Nothing seems as distant as your destination when crossing
the desert in summer. Sometimes even a brief stop at a ramshackle gas station
proved refreshing when we could run inside and take turns standing in front of
the fan on the counter while grandma pumped gas out front.
Of course, back in the day,
I’m about to tell you about, there were no gas stations. Anywhere. But there is
a place where you suddenly glide down from the menacing high desert mountains
into a veritable wonderland of flatland grass and a natural spring. No wonder
everyone stopped there.
Nestled in the heart of ‘earthquake valley’ in the Anza
Borrego desert are remnants of a once bustling stagecoach station called
Vallecito (little valley), where weary travelers and their burros could rest
and replenish water and supplies.
However, having come through the ‘journey of death’ across the
unforgiving desert, many weren’t able to go any further.
Such as the Lady in White, who was assumed to have traveled cross-country alone to meet her
prospective husband (some speculate she was a mail-order bride), only to die of
exhaustion and dehydration in a back room of the station. Although she was
buried in a wedding dress found in her suitcase, and hers is one of only three
gravesites in the old cemetery, her restless spirit is said to roam the valley
ridges on moonlit nights, an unsettling vision;
in tears, and flowing white.
As the first official transcontinental route (between Yuma
and San Diego) for stage lines and emigrant caravans alike, especially during
the Gold Rush days, Vallecito became a principal
stop for the antecedents of the Pony Express, though back then it was called
Jackass Mail.
While the stagecoach that ran between Carrizo wash and Vallecito station is of small
note in history these days; stories abound of sightings of four mules pulling a
coach with a driver who sits slumped over. If by
morning you’re not sure you saw what you
think you did, wagon wheel tracks in the deep, soft sand are quite convincing
that someone (perhaps the mailman?) wants the trail to remain open.
And then there are the fireballs. Reportedly seen (since as
far back as 1858) north of Vallecito station as burning balls; projecting
soundlessly up and exploding into cascading flames that light even the darkest
of night skies. If there is an explanation for these sightings, I haven’t found
it. But, as one local historian puts it; “Don’t gaze long into the darkened
night…for something is undoubtedly looking back.”
Do you have a favorite road trip memory? Would you camp in
earthquake valley? What do you think those fireballs are?
