you pass Salvation Mountain, take another left. You cannot miss it.”
 
Salvation Mountain?!
 
We miss it. (Well, OK, we eventually find Salvation Mountain and our camp. Strub is right. You really can’t miss it.) Rather, we have missed “this road here,” as in the road we were standing on when Strub gave us the instructions in the first place.
 
No matter. The night is cool, but we are dressed warmly. The breeze taunts, but it clears the air, surrounding us with sparkling reflection – from RV bumpers, hubcap fences, tinseled creosotes, the night sky. And we figure we can always go back and ask any citizen of the Slabs we bump into. We have only been in Slab City a couple hours and we have already met so many forthcoming people, hitchhikers and non-hitchhikers alike. Plus, the most prominent landmark is something called Salvation Mountain. It is impossible to feel lost.

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