This afternoon, my goal is to walk east around a giant field of phacelia and towards the Temblor range.  I will jump over three sets of barbed-wire fences to get to the edge of the blue field. 

From the road, the field of phacelia flowers appear so blue that some cannot distinguish it from a lake.  And this lake of blooms, surrounded by seas of goldfields, holds a temptation that is nearly irrestistable.

But at the same time, I have been walking and driving all day.  And part of the reason that I came out here in the first place is that too many long hours at the computer have meant neck pain and tennis elbow.  Maybe I should just return to the hotel?  I will have to walk 3 miles out with a heavy pack, and then 3 miles back in the dark.  Will I even find the rental car in the dark?

This is that little traveler’s devil sitting on my shoulder, telling me not to go, telling me it would be much easier to end the day early, get something to eat and fall asleep.  This Little Horn of Daniel’s Sea Beast has always sat on my shoulder at such moments, telling me to go home. 

I consider that little devil momentarily, before I set off in the sun, staining my shoes bright with the yellow of pollen.  The walking awakens me, and I revel in this bizarre trek through blooms.  After a little more than a mile, I get to the lake of phacelia, and begin to round it. 
A ferruginous hawk hangs above me in the air for some time, until the sun begins to go down, and in the waning light, I can’t help but to wonder why that devil ever had a place on my shoulder.

We all have the traveler’s devil, sitting on our shoulder, telling us to go home, or more often to stay home.  A lot of people write me to say that they want to travel as much as I do, but they don’t have the time, or they are unwell.  Others tell me that they are not traveling, because they are saving up for that big trip to Madagascar.  Some people tell they aren’t young anymore, but the biggest reason they tell me they can’t travel is that they can’t afford it.

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