The relationship of man and the California desert (43USC1781)

This is what you do when you have a three-day weekend and you don't care about the Super Bowl: You talk your husband into going to see wildflowers in the desert. We considered booking a spot at Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, but when all but handicapped spots were available, we opted for Agua Caliente County Park.

You don't keep track of kick-off time, but at about the same moment, you jump off into these: three crystal-clear pools, two of which are fed by natural hot springs. The jets in the hottest one were so relaxing and the view from the greenhouse was so peaceful that we could even ignore the white-haired retiree walking in circles, repeating the word "whirlpool" over and over until someone would acknowledge him so he could stop to chat.

 

 

You don't enjoy the extensive appetizer spread of a Super Bowl party, particularly the chicken wings, so you satiate yourself with a barbecue of delicious steaks over a campfire instead. We did not, however, go without the refreshments (a fitting Samuel Adams Alpine Spring Lager) of the aforementioned party, which is obligatory at any campfire or barbecue anyway.

 

You don't sweat skipping the Madonna halftime show because there are equal spectacles to behold while hiking the Mountain Palm Springs Loop Trail. More unexpected than a wardrobe malfunction was the lovely oasis of palms in the middle of the desert, where we discovered our own bowl, the Torote Bowl. Sage and I sat on the sidelines while TJ went for the extra point by scrambling up the rocks of the Torote trail, named after the Spanish word for elephant trees.

 

 

You don't witness the Giants' win, but you learn about some harder-driving patriots at Vallecito Stage Station, where hundreds of hopeful Americans stopped on their cross-country journey to California, where they planned to pan for gold (way better than the silver of the Vince Lombardi Trophy).

You don't get to coo over the Puppy Bowl (especially since it incorporated pigs and birds this year), so you spy plenty of diverse wildlife in the desert instead. From our campsite alone, we saw (clockwise from top left): desert cottontails, Gambel's quails, bighorn sheep, and bobcats (I swear that the little speck of white directly up from the middle of the rock in the bushes is the light underside fur of its cropped tail).   

You don't miss the banal broadcasters, especially when you have color canine Sage on the rock instead of in the booth. Surely, he was as insightful as Boomer in providing commentary about potential dangers to the team (TJ assisted with play-by-play, especially since the last time Sage was so intent on the area beyond the campsite he got porcupined in the face). Who knows what was out there, especially considering we saw this spaceship along the road the next day.

 

You don't worry about the commercials, especially since everyone will be talking about them on Facebook the next day anyhow, and besides, you come for the advertised wonders of the desert, the wildflowers. In all honesty, the flora was definitely not in full bloom, but there were spots of colors to be found amid the dust if you took the time to look.

 

 

You don't guiltlessly spend all day sitting on the couch staring at a television screen, but you indulgently take in the pastel sunsets over the canyons each night. Indeed, the moon was the only satellite service we needed for one of our favorite American pastimes.