There are certain destinations on this journey that make me wonder whether the Wayside is aware of people like me, people who plan to see as much of it as possible, and I wonder if the Wayside, which is more of a concept that a place and much more of a place than an actual thinking entity, is mean.
Take ‘The Cactus Maze,’ for example. Why would it ever need to exist except as a punishment for those of us who choose to explore the dusty corners of the nation? And why is it that the hardest or most painful attractions are the cheapest and easiest to access? I’ve driven past ‘The Cactus Maze’ a dozen times and I’ve always found a reason to avoid it- that it looked too busy or that it was too cold for something outdoors or that I had a small, fragile rabbit traveling along that would do poorly in such a pointed environment.
This time as I approached, on my way to somewhere else entirely, I saw that the old, sun-word billboards carried a fresh addendum: the cacti are blooming it said.
Well, now I have no choice.
‘When most people think of a maze, they think of it mainly in two dimensions. It’s a matter of moving forward, and sometimes backward, and making left-or-right sort of choices until our simple logic is rewarded with an escape from a trap we set for ourselves. ‘The Cactus Maze’ adds a third dimension of play with the addition of carefully placed, ground-lingering cacti and bonsaied cacti that jut their arms into the paths one is expected to navigate in order to succeed. ‘The Cactus Maze’ expects a bit of up-and-down thinking, and it rewards those visitors who are willing to get a little hurt by making the experience that much shorter. Those who choose to draw the maze out will find their paths narrowing.’
The maze is beautiful, I will give it that. Regardless of the flowers, ‘The Cactus Maze’ incorporates a variety of species that I have only ever noted on their own. And the sheer density of cactus is something new for me as well. I’m used to considering the lone cactus out of the corner of my eye, stepping over as I traipse through some desert trail or avoiding as I veer off to piss in a bush.
In ‘The Cactus Maze,’ I begin to hear the cacti. They bristle against each other in the wind. They scritch and scrape as lizards drag their scales between the spines. The cacti at the entrance have been vandalized, their skins thick with names and slurs. Past a turn or two, however, there is no sign that anybody has been through in a while. It’s an intimidating place, dark and near-silent in a way that makes a corn maze seem jovial.
I come to a path made hopscotch by the growth of little cacti pups and navigate it with relative ease. I find the same pattern around the next bend, only a large cactus lays sideways across like a fallen log. I’d assume it was an accident, but I know better, and I make it across with a few small snags in my pants. I regret bringing my backpack with me. I worry I might not have enough water.
I crawl through a narrow cactus tunnel. I clamber over a massive cactus, carefully placing my hands where its spines have been pruned away. I pass through a hall of cacti that look like men. People have clothed them: a doctor, a santa claus, a marine. I lend a bandana to the cowboy and things get a little easier after that. The blooming cacti are dazzling in the low sun. I find myself standing to admire them, not something I’ve allowed myself to do at a place like this in a while.
After an hour, I recognize the sound of the interstate. The difficulty has eased and the forks have dropped off entirely. Finally, I turn a corner and find myself at a dead end, blocked by brutal, unblooming cacti. They hold a toy skeleton between them and it, in turn, holds a sign:
Sorry, pardner. Best head back the way you came.
-traveler
