Why Rolling In The Dirt Is Good For Your Soul
There is no reward or punishment, only consequences
Memoir
Why Rolling In The Dirt Is Good For Your Soul
I don’t have a lot of close male friends but the ones I have are a rare breed. They’re different, they march to the beat of their drum and I connect with them on such a raw level.
I met Kevin at my job in Albuquerque. He had moved from California to work at our Engineering firm. He was young and loved the outdoors, just like the rest of us.
One Friday morning, as we were getting our coffee, he blurts out, “Don’t you ever want to run out into the desert and roll around in it? Just get all dusty and dirty?”
A shit-eating grin exploded over his face.
“All the time,” I said.
A connection was made that day that turned into a lifelong friendship.
I have rolled around in the white sands of White Sands National Monument. I’ve squeezed into dusty caves and lava tubes. I’ve slept outside without a tent on the hard ground. I’ve fallen and almost died a few times, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
To wear the dust of the earth on my skin is a sacred anointment.
To see the blood run down my leg is a sacrifice.
The itch of hundreds of mosquito bites is a test of worthiness.
To give her your blood, sweat, and tears is to reaffirm your connection to her. It’s to tell her that you are still her child and you deserved to be loved.
I was doing 60 mph down a dirt road in the desert. Kevin and I were heading out to the unknown parts west of Albuquerque to extract clay. Why? I still don’t know why but it sounded like something cool to do.
“STOP!” Kevin yells and punches me hard in the arm. I slam on the brakes as my truck comes to a sliding stop. I look over and see the panic across his face.
The dust settles. I see that we’re out of road. We sat at the edge of a cliff. It seems we missed the dirt road making a hard left a few yards back.
We looked at each other, watching as the gravity of what almost happened filtered into our brains.
“That was close,” Kevin said.
I didn’t say a thing and just nodded my head.
We got out of my truck to see how close we got to killing ourselves. Blood drained from our faces, my right front tire was less than 6 inches away from the cliff edge.
We almost took a dirt nap that day.
I watched my teenage son dig a hole in the sand and then cover himself up to his neck. He was timing the tides just right so he could feel the ocean water race up to his face and then back down. It was a game, one that I know all too well.
One wave was bigger and stronger than all the rest and it quickly passed over his face and head. He wasn’t expecting that and tried to break free from his self-imposed sand prison.
It was rather funny to watch. He learned a valuable lesson that day, nature lets you play but sometimes there’s a consequence.
He rolled around in the dirt that day and got a taste of the consequence.
We made it up to Cedro Peak on some single tracks. We were exhausted as we were novice mountain bikers, but we were young and hot-headed. After resting for a few minutes, we headed back down to the parking lot. We all mounted our bikes and somehow Kevin cut me off and got in front of me.
At full speed we took off down the mountain, hugging each turn, and navigating through the rocky terrain. Every once in a while I scratched myself passing an errant scrub brush branch.
We came off the mountain and it started to level out, the trail turned to the left and followed along a desert wash. There were three small waterfalls that dropped about four to five feet in height. I never saw water run in the wash but I imagined how beautiful it would look rolling over the waterfalls as sweat rolled into my eyes.
Kevin cut a hard left and rode into the desert wash. I knew what he was going to do, he was going to jump one of the waterfalls. He was going for glory and I missed the chance.
I watched as he rode his bike off the dry waterfall and then saw his rear tire come up and over his head. Then I heard the thud and sound of rocks scratching and groaning as his body landed in a cloud of dust.
I tried to stop but I was going too fast. I lost control of my bike and flipped over into a tumbleweed. Its thorns ripped my exposed skin and poked me through my clothes. I emerged scratched and with blood trickling from my body.
“Fuck! Oh FUCK! FUCK!!!!” I heard Kevin screaming. He was running around in circles trying to control the pain. He was holding his left arm up to his head. His entire arm was rubbed raw. Blood oozed through his skin as small streams of blood raced down his arm. It was the biggest “road rash” I’ve ever seen.
After a few minutes of cooling off and processing what happened, we picked up our bikes — what was left of them — and walked back to the parking lot.
We really rolled around in the dirt that day and there were consequences.
I recently read Gretel Erlich’s book, “The Solace of Open Spaces.” There’s one particular quote from her book that resonated with me, that connected me with the outdoors in an instant.
“In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are only consequences.”
Nature has no real goal but just to keep going. Sometimes I wonder if she’s just a giant simulation where we are just inputs and variables in a huge process. Add pollution, and population growth, and you get some output. Reduce pollution and population and you get some other output. Good or bad is just subjective. It’s the consequences you got to watch out for.
I think back to my adventures and misadventures with Kevin. I think back to the times when I almost died in the wilderness. I think back to how chance, just pure luck, good or bad led me to almost death. Sometimes it was just my plain foolishness.
Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t fully realized my consequences.
We call each other a few times a year. Kevin likes to call me in February on a very cold winter day and loves to tell me how he’s wearing shorts in balmy Southern California. We laugh, it’s a joke that’s been going on for over 20 years.
We’re both staring down the barrel of 52 this year. We both have families now and are earning a living. Our lives are filled with activities and work. We’re lucky, we’ve lived this long and are grateful for what we have.
Earlier this year I called him back and told him that my family was going to do a two-week desert/canyon trip out to Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico in August.
“I’ll meet you out in Zion!”
That was the first thing he said to me.
“I’ve been itching to go roll around in the dirt!” That was the second.
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