A Single Frame in Mojave

I don’t know if I’ve ever taken just one picture before

It was still dark when I awoke at a Comfort Inn in Barstow, CA. Thanks to the long drive from Northern Arizona the previous day, I had fallen asleep earlier than usual. Seven hours later, I was groping for coffee. It was time to complete the last leg of my 10-day road trip.

My original plan had been to head west on Highway 58 by 6:00 AM. But since I was already moving around, 5:00 seemed reasonable. The only downside would be missing the free breakfast in the hotel lobby that didn’t begin until 6:00.

I packed my bag, grabbed the cooler, and nodded to the young woman behind the front desk on my way out the door. I don’t think she noticed me.

The VW was a mess. Besides the front being covered in bugs, the backseat was a heap of extra jackets, discarded shopping bags, boots, and a guitar. There were other things buried beneath the pile that wouldn’t be discovered until days after returning home. I did, however, have my Nikon Zf up front riding shotgun with the thought of capturing a few pictures before returning to civilization. I navigated out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

Every road warrior has a favorite road trip story — a slice of time when solitude, landscape, and music join together like a motion picture scene. The drive to Mojave on Highway 58 became one of those stories for me. The desert was my private movie lot.

There were no trucks, tailgaters, or distracted drivers. The morning light warmed the landscape. The air was cool. Every song that shuffled through the speakers seemed curated for the moment.

Seventy miles to Mojave. Normally I wouldn’t stop after an hour, but I hadn’t fully recharged the ID.4’s batteries in Barstow. According to my navigation, Mojave had four bays open. Plus, I hadn’t been there in years. It felt like the perfect place to top off and stretch my legs.

As I continued west on Highway 58, I noticed interesting scenes to photograph but didn’t stop for any of them. It wasn’t because I had already recorded so much beauty in Sedona, Cottonwood, Jerome, and the red rocks of Northern Arizona. It was because I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Have you ever shared a magical connection that was so special you didn’t want to say anything? It was like the desert whispering to me, “Shhh, don’t talk.”

So I didn’t stop, at least not until I pulled into the parking lot in Mojave with four Electrify America chargers waiting for me. Ironically, they were situated in the back of another Comfort Inn.

After plugging in, I headed to the front desk and asked about the restrooms. The clerk pointed me down a long hall. I passed by the breakfast area that was serving scrambled eggs, sausage, bagels, English muffins, and fruit. My legs kept pushing ahead to the men’s room. My stomach was pulling me sideways to the hot plates of food. First things first.

After washing my hands, I knew I couldn’t linger too long for fear of raising the clerk’s suspicion. But I felt owed a quick bite from the breakfast I missed earlier. So I casually strolled in, used the clear plastic tongs to select a bagel, moved over to the hotplate and arranged 3 sausage links on it, then wrapped my ad-hoc breakfast sandwich in a napkin. I pressed it into the back pocket of my jeans and strolled out the front lobby door satisfied with my mission.

The car still had 10 minutes of charging to reach 90 percent. I opened the back hatch and fetched a hardboiled egg and a small orange from the cooler. Breakfast time. The sausage sandwich was fresh, savory, and aromatic.

I could not have imagined a better meal.

Once finished, I began to notice my surroundings. Mojave is a small town mix of desert locals, military, energy companies, and the occasional road warrior.

It felt peaceful. But then again, everything feels peaceful in the early morning. I noticed the desert vegetation pressing against a mountain backdrop peppered with wind generators. It was an intriguing juxtaposition of man’s intrusion on nature.

The white wind generators were hypnotizing. There was just enough breeze to casually push the blades into a slow rotation. Then the wind would stop, and they stood there patiently waiting for the next nudge.

I pulled my iPhone from my pocket and used the 5X telephoto to compose a shot. The blue cloudless sky framed the top of the image; rabbitbrush bathed in morning light anchored the bottom. And between those two slices of nature were the crisp white blades against the purple mountains.

One frame. That’s all I shot. I glanced over at the charger. It was time to unplug and hit the road.

For the next 391 miles, I didn’t stop to take a picture. There were temptations, but I kept remembering her words: “Shhh, don’t talk. Don’t say a word.” So I didn’t. Not wanting to ruin the moment, I kept driving.

After returning home, unpacking the car, washing clothes, and answering dozens of emails, I could finally browse through some of the pictures from the road trip.

There were many wonderful shots. Candids of my fellow photographers exploring the Arizona landscape, the perfect posture of Courthouse Butte with Bell Rock at its side, an old 1937 Dodge firetruck in Jerome… and that single frame from Mojave.

It’s a picture that will mean little to most viewers. But for me, it’s a heart so full it can barely contain an avalanche of feelings. It’s gratitude, freedom, and solitude all pressed into a single frame.

I don’t know if I’ve ever taken just one picture before.

But that’s what I did in Mojave.

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