ably buy some wine ahead of arrival. What is
important to note is that we went from reach-
able to untraceable whilst traveling down the
charmingly named Death Valley Road. There
were no other cars on our two-lane path, and
there wasn't radio reception either.
We arrived at the check-in cabin—not the
tipis—where we were greeted by a man in a
headlamp. He proceeded to give us a warning
about how steep the drive down was and how
many people thought they were on the wrong
road.
While all three of us are well-traveled,
adventurous types, nothing prepared us for
the winding descent that awaited. At one
point, we stopped the car, convinced we
were driving off a cliff based on the shadows
of the unearthly rock formations around us.
We were not.
Upon finally arriving, our host showed us the
three-person tipi we had booked, equipped us
with lanterns, and warned us about the pre-
ponderance of coyotes before disappearing
back into the night.
Once settled into our rather delightful
dwelling, we wandered out to look at the
moon, and then we heard something move.
What it was we will never know, but after
sprinting back to the relatively safe confines
of our tipi, we opened the wine.
