The Wave

The main obstacle to my adventure in the desert was actually getting there. I was leaving from London, and there are no deserts in England or within easy reach of London. So, at the least it would mean an expensive flight, and a stay in a seedy hotel or motel. Worse, this was the tail-end of summer 2019. Thomas Cook, the world's oldest tour operator at 178 years of business, had taken my plane fare before filing for bankruptcy. I had not started my travels when the owner filed, and I had only booked a flight, not lodgings. Therefore, I had no protection or comeback. I was just an inexperienced magician, my expensive ticket having transformed itself overnight into a worthless piece of paper. I only had only two choices. Either abandon my plans to travel and accept the financial loss I had already incurred, or pay out a second time to a different, solvent, travel agent... My younger daughter rubbed salt into the wound by saying that if I had let her book my ticket for me on the internet none of this would have happened.

Apart from my sudden and serious financial deficit, there was no contest. I was heading for Arizona! I had watched a documentary about The Wave, and was instantly hooked. Within two days I had bought tickets, invalid now, for my second trip in under a year from Europe to the West of the USA, for the forthcoming fortnight that I had already reserved as my late summer leave. I had warned my friends that I was pulling out of our planned gentle hike around France. Our aim had been to engage in a voyage of (re)discovery along the French coast, starting slowly and building up our strength back to the level of the good old days, as the fortnight progressed. Predictably, my friends were disgruntled. But there was no stopping me; better things were calling. I was on the move. Either this could be the most boring holiday ever, or it would beat California hands down in the “trip of a lifetime...” stakes. How many times is one allowed to aim for that heady zenith and place an option on it?

Thus, I increased my overdraft allowance, and persisted in my plans, buying another return ticket for the West of the USA, my third within a year! With valid plane tickets in hand, I had less than two weeks to pack my suitcase, and especially regain my form. The Wave is highly protected. You can't drive in, and I lacked the physical stamina needed for the several hours of walking to reach its heart. I began to walk every day, faster and faster as I rapidly became fitter. From my flat to work is a long, extremely steep, uphill drag, worthy of San Francisco. The first day it took me an hour, whereas my (male) workmate who lives on my street and attacks it every morning can manage it in half that time. I never achieved such a performance, but on my best day I clocked in at thirty-nine minutes. Furthermore, every evening I groaned and sweated for at least an hour, a prisoner of arm and leg weights whilst I exercised energetically. I was careful though. I didn't want a repetition of the Achilles tendonitis and Sciatica I had provoked the last couple of times I had undertaken exercise to excess. Nevertheless, as soon as I began my exercise programme in earnest, I felt a deep grinding pain that I, from the depths of my hypochondriacal misery, interpreted to mean that I needed a hip replacement.

Only ten people are allowed to visit The Wave per day, to protect its fragile surface. Candidates meet up first thing in the morning in front of the Town Hall of the small town just outside the desert, for a daily lottery. It's a question of luck, or failing that, persistence/boredom waiting for the following day's lottery. Boredom arose readily from too many days of pacing the same few arid suburban streets, or spending each day supine in a low-grade hotel room. The first day I took part in the lottery there were a hundred and twenty-seven of us, and I was not lucky. I left the Town Hall dejectedly, trailing my feet disconsolately. Jet-lag sent me back to my hotel to read, but it wasn’t easy. An absence of air-conditioning caused my body to overheat uncomfortably. Moreover, I was constantly distracted by roaches scampering up the walls. Were they there at night? How could I sleep for a fortnight under these conditions? This was worse than at work, where the first cup of coffee out of the canteen machine on a Monday morning is half-full of dead specimens of this insect. Yeuch!

Somehow, I survived until the next morning, when I headed back to the Town Hall with renewed optimism. That day there were a hundred and fifty-four of us, and once again I was not lucky. I paused outside the Town Hall to commiserate with other disconsolate failed hopefuls, only to hear that the number of aspirants increased in a crescendo as the week progressed. This was not good news. I spent that day tramping through the small town. I tried to retain my enthusiasm, and speed, but the streets of the town were of as limited interest as I had imagined they would be. I really needed some good luck to come my way rapidly. The next day, somewhat squashed alongside two hundred and thirty-two other sweaty bodies, it happened. My number was drawn out of the lottery machine. I was so flabbergasted I didn’t react. The caller shouted my number a second time, impatiently, asking whether number ninety-one was still there. My neighbour answered in the affirmative for me, ensuring that I was directed into the ante-chamber.

The rules of conduct in The Wave were outlined rapidly. No food or cigarettes, only bottles of water were allowed. Even then we had to avoid littering, and there were no rubbish bins in The Wave. No taking samples of the friable sandstone. Avoid walking in the dinosaur prints that remained embedded in the compressed sand. The most unexpected directive was “tread lightly.” We were each given a map and sent off. It was frightening. There were no tour guides. What if we became lost in the desert? The other nine people didn’t want to pair up. It was a case of unique personal experiences. So, I checked I had enough water, and hadn’t lost my compass. Then I began to walk. I tried to pace myself, but moved on the faster side of my capacities. I knew that once I entered The Wave I would slow considerably as my eyes swivelled on imaginary stalks trying to take it all in. It seemed a good idea to reach that point as quickly as possible. In fact, it took nearly two hours before I even knew for sure I was on the right track, when I passed my first crumbly sandstone boulder.

I continued, rather more laboriously as tiredness began to set-in and the terrain became progressively more uneven. The ground was scattered increasingly with boulders, and was covered by a thick coat of scree from a nearby mountain. Suddenly, I had a significant number of impediments to skirt. The path became narrower, and I could see little as I was sucked into a sharp curve. And suddenly, there it was; the heart of The Wave enveloped me in rich apricot-shaded strata that took off in all directions, and loomed high above me. An empty, dramatic vista stretched as far as my eye could see. It reminded me of the layers exposed when one dug into alluvial deposits, except that it was brittle and dry, not soft and damp. The colours became richer and deeper under the sun’s unrelenting rays. I felt as insignificant as the smallest speck of dust as I stood as still as if I were turned to stone; as still as the sandstone that surrounded me. I gazed at the unfathomable variety of textures and hues, and sighed gently.

I had never been in a desert before and I probably never would be again, at least not such an unusual one. I had always believed deserts to be made up of soft sand that the traveller sank into, not a rigid substance, even if it was extremely crumbly. I walked slowly through the deepest part of The Wave, relishing the silence and the feeling that I was on the inside of a dry wheel-thrown pot. Unfortunately, all too soon I had to turn back, making my way back to my hotel, before somebody sent out a search party to find me. The walk back was hell! I was tired, and incredibly hungry, so my legs were shaking. I found it hard to keep my balance as I shuffled through the scree, and just wished I could pick up my feet more convincingly. Finally, I left the sandstone boulders behind, and tentatively re-joined civilization, although I didn't feel that I was in my proper place. I would never forget this day, and my life would never be the same again. In fact, I was a different person suddenly, born of my experience in The Wave.[1]

[1] Author’s note: 1545 words (excluding the title). For Chelsea with all my love.