Leaving fear behind in Death Valley

God spoke to me in Death Valley.

However, it all started in Chicago. Brett paced the kitchen, smoking Marlboro cigarettes like he had just gotten back from war and sputtering optimism on a bleak weekend in March. COVID lockdowns were the talk of the town. New York was the first and California seemed to be the next domino to fall.

“We are not going into lockdown. This is Chicago! The city of Dillinger, of Al Capone, of the Lager Riots.”

I was familiar with the Lager Riots. In 1855 the tee-totaling mayor banned the selling of alcohol on Sundays and tripled the bar license fees along whiskey row near the factories. In response, 2,000 German and Irish immigrants attacked city hall and a gunfight ensued. I had high hopes for the scofflaw spirit of my adopted sweet home.

Brett’s brother, Banum, was watching TV and he shouted from the living room, “We’re going into lockdowns!”

Our jaws hit the floor. Not only would there be occupancy restrictions, mask mandates and business closures, but also there was talk of cancelling summer street festivals and shutting down the beaches — the things that made nine months of Midwest winters tolerable.

I taught ESL English at the time. My British boss, Bill, informed us teachers that we would be teaching remotely for the indefinite future.

I said, “So we can do this from anywhere? Like I could take a trip back to LA and teach from there?”

Bill replied, “Absolutely. But we never had this conversation.”

A plane ticket was $50 and car rental was $2.15 a day!

During the pandemic, I probably did the most traveling of my entire life. The first stop was Lone Pine on the western side of Death Valley. The John Wayne/western movie museum was cool but my thirst for exploration was yet to be quenched.

Returning to Los Angeles, sitting on my friend Gavin’s couch, I looked at a map of Death Valley. Pahrump. How do I know that name? Then it came to me. Libertarian Ron Paul got like 80% of the vote when he ran for president. I had to check out this anarchist bastion. What else is near there? Tecopa Hot Springs. A trip taken 15 years earlier to the springs popped into my head. Perfect.

Time to hit the road. I stayed at an air BNB for a week, teaching classes from my laptop and venturing into Death Valley every day.

Visiting 20-Mule Canyon, it happened. The sun arched lower in the sky as I set up my camera and tripod. I was making videos for social media — or posterity, I’m not sure. More and more places were locking down. Things were ramping up, emotions running high. At this point I was shouting at the camera.

“Our founding fathers fought for freedom. There’s nothing in the Constitution that says our God-given rights go out the window during a health emergency. There were plagues during the 1700’s.”

I broke down. Turning to the otherworldly hills, I shouted into the evening air, “What do I do?”

A reverberating voice echoed as the sun set behind the Panamint Mountains. It said, “You know what to do. Do not fear.”

Awestruck, I collapsed right there among the moon-looking rocks. After sitting for a while, I returned to the car and cried all the way back home.

I’m not sure what exactly to make of the experience but that night I called my grandpa, who was a missionary doctor in Africa and told him the story. He cried with me and said he was glad Christ had entered my life. He’s since passed on.

I’m not sure what happens after we shuffle off this mortal coil but I hope there’s a heaven. I’d like to see Grandpa there and be reunited with my dog, Nixon. That would be nice.

Eric Coleman is an artist based in Pahrump. He is the cartoonist for the Pahrump Valley Times and Tonopah Times-Bonanza. Follow him on his YouTube Chanel The Traveling Cartoonist at https://tinyurl.com/2swrkmpm. For map information, contact him at ericjamescoleman@gmail.com.