Mojave is a brutish town, and we successfully neroed. We took care of our ever-present chores of resupplying and mailing items from the post office. I picked up more vitamins, some magnesium supplements, and some probiotics to help my ailing calves and insides, respectively. We hung around the meager lobby of the motel for the rest of the day, the owner of which was visibly off-put by our continued presence. We finished our chores and evacuated the motel to one of the two restaurants in town, the mexican-american-pizza joint we hit up the night before. Doug, who gave us a ride into town, gave us a ride back up, with his wife Sandy accompanying. Rather than us hiking the extremely uninteresting, windswept and cow-ridden 8 miles between Tehachapi-willow springs road and highway 58, they drove us along the canyon road and chatted with us. Far more civilized. Besides, my calf was still on the fritz and I wanted to give it a bit more rest. We hiked one foul, smelly mile along the north side of hwy 58 and quickly made camp off trail. Several curious (presumably) rednecks spotlighted us from the highway, no doubt scoffing at the small size of our headlamps.
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