Stranded in the Mojave
By Randi Hoffman
Walking past orange butterflies landing on purple flowers, I felt the sun blaring straight down as I hiked on sand on the “Friendly Hills Trail” suggested in the booklet on the kitchen table in the Airbnb where I was staying around the corner. I took off my wool coat and wrapped the sleeves around my waist; it was 60 degrees that day. A skinny green lizard scuttled under a bush beside me. I could hear small birds chirping inside another clump of bushes, but I couldn’t see them.
A crow flew overhead. At a crossroads in the path, a sign showed a picture of a desert tortoise and said this was a protected area for them. I was very excited, as I have an aquatic pond turtle at home. The sign said not to touch them, as this would make them upset and pee and they would become dehydrated. Unfortunately, even though I was looking for them, I didn’t spot any. They must forage at cooler times of day.
The night before I was having a pleasant dinner with Lenore and her sister at a local restaurant. I knew Lenore from the Wayward Writer’s Joshua Tree Camp, and had read her work in workshops online. I heard my phone make a sound, and when I checked it saw I had received a text that my Sunday night flight home to New York City had been canceled. Shoot! I gave up going star watching with them after dinner to begin the numerous calls to American Airlines.
I wasn’t totally surprised. The news showed a total whiteout in New York City: snow blowing in all directions and piling up a few feet. There were huge snow drifts and New York City was shut down. Mayor Mamdani was offering $30 an hour to shovel snow. A former college Psychology professor of mine posted online that her flight was canceled and she was stranded in Disney World in Florida with her children. Thousands of flights to the Northeast were canceled.
I returned to the Airbnb, which was like a studio apartment, and the ordeal and sleepless night began. I called American Airlines, and they said they would call back in an hour. When they did call back, I was disconnected and had to wait another two hours to speak to someone. I tried the TV, but the setup only had Roku, not any broadcast TV, so I watched a few episodes of Dr. Jeff, Rocky Mountain Vet. Somewhere in there I called my husband before his bedtime. He was watching the snow pile up outside and was upset about all the extra expenses I would have to pay. He wasn’t reassuring.
Finally, I spoke to a nice woman at American Airlines, and she let me know my options. My original flight was on a Sunday night. The best I could do was an overnight flight on Tuesday, changing planes in Charlotte, North Carolina, and landing at LaGuardia Airport at about 9 am Wednesday morning.
I was supposed to teach my college classes on Monday morning, but my gut feeling was that classes would be canceled, as they had been for weather milder than this. So, I put off emailing my supervisors and the dean. But I had a Wednesday afternoon class. It would be hectic, but I would probably be able to make it.
There was a saner Wednesday morning flight, but that would mean paying for another night of my rental car and a motel, and missing the Wednesday- afternoon class. I called Avis, and a recording said they would call me back in two hours. I spoke to a man with a thick accent who was exceedingly rude and laughed at my distress. I messaged the Airbnb, owner, told him the place was lovely, and asked if I could stay an extra two days. He messaged back I could stay an extra night, but that the day after someone else was scheduled to arrive. “Would $50 be okay for that night?” Yes, it would! A nice person! So I booked an inexpensive motel for a night.
The next day on the trail I met a friendly couple with a toddler in a Baby Bjorn. A bunch of women in rust-colored velvet were doing some kind of photoshoot beside a tree. An older child with them, in shiny pants with a stripe down the side, took a stick and drew hearts on the sandy trail. The girl was gone, but the hearts were still there on my way back.
During the breaks from the retreat, it had been hectic. I attempted to feed myself, do errands, or make/send necessary phone calls or emails. I got lost several times in my rental car.
But here, walking in the Mojave Desert, I felt the warmth of the sun on my face. On the second day’s hike I left my coat in the car and wore a zippered sweatshirt, and ended up taking even that off. There wasn’t much of a breeze. At one point I walked in a dry riverbed. I observed the rock formations and different types of cactuses. I took a selfie with a Saguaro cactus. Anxiety slipped off for a brief time. A brief sliver of joy slipped in. I wouldn’t have been able to experience this if I hadn’t missed my flight. Trying on two different days, I never finished the whole loop before feeling hot and tired and heading back.
I finally had to drive to the Los Angeles Airport, getting lost a few times, and returned the car. At an airport bookstore, I bought a book about a Middle Eastern double agent, The Peacock and the Sparrow, I found a semi-comfortable spot where I could look out the windows and hang out for six hours. Finally, I boarded. I was happy I had thought to buy a tuna- salad sandwich on sourdough bread in Joshua Tree, as the airline only gave us a packet of cookies to eat on the plane.
Randi Hoffman is an East Village-based writer, journalist and teacher who produces work about motherhood, feminism and education. Her publications include nonfiction in Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood, the anthology Places Like Home, and an essay in the collection, The Zen of Mothering.
