It was unusually hot as we walked into downtown Phoenix for a small rally at Margaret T. Hance Park. (our first public rally since Los Angeles) The 7th of April also happened to be my 60th birthday. I guess I won’t likely forget how I celebrated that day. Walking 14 miles with temps exceeding 94 degrees and relentless sun can be forgotten. The Kentucky Wildcats losing the national basketball championship can be forgotten as well. What can’t be forgotten was the encounter at the rally with a Navajo chief. He asked for a marcher who was dedicated to going all the way to Washington. I felt strongly in that moment that I should step forward, and so did a fellow spirit walker, Miriam Kashia. We were blessed by the chief and presented with a small piece of soft blue rock from his tribal lands. We are to carry it with us all the way to journeys end. If I need strength, I am to hold it in my hand. If I or the group is unable to finish I am to bury the rock and return it to the earth. If I complete my journey I am to let his Navajo tribe know so they can complete the prayers for us. Their concerns for the earth and their tribal lands are traveling with us. I feel something today I couldn’t have imagined a month ago as I was consumed with doubt about this task, my body & strength of spirit. I have a hard time imagining completion of my walk at this point of my journey, but I know this small piece of blue rock will stay with me till the end of my journey.

The stories are coming to fast to make note of these days. There was a wondrous Sunday in a section of Sonoran desert when I could only hear an occasional rustling of the creosote and mesquite trees. Blue skies and nearby mountain ranges anchored the landscape and dwarfed my notion of the spirit. When the sun went down the coyotes began their chatter and the dry air chilled marchers to the bone by sunrise.

After a long walk to Aguila, Arizona we found a camp spot next door to Coyote Flats Cafe. Some of us older marchers escaped from tent life to stay at a bygone era motel just next door called Burro Jim’s … “A friendly place to lay your ass”. The pool tables & juke box provided a special night of revelry. How can folks walking 15 miles a day have the energy to sing, dance, hoot & holler? I don’t understand it myself, but it does happen from time to time. Today, I truly don’t know where we are. We are still walking down highway 60, and 13 miles from Wickenburg Arizona, but the place has no name or descriptive feature. It is a very windy place that is beating my tent mercilessly. If I get out of it i’m sure it would go tumbling across the desert to parts further unknown. We will reach downtown Phoenix in 5 days and lose 3 of our marchers. They are folks who have become very close members of our family. New marchers are always coming on board at major stops and new relationships will be generated. Still, its hard to let some go. Somewhere along our way the numbers will grow beyond this tight knit group that has relied so heavily on one another.

“A great place to lay your ass”

Deb, Michael, Mary, & Jerry gather for evening meeting

Our traveling eco-commodes

Desert blooms

Pablo and Kate in front of the solar cookers

Large valley of irrigated squash with migrant workers in Sonoran desert along highway 60

Sunday Church in the Sonoran Desert

Rev. Bob Cook takes a break near Aguila, AZ

Rails we walked in the desert

Peace glove …. lead scout always takes roadside gloves and folds Peace sign. 100’s across Az Ca

The spirit returned to my footsteps these past few days. Miraculously I finish each day at the front of the march pack. As we cross yet another desert (the Sonoran) marchers spread out so that hours separate us at the end of the day. Today was a 16 plus mile day. At the junction of Highway 72 and Highway 60 we had an old gas station to visit for cold drinks and ice cream. It had been 3 days since my last taste of the outside world. Desert walks raise the spirit, but ice cream on a stick in the Sonoran is a sublime experience. The sun and dry breezes pull out all the water I can put into my body. Six miles further down Highway 60 a group of us spot the Ironhorse Bar and have a cold beer before walking the last few miles into Salome Arizona. While still thousands of miles from home, I’m on a highway that literally connects me to that place. Our campsite is on a ball field at Centennial park just outside Salome. There is a campfire tonight with guitars playing. We have a day off tomorrow and everyone is in a celebratory mood. The stars are out and darkness brings a desert chill. My grungy sleeping bag begins to look inviting once again.

Walking into the Sonoran Desert

Walking three miles of track to beat trafic

Jimmy Betts plays viloin on Hwy 72

Abandoned tanks on Jonoba Bean farm

Sean and Benjamin catch shade in RR culvert