A Valuable Lesson
Twenty miles back into the desert during the afternoon’s authoritarian heat last Thursday, too tired to swat flies from my face, I stopped at the Imperial Valley Sand Dunes ranger station to lay my head on some concrete. Minutes later, I reached into one of my bags for my cell phone, hoping to call someone for encouragement. The same pocket contains my wallet. My wallet wasn’t there.
Immediately, I knew I had left it outside of a 7/11 in Brawley, where I had stayed the previous night.
I cursed myself then, and I continued to feel angry and defeated when I turned back to retread my path, retrieve my wallet, and ride in the dark later that night for six miles to find a campground outside of Brawley. At that point, I had ridden more than 40 miles but gotten nowhere.
I asked a Hispanic man on the way where the campground was, and after he told me he said, "Keep your eyes open up there, eh? The crazies come out at night, man. A lotta illegals hide out in those ditches that would love to jack your shit." "Should I go back to Brawley?" I replied, expecting a no answer and then to be mugged. He hesitated for a minute. "Nah, man, just make
sure you stay on that side of the road." I didn’t get mugged.
As I write this post, I am in Arizona and have spent several days riding in the desert. I’ve kept pretty elite company there, and not by choice. Hardly anyone goes into the desert for any other reason than to get out of it. Those who live there are few, and they are out of their minds.
Sprint PCS (my service provider) has no reason to include a population that small in its coverage areas. For one thing, it wouldn’t make good business sense, and for another, people who live in the desert are there to be detached from civilization, anyway.
So when I discovered my wallet was missing, I was lucky to find a radio repair man in the ranger station who had a cell phone with excellent reception. He let me use it to call the 7/11.
The cashier explained on the phone that as I had stupidly ridden away having left my wallet on the sidewalk earlier that day, the Brawley sheriff, a 7/11 regular, had come in not more than a minute later and picked it up. He tried to track me down unsuccessfully.
When I got back to town, all I had to do was go to his office, knock on the door, and get it back.
"You got some kinda ID to prove this wallet is yours?" he said.
Not feeling particularly jocular, I replied, "You have no idea how much I appreciate this; that’s all I have to live for the next two months."
He glanced inside the wallet, confused. "Eleven dollars?"
Immediately, I knew I had left it outside of a 7/11 in Brawley, where I had stayed the previous night.
I cursed myself then, and I continued to feel angry and defeated when I turned back to retread my path, retrieve my wallet, and ride in the dark later that night for six miles to find a campground outside of Brawley. At that point, I had ridden more than 40 miles but gotten nowhere.
I asked a Hispanic man on the way where the campground was, and after he told me he said, "Keep your eyes open up there, eh? The crazies come out at night, man. A lotta illegals hide out in those ditches that would love to jack your shit." "Should I go back to Brawley?" I replied, expecting a no answer and then to be mugged. He hesitated for a minute. "Nah, man, just make
sure you stay on that side of the road." I didn’t get mugged.
As I write this post, I am in Arizona and have spent several days riding in the desert. I’ve kept pretty elite company there, and not by choice. Hardly anyone goes into the desert for any other reason than to get out of it. Those who live there are few, and they are out of their minds.
Sprint PCS (my service provider) has no reason to include a population that small in its coverage areas. For one thing, it wouldn’t make good business sense, and for another, people who live in the desert are there to be detached from civilization, anyway.
So when I discovered my wallet was missing, I was lucky to find a radio repair man in the ranger station who had a cell phone with excellent reception. He let me use it to call the 7/11.
The cashier explained on the phone that as I had stupidly ridden away having left my wallet on the sidewalk earlier that day, the Brawley sheriff, a 7/11 regular, had come in not more than a minute later and picked it up. He tried to track me down unsuccessfully.
When I got back to town, all I had to do was go to his office, knock on the door, and get it back.
"You got some kinda ID to prove this wallet is yours?" he said.
Not feeling particularly jocular, I replied, "You have no idea how much I appreciate this; that’s all I have to live for the next two months."
He glanced inside the wallet, confused. "Eleven dollars?"
posted by Patrick Bourland at 3:08 PM
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