Rocket Man...and His Friends

I'm tempted to say what happens at Rocket Day stays on the dry lakebed, but really, what fun would that be?

I've not been a fan of camping. In the past. Rocket Day just may have changed all that. Although, I did find out once I got there that sometimes desert camping can include tarantulas – luckily for me, not this year. And if I had known about the possible tarantula invasion beforehand, I might not have gone. Okay, I wouldn’t have gone, but then I would have missed all this…

The day started out with a sunrise freeway drive through the San Fernando Valley to pick up my sentry into the world of Rocket Day. It was a beautiful drive actually. Freeways and all. Pumpkin was in charge of food, which meant stopping at not less than three grocery stores, just part of the adventure. Once we got going, we made one detour down a small section of Route 66 that yielded some cigar box guitar parts and an art installation of glass bottle trees. And Elmer, The Bottletree Man. He was completely worth the detour. Our last stop in civilization or Barstow, California as some people call it, was for cold drinks and restrooms and then straight into skinnin' country. You know, those areas in the high desert where the locals bundle their trailers together on hilltops so they can see you coming and you just know they’re up there cooking meth or hunting and gathering human hides. Probably both. It’s quite charming. Sure, we may have been delirious from the drive and the desert sun, but we’ll never really know, will we? I’m just glad we were navigating our way through skinnin' country in full daylight.

Most of the Rocket Day campers were already there by the time we arrived. It was a little bit what landing on Mars must be like, I think. Cars and trailers and tents grouped into several mini campsites all along the edge of a dry lakebed somewhere out in the vast Mojave Desert. Big desert sun shining. Music blaring - from a turntable, no less. Rockets red glaring. The site was quite the sight. We borrowed some bikes and went from campsite to campsite saying our hellos and inviting everyone to the jambalaya feast, which was Pumpkin’s first course on the Rocket Day menu. It was hearty and campy and delicious. The people, the Rocket Day people, are warm, and generous, and friendly. I’d already known this about Pumpkin’s friends who I’d met on previous vacations to LA, so it was honestly no surprise that the larger group would be exactly the same. No surprise, but still amazingly cool.

As the sun set, unbelievably beautifully, the stars came out in force. A blanket of stars like you only see in places like that, and practically impossible to describe. When the Big Dipper spends it’s evening just on the horizon’s edge, you know there are a lot of stars up there! And as the moon rose, as equally beautifully as the sun had set, we sent some Japanese lanterns into the desert sky too. Just for fun.

Rocket day was a desert festival of friends and drinking, and eating and drinking, and rockets and drinking, and biking and drinking, and dancing and drinking, and bonfires and…apparently, there was some tequila involved, and that’s where things get a little fuzzy. Unlike Area 51 though, there is photographic evidence.

We baked out in the desert sun and shivered through the desert night, and ate too much and drank too much, and slept in a tent and squatted behind tumbleweed, and spilled wine on my boots while riding Elizabeth’s bicycle and I will most definitely do it all again next year. Provided the tarantulas decide to take the day off again.