GonnaHappen – The Wild Adventures of Dave & Aaron: Obsidian Dust and Gas Station Burritos
Written by Aaron G. Beebe
A GonnaHappen Chronicles Exclusive
We started out with the bold plan of hiking Mt. Whitney—highest peak in the Lower 48, bucket list material, bragging rights for days. We packed snacks, overestimated our cardio, and declared it the “bro-quest of the year.”
But that dream derailed faster than a downhill wagon full of fireworks.
We got distracted. Then we got lost. Then we started arguing… for seven straight hours. About what? No one remembers. Probably maps. Probably Dave’s playlist. Probably the meaning of life.
Somewhere between existential bickering and passive-aggressive trail snacks, we blacked out—mentally, emotionally, spiritually—and woke up in the middle of Obsidian Field.
The air was crisp. The silence? Deafening. Our first words?
> “Where the hell are we?”
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Enter: a Native American filmmaker, seemingly summoned from the desert ether like a peyote shaman crossed with Scorsese. He said we were now part of his documentary project, filming "modern men rediscovering their primal idiocy.” We were honored.
Cue the mobbing.
Mono Lake’s sand dunes became our racetrack, our therapy session, and our battlefield. We were 50 miles deep into nowhere, tearing up moon-colored dust like two feral aboriginal spirits in a beat-up Toyota Highlander that screamed for retirement. That call was answered—because by the end, we needed four brand-new struts, an oil pan, and maybe an exorcism. We made that SUV suffer.
Somewhere along the way, we attempted to hike 11,000 feet up, because what else do two dehydrated, overconfident mountain men do?
Mono General Store became our checkpoint. We stumbled in looking like ash-covered extras from Mad Max. The woman behind the counter took one look and said:
> “Well, you two aren’t pussies.”
We took that as a divine blessing.
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Then came the gas station burrito. $6. Wrapped in foil. Questionable meat. Tasted like glory. That burrito gave us life. It gave us power.
Then came the chaos: nude women bathing by rocks, Native Americans performing rituals, cops who probably smelled whiskey and regret, and us—just trying to find a damn hot spring and our souls.
We drank. Heavily.
Not wisely. Not legally. Just spiritually.
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But then... Dave fell in love.
Or so he claimed.
Her name? Kristy—with a K.
At first, I thought it was a cruel hallucination of his ex, Christy with a C. But no—this Kristy had tattoos, a lifted Jeep, and wore flip-flops like armor. For three glorious hours, Dave was reborn. He spoke of destiny. Of soulmates. Of moving to Bishop.
And then she ghosted him mid-burrito.
Short-lived. Brutal. Perfect.
Dave still claims it was “real.”
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Eventually, the Highlander got buried in moon dust. We dug for hours. Dave gunned it too early and blasted a volcanic tail of ash straight into my chest like a disrespectful geyser. I looked like a powdered donut with abandonment issues.
We sat in silence. Dirty. Beaten. But laughing.
Because sometimes, you have to lose your way, ruin your car, fall for a mirage named Kristy-with-a-K, and nearly die in the desert to remember…
Life is ridiculous—and that’s why it’s worth it.
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GonnaHappen Chronicles — True Tales from the Edge of Sanity
Written by Aaron G. Beebe
Aaron G. Beebe
Founder, GonnaHappen
📞 530-457-5988
✉️ aaron@gonnahappen.com
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