A few days ago, I did an odd thing, an activity most people my age and living in this desert city would think half crazed. I had to drop off my vehicle, ‘The Flagon Wagon,’ at the mechanic which was roughly five miles downhill from my place, ‘The Bone Manor.’
This was more of an upscale place which would drive you back to your place if you needed them to. My wonderful wife would have certainly gone with me or picked me up as well.
For some reason, to be honest I wasn’t completely sure at the time, but I made no arrangement to schedule a ride or be picked up.
Was I trying to test myself? Perhaps I wanted to embrace the heat of Tucson on the hottest day of the summer. Maybe I wanted to see what it’s like for the sad homeless who can’t escape this town even when the heat radiates into a furnace where every hot breath entering your lungs brings you closer to heat stroke.
Most likely, it was a mix of all three.
Also, since I wasn’t going to have my car for a while, I stopped at a store and filled up my backpack, you know, just to make it easier.
I walked by dozens of homeless on my travels. A hard 90 minutes for me, but a long agonizing day for them. Yet even those 90 minutes came to call on me. The heat blasted off the pavement and baked me as I put some grit into my step. Soon I realized my usual powerwalking might get me in trouble and I had to slow my pace. Stay more in line with the tortoise, the chuckwalla, and the indigent. Each of us slowly moving through the waves of heat with only scraps of shade provided by the occasional cactus and gnarled mesquite tree.
How is it we can drive by the homeless on our way to the store, with money stuffed plastic and riding comfortably in airconditioned machines worth more than any ten of them consume in a year, without it crushing our spirit? Maybe some of us pass the blame onto those without housing. It is their fault, laziness, maligned lifestyles, and unusually hard luck has taken them down. Perhaps a few of us think they are getting what they deserve-reaping what they have sown.
Some people try to help. A donated dollar here and there. Donating time or money to agencies. Others even assist the homeless as a profession. Knowing these agencies, which our taxes pays for, helps reduce our obligations. “Someone will take care of them.” Whatever helps us rationalize the guilt as we cruise past them to buy more food and comforts or work at a place which helps insure we never end up like the poor bastards we zoom by.
My boys and I hand out Rice Krispy Treats when we get the chance. Nobody has ever turned one down.
It makes sense to see the homeless here in Tucson during the winter. If you lived in a colder region, why wouldn’t you try to migrate here? Why remain in a place which could kill you when you can enjoy mild days and survivable nights? But why are people still here now? This time of year, the heat can kill. Anyplace would be better than here.
Why can’t they escape?
Maybe they don’t want to.
A dozen species of mammals and hundreds of types of reptiles and birds remain in the southwest throughout the summer. The desert has been their home long before our hairy little ancestors discovered fire. Why should humans be different?
Shouldn’t we try to escape if we can? Like I said in the last article, only the ultra rich and some of the homeless poor are free to move as they please. Whether it is having the capital to do well… anything, or the questionable advantage of having no strings or ties to anything which could make us free.
I wouldn’t stay in northern Alaska over the winter if I was homeless, so why do they remain here? I pass by another cluster of homeless men. They ask me for a smoke but when I say I don’t have one they leave it at that. Perhaps they think I am one of them, but probably not. I’m too pale and don’t have the dusty sun scarred faces these men possess.
Like the half-arsed anthropologist I am, I continue, just dipping into the daylong blaze they consider life. Yet even this exposure thanks its toil. My ten mile a day bike rides in Flagstaff have become well prepared dinners and luxuries here in Tucson. It’s easy to say, I’ve never had it as good as I do now. I can eat well and possess the supplies to prepare for something like this which is a good thing for my older body begins to feel the pressure of my pack as I move through the building heat.
It’s supposed to reach a 112 today. Not as bad as some places but hotter than most. People talk about humidity and I know it can make situations more deadly, but there is still something about this ‘Dry Heat.’ There is a certain lifelessness here. Every plant you see is either dead or slowly dying. Fingers and feet turn dry and crack. Tempers flare and hot vehicles cover parking lots full of stains which the rains won’t wash away for weeks.
Before I reached the final nine lanes of traffic I must cross, I sense a tugging twinge. I feel the same as I did twenty or thirty years ago, but my body gives me a little indication it’s less happy about my trek. Just a little whisper of a quickened breath and shift in my shoulder. I’ve been trapped in the summer desert before and only escaped through careful strides and thoughtful rests.
Waiting for the light brings some relief but I’m sweating so much under my Stetson, I have to wipe my eyes clean every minute. After crossing, its uphill for about a mile all the while the cars rip by on the blacktop which pounds into me with its reflective heat.
What might the drivers think of me? Do they see me as a lonely man out in the impossible heat with all his possessions crammed into my heavy backpack. This was me eight years ago, but I bet it would surprise them if they discovered I now live in a house probably nicer than most of them.
Letting them move as they will, I’m forced to slow my pace as the heat takes its toll. I know a shady place to rest once the hill levels off and I’m almost back to my air conditioned haven. Businesses dot my side of the road. Dentists, real estate agents, and spas line up like kids waiting for the bus. Would they give me a glass of water if I asked? How often do they look out over their cold drinks to see tired men shamble by?
Pressing on, I reach the crest after the heat has almost beaten me and enjoy a seat in the shade. Close now. Perhaps half a mile to go. What if this shade was the best I could hope for? What if there were so many of us there was no room left in the shade?
The number of homeless will only continue to rise in this country and around the world as resources dwindle and the price of limited housing grows ever higher. Perhaps one day there will be more homeless than homed as the mega rich horde half of the world’s incomes and buy up all the land they can.
I’ll tell you what you see when you look out your window at the sunburned man on the side of the road. You’re seeing the future and baby for most people it’s going to be a nightmare we couldn’t wrap our heads around.
Sometimes I wonder if I should be doing everything I can every moment to prep for this with my family and friends or relax by being part of the last generation to enjoy a cold one before they are gone.
What do you think?
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Thanks for listening feel free to add your take below
If you like cyberpunk dystopia tales, please take a second to look over my Skinjumper novel.
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WildernessPunk 