I’m 26 miles out on a sandy washboard road in Escalante. It goes to the edge of a gorge where Mormons tunneled through solid rock to get the wagons through. I stop to camp for a popular hike tomorrow in the slot canyons. It’s funny. You’d think a little privacy could be found here at the end of the Earth, among the desert burr and spiny amaranth. But no, there’s just me, the wind, and a white van camping next to me. After a quick dinner, I roll out my bedding in the back of the car. The wind is getting stronger. I contribute to the desert patina of toothpaste, brush the spiny parts from my clothes, and crawl in bed.

There’s a mouse that lives in my car. I cleaned out his nest before the trip. It was under the spare tire. He must of laid low, and hung in for the long haul. I can hear him squeezing through the plastic parts in the wheel-well underneath the car. Life hasn’t been this bad for him since he chewed on my seat belts during the famine of 2020. As my commute ended due to Covid, his supply of Little Debbie crumbs and coffee puddles dried up.

I’ll call him Buddy, he’s from NC State. The park and ride mice have a racket there. They’re clever stock, he might even have a little lab mouse in him. I’m sure his life has gotten worse this past week because I started sleeping in the car. When I was in the tent, I’d lock him alone in the car with the food. I bought a mouse trap in Durango, one of the real ones, wooden with a heavy spring. No luck. I can hear him under the seats beneath me. He must be hungry I foiled his search for a meal this day. The food’s on top of the car. He’ll have to make his move when I go out on my hike today. But I’ll be ready for him, setting traps and hiding the food.

Where does he get water? Does he know he has to get back in the car before it goes away? He must. I’ve got to keep him guessing, switching up the schedule. Now it’s 6:00 am. He must hate these early pre-dawn hikes. I heard him outside the car rummaging through my cooking boxes. I went out there to move the boxes hoping I could scare him off into the desert but no luck.

The first light of Dawn in the East. The man in the white van is not up yet. I’m making coffee. I imagine banging on his van, “Coffee’s ready!” “What?’, He says. “Who the hell are you, Julia Child of the desert?”

It looks like Buddy got a bit of my Anaheim pepper. Foiled.

I should have packed up and pulled away quickly when I heard him outside. I can imagine him screaming now, “Wait please don’t leave me here in this desolate place. I like the mountains better.” I decide not to set a trap while I’m out on my hike, he gives me so much to write about. If I leave an offering of food perhaps he wont chew through my brake lines.

I drive a quarter mile up to the trailhead, past many small creatures in the headlights. When I get out, I see a fat brown mouse under the car. Buddy must have been clinging to the undercarriage. He tries climbing the tires but I kick some gravel his way and he scurries for cover out in the sage brush. I quickly moved the car to the other end of the lot. That might do it. So long and good luck little buddy.