On the way to Joshua tree

On the way to Joshua Tree, we stopped in a little town called Yucca Valley to get provisions. It was so small and out of the way that not a single person in the tiny grocery store recognized the band.

“Don’t forget the orange juice,” Killian commanded. “We have to have orange juice.”

“I didn’t know you liked orange juice so much,” I said.

“It’s for all of us,” he explained. “Helps with the mushrooms. Intensifies the high. And helps you wash them down, since they taste like shite.”

“Literally,” Derek said. “Since they grow in cow shit.”

“Great,” I muttered, my stomach turning – and not just from the image of what I was going to ingest being plucked out of cow patties.

No, my stomach was upset because now it was real.

This was really going to happen.

We actually didn’t go to Joshua Tree National Park – at least not right away. Instead, we wound our way through dusty back roads, past trailer homes and barren fields of cactus and rock, until we wound up at a tiny group of cabins out in th