Just outside the dusty, run-down dot on the map that is Desert Center there’s an empty grave perched on a rocky hillside, overlooking Interstate 10 and a heavily graffitied gas station surrounded by dead palm trees. This is a point of interest on the forthcoming Chuckwalla Loop of the Desert Collective.
The placard, handmade by a man who’d dug his own grave reads:
DESERT STEVE
Born June 16 1882
Founded DC Sept 21 1921
Worked like hell to be and honest citizen
Loved his fellow men & served them
Hated booze guzzling
Hated war
Hated Dirty Deal Damn Fool Politicians
Hopes a guy named Ragsdale will ever serve humanity at Desert Center
He dug his own grave
Here are his bones
I put this damn thing up before I kicked off
NUFF SED — STEVE
DIED___________ 194__
I’ve been visiting Desert Steve’s empty grave from time to time over the past 15-ish years now, and each time I get a bit more curious to know more of his story. Turns out he was banished from his own town and ended up living in the mountains not far from me, in Idyllwild, California. From what I can glean, he was a bit of a kook, maybe the original MAGA, and almost certainly lived a bold and full life. I will be attempting to tell his story and more with the next chapter of the Desert Collective Bicycle Touring Routes; the Chuckwalla Loop.
SoCal Bikepacking 