The shaman urged us to walk quickly through the confetti-strewn ground, and we did. I followed Viaan through the crowd of onlookers, until we reached the group of students, where she signed her name on a piece of paper, thus indicating her attendance at this sacred ceremony.
I entered the path towards the Peralta trailhead. 7 miles to go. The white, sandy ridges locked me in on both sides as I urged my toyota forward, making me wish I’d purchased a Ford Ranger.
The foreboding Superstition Mountains with their jagged peaks loomed in the near distance, reminding me of the solitude to come.
Many fellow travelers were leaving, but few were entering, leaving me guessing about the safety of the trail, its dangers, its secrets.