Late last summer I packed up my dirty SUV and drove myself and my road-dog dog out to the middle of the Yucca Valley desert. Fresh into a pocket of some newfound independence, I decided that getting lost in the dust and the heat and the people who hide themselves in the desert would be a good way to celebrate. I landed myself in the middle of Pioneer Town with a mason jar filled with amber colored liquid and baked under the afternoon sunlight.
Looking forlorn, I’m sure, a pack of hairy, bearded, tattooed, leather bound 50-somethings approached me with conversations. A few hours later, mason jars emptied and new friends made, I headed back to LA.
I had spent the day with the meanest, grizzliest group of Hells Angels I’ll ever meet. What came of that encounter? A jar of homemade wildflower and lavender honey they forced me to buy for $7. Also, a very dirty car and a few crumpled phone numbers I’d never call.
On my drive back to LA, this song found it’s way to my speakers. I immediately pulled over, in front of hundreds of gigantic windmills, their white shapes contrasting the night sky blanketed in stars.
I turned my stereo up loud, and under those stars, against the windmills, I danced in the desert. This song fit so perfectly that moment. I’d have pushed repeat and danced again, however, I looked down past my cowboy boots only to realize the rattling I’d heard wasn’t my car, it was a rattlesnake.
Hells Angels, honey, rattlers and Delta Spirit: things I hope my baby sisters never experience alone.
Enjoy the song!