Armen woke to silence. The moon shone high above the desert, and everything around him shined white, but there was no snow. There was just a white dust on everything around him, himself included.
He looked for his bike. It was gone.
Armen came across another creek that night. He could see the creekâs alluvial fan spread out across a mile of desert before him. The creek was dry, but shrubs and a few trees scattered along its banks attested to the presence of water beneath the dry earth. The stream seemed to flow out of canyon that cut directly into the wall from where he stood. Something about the cut of that canyon in that pale midnight ambiance tug upon him, but he marched on.
The Aqueduct wound above the shores of Owens lake as Armen followed it through the early morning hours, past Hockett Hill, Bartlett, and the Alabama Hills. He finally came upon a road crossing the Aqueduct just before dawn, and followed the road into the town of Lone Pine.