West of the Sierra Nevada the scenery away from the coast tends to be less spectacular. Lemon groves, orchards, vineyards and oil extracting nodding donkeys tend to be the order of the day. Pleasant enough, but not inspiring.
So our drive away from Sequoia took us around the southern tip of the mountain range to the edge of Death Valley again. This time the town of Ridgcrest.
Despite the limitations of my weakened leg, I grabbed the opportunity to hit the hot tub that 20,000 Hilton reward points had paid for alongside our bed for the night.
Wading in, I discovered a butterfly on the surface of the water. Apparently struggling. Being a soft sod, and also wanting the tub to myself, I lifted the butterfly out of the water and placed him, twitching, by the side of the pool. A kind act to save him from drowning I thought.
Rachel turned on the bubbles and I laid back to enjoy the water pressure hammering into my pelvis. It may be no replacement for radiotherapy but the idea of something attacking the tumour, even with ridiculous futility, brought a smile to my face.
After a few minutes the bubbles stopped. I checked on the butterfly to discover him lifeless. Still. Dead.
My rescue attempt failed. Perhaps even the cause of the poor creature’s demise. With little further thought I continued to enjoy the warm waters. Pondering how once we’re gone few will remember us with more than a cursory thought. Best make the most of what time we’ve got then!