At
dusk I made my way down a steep grade to catch a glimpse of some of the
more spectacular bristlecones. Each step took several seconds; the shards
of white rocks twinkled down a thousand feet. One slip and I was gone.
There was nothing to hold on too, nothing to catch me. Passing clouds
obscured my view, and all that was left was whiteness. I stood there in
the freezing clouds for some time, unable to get any perspective on where
I was. 
I
waited the clouds out until they passed, and then continued to descend.
A shadow seemed to pass over the land, 3 gray hawks sailed below and for
just a moment, I wondered why the hell we were here. After the sun went,
we drove into the pinon and juniper range to set camp and fire quesadillas.
In the morning, we stood up to clouds an hour before sunrise. Our clothes
were damp with melting frost. Who could sleep? And so we fired the Jeep
engine.
On
the way, a bobcat dodged ahead. I walked up the stiff cliffsides of the
Schulman Grove, and witnessed the entire southern Sierra range - from
the giant Mountains of Yosemite to the Eastern Sequoia. All of it was
bathed in the purple of dawn. Below, a vein of smog rested on the Owens
Valley floor. This was not Oakland smog or Los Angeles smog, but Asian
smog that took only days to make its way here.
Soon,
we were walking along the 'Methuselah Trail', a four-mile path through
the densest groves. We looked for ocean fossils along the way, perhaps
a trilobite, or even the ancient remains of Mr. John Wood's relatives.
By noon, we were on the roads through Mojave and headed toward 'Ranch
99', a supermarket on the border of Compton and Carson. 'Ranch 99' is
a giant Chinese market in South Central Los Angeles. Most everyone there
is Asian, and so is the food. Live catfish and dungeness crabs, durian
and hog's feet. Mangoes for twenty-six cents each and 14 brands of soy
sauce.
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