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22 December 2023
THE DEVIL'S WORKSHOP
Our TV only had two channels, and the only thing watchable was an old ‘70s movie about aliens. So we watch the old ‘70s movie about aliens. It's a bit slow, and so I read Candide and watch the movie at the same time. This works fine for about 40 minutes or so. Then I'm out cold.
I dream that I walk past a room with its door half open. There was an uncomfortable, bright green light streaking out into the hallway. I looked in and saw a naked, skinny old man frantically shaving his whole body. He was pale blue and parts of his body were covered in shaving cream. Then I came to a staircase that winded down about 100 floors, climbed onto the banister and jumped,...
I wake up at this point and have no clue where I am. Everything was black for a while. Then I notice the bed I'm in, Shalon in the other bed, the inn, the town, the desert.
Shalon is still awake, so I turn around and say, "I just had the most fucked-up sequence of dreams."
We go outside so that Shalon can smoke. It's two in the morning now and Shoshone is dead and quiet, except for the little decorative pond making dripping sounds
besides us.
I couldn't shake off that dream all night.
10:30 AM • DAY 2
The alarm clock rings the first time at 10:00, but Shalon hits that button that makes it ring again five minutes later. She continues to do so until 10:30. We finally wake up and she tells me she just dreamt that she was being haunted. She also says she woke up in the middle of the night because she suddenly couldn't breathe anymore.
11:22 AM • RESTAURANT
We're across the street from the Shoshone Inn now at a restaurant called "Restaurant". There's a cardboard cowboy holding a gun and a menu board. Across from us is a post office, a gas station and a market. (Gas prices are insane.)
As we first walked into the Restaurant, it was empty except for two men who stared at us as though they had been practicing this scene all day. We decide to sit outside so that Shalon can smoke. Shalon orders iced tea and I order hot water, so that I can use one of the tea bags I brought. I taste Shalon's iced tea. I decide I'd rather have iced tea, so I order one, too. The waitress is blunt and has an accent-- turns out she's from the Netherlands. The family beside us is also Dutch.
This town seems to exist mainly to accommodate people going to and from Las Vegas. Unless they're Dutch, German or Swiss, of course, in which case they're all going on to Death Valley. The Germanic race loves to hike and climb up and down things, especially if the sun is beating down on them.
Right then everything was perfect. There was a soft breeze and iced tea and desert, desert, desert as far as you could see. We don't feel like ever going back and would like nothing more than to travel on for another week or two. How great to leave L.A. and everything in it behind. The thought of going home again is truly unsympathetic.
For some reason, Shoshone has a little museum in an old gas station, where you can buy maps and books and look at a prehistoric rhinoceros skeleton. They also had the greatest primitive paintings of weird, old, smiling men in hats. They were hilarious and I would have bought one of them if they were on sale. Instead, I buy a book called Soiled Doves: Prostitution in the Early West.
The cashier guy is another elderly man who says, "Hello there, little lady," to me. That was pretty priceless. We ask him where he's from, because he has the weirdest accent we've ever heard. He says he's from England. I wonder if there are any Americans that work in this town.
Gas costs $2.16 a gallon out here, but we fuel up anyway. We buy water, red vines, gum, and, of course, beef jerky.
1:15 PM
We finally drive out of Shoshone. The Freemason lodge turns out to be a church-- there's a large sign that says "Catholic Church" in front of it. Huh. Thinking of Shoshone as a Catholic community seems hard. I would have thought Protestant if anything at all.
"He's looking for that place and I hope he finds it,..."
We listen to “Me and Bobby McGee”. Before I know it, I'm explaining to Shalon how Janis Joplin died the night before she was going to record the lyrics to the last song of for her album Pearl ("Buried Alive in the Blues").
We stop at some kind of a trailer park in the middle of nowhere called Tecopa. I keep on calling it "Tepoka" for some reason. There's another one of those strange trailer laundry places, but this one has shattered window panes covering the floor, the washing machines seem to be old and no longer in use, and the whole place seems more or less abandoned.
DEATH VALLEY
We turn onto I-178 and are soon in Death Valley. We didn't exactly know where it began but we know we're in it now. And now we're talking about blues, folk, gospel, ragtime and jazz. We actually get very deep about it all, and become technical and scientific; trying to figure out what came first, where what sprang from, and the general chronological order of American music.
BADWATER BASIN
This is the lowest elevation in the U.S. (-282 ft.). We stop and get out. It's so fucking hot that I think I'm going to collapse. The heat is totally insane. I don't think I've ever been in this kind of heat. Florida can get pretty damn hot, but it's humid and suffocating, whereas this heat is completely dry, overwhelming and depressing. I've been in Nicaragua once too-- that was also hot. I guess it could be a tie.
We walk around for about three minutes and then get back into the car. There's a bunch of people actually walking way out on this little trail. I'm sure they're Dutch.
4:35 PM • FURNACE CREEK
We're in this artificially disgusting, tourist place called Furnace Creek. Supposedly there's a golf course here.
"Who the fuck would play golf in this heat?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Or anywhere at that?"
"I like golf."
FORTY-NINER CAFE
Everything here has these embarrassing names. We're not hungry at all, but we need to do something other than driving, so we eat salad in this dark, air-conditioned hole. Opposite from us are two Russian tourists contentedly eating their free rolls. They're sort of adorable, the way they sit silently, chewing and staring off at different things. They're badly dressed and very content. I have the bad luck always to be staring at them when one of them looks over.
Other than that: the prices are insane and I hate it when there's bread on the table. I had to buy a hot chocolate to take with me in the car.
We spend the rest of the day driving around.
DANTE'S VIEW
Dante's View is sort of impressive because it's so high up and really vast. I'm scared of heights though, so I can't go near the edge. And there are a lot of ravens there.
ZABRISKIE POINT
We liked Zabriskie Point more than Dante's View. I spent the first few minutes moaning because of the heat, but the further we walked, the more I liked it. My comments went from, "This is sorta neat, I guess," to "This is incredible."
A German tourist explains to someone else how he's waiting exactly for the right kind of light to take his picture. Shalon loses her scarf and has to climb down a rock to get it back.
7:30 PM • BACK ON THE ROAD SOMEWHERE
Everything in the desert has names like, “Devil's Cornfield”, “Funeral Peak”, “Last Chance Mountains”, “Devil's Hole”. Well, it IS called Death Valley.
I eat way too many red vines.
9:10 PM • EVENING AND NIGHT
We get to Stovepipe Wells, where we'll stay for the night. It's now dark again, but still as hot as ever. Even the wind is hot. This place was supposedly founded in the early ‘20s, but it looks more like a Disney World motel with a cowboy theme.
We get the cheapest room-- no TV-- and the loudest air-conditioning in the universe.
The evening seems long and endless before us, so we decide to make use of it any way we can. As always, neither of us is physically hungry, but we eat anyway. This time I can safely say that we ate more than a human being needs for survival.
The waiter is from Oregon and lives in the staff quarters out back. He says he's been here for about a month and will probably leave to Yellowstone soon. I feel sorry for his depressing life. Shalon whispers: "I think he needs to get laid. Wanna help him out?" But I can't hear what she's saying, so she has to repeat it over and over again. Finally I understand and say, "Maybe after four beers."
"Four beers, are you serious?"
"Well, no. He's too ugly."
Then we go to the bar and buy a drink to share.
The bartender says, "Two cups or two straws?" and laughs.
We take our drinks outside and wonder whether that was an age joke.
CLICK HERE TO READ PART THREE OF WEIRD OLD AMERICA.
Our TV only had two channels, and the only thing watchable was an old ‘70s movie about aliens. So we watch the old ‘70s movie about aliens. It's a bit slow, and so I read Candide and watch the movie at the same time. This works fine for about 40 minutes or so. Then I'm out cold.
I dream that I walk past a room with its door half open. There was an uncomfortable, bright green light streaking out into the hallway. I looked in and saw a naked, skinny old man frantically shaving his whole body. He was pale blue and parts of his body were covered in shaving cream. Then I came to a staircase that winded down about 100 floors, climbed onto the banister and jumped,...
I wake up at this point and have no clue where I am. Everything was black for a while. Then I notice the bed I'm in, Shalon in the other bed, the inn, the town, the desert.
Shalon is still awake, so I turn around and say, "I just had the most fucked-up sequence of dreams."
We go outside so that Shalon can smoke. It's two in the morning now and Shoshone is dead and quiet, except for the little decorative pond making dripping sounds
besides us.
I couldn't shake off that dream all night.
10:30 AM • DAY 2
The alarm clock rings the first time at 10:00, but Shalon hits that button that makes it ring again five minutes later. She continues to do so until 10:30. We finally wake up and she tells me she just dreamt that she was being haunted. She also says she woke up in the middle of the night because she suddenly couldn't breathe anymore.
11:22 AM • RESTAURANT
We're across the street from the Shoshone Inn now at a restaurant called "Restaurant". There's a cardboard cowboy holding a gun and a menu board. Across from us is a post office, a gas station and a market. (Gas prices are insane.)
As we first walked into the Restaurant, it was empty except for two men who stared at us as though they had been practicing this scene all day. We decide to sit outside so that Shalon can smoke. Shalon orders iced tea and I order hot water, so that I can use one of the tea bags I brought. I taste Shalon's iced tea. I decide I'd rather have iced tea, so I order one, too. The waitress is blunt and has an accent-- turns out she's from the Netherlands. The family beside us is also Dutch.
This town seems to exist mainly to accommodate people going to and from Las Vegas. Unless they're Dutch, German or Swiss, of course, in which case they're all going on to Death Valley. The Germanic race loves to hike and climb up and down things, especially if the sun is beating down on them.
Right then everything was perfect. There was a soft breeze and iced tea and desert, desert, desert as far as you could see. We don't feel like ever going back and would like nothing more than to travel on for another week or two. How great to leave L.A. and everything in it behind. The thought of going home again is truly unsympathetic.
For some reason, Shoshone has a little museum in an old gas station, where you can buy maps and books and look at a prehistoric rhinoceros skeleton. They also had the greatest primitive paintings of weird, old, smiling men in hats. They were hilarious and I would have bought one of them if they were on sale. Instead, I buy a book called Soiled Doves: Prostitution in the Early West.
The cashier guy is another elderly man who says, "Hello there, little lady," to me. That was pretty priceless. We ask him where he's from, because he has the weirdest accent we've ever heard. He says he's from England. I wonder if there are any Americans that work in this town.
Gas costs $2.16 a gallon out here, but we fuel up anyway. We buy water, red vines, gum, and, of course, beef jerky.
1:15 PM
We finally drive out of Shoshone. The Freemason lodge turns out to be a church-- there's a large sign that says "Catholic Church" in front of it. Huh. Thinking of Shoshone as a Catholic community seems hard. I would have thought Protestant if anything at all.
"He's looking for that place and I hope he finds it,..."
We listen to “Me and Bobby McGee”. Before I know it, I'm explaining to Shalon how Janis Joplin died the night before she was going to record the lyrics to the last song of for her album Pearl ("Buried Alive in the Blues").
We stop at some kind of a trailer park in the middle of nowhere called Tecopa. I keep on calling it "Tepoka" for some reason. There's another one of those strange trailer laundry places, but this one has shattered window panes covering the floor, the washing machines seem to be old and no longer in use, and the whole place seems more or less abandoned.
DEATH VALLEY
We turn onto I-178 and are soon in Death Valley. We didn't exactly know where it began but we know we're in it now. And now we're talking about blues, folk, gospel, ragtime and jazz. We actually get very deep about it all, and become technical and scientific; trying to figure out what came first, where what sprang from, and the general chronological order of American music.
BADWATER BASIN
This is the lowest elevation in the U.S. (-282 ft.). We stop and get out. It's so fucking hot that I think I'm going to collapse. The heat is totally insane. I don't think I've ever been in this kind of heat. Florida can get pretty damn hot, but it's humid and suffocating, whereas this heat is completely dry, overwhelming and depressing. I've been in Nicaragua once too-- that was also hot. I guess it could be a tie.
We walk around for about three minutes and then get back into the car. There's a bunch of people actually walking way out on this little trail. I'm sure they're Dutch.
4:35 PM • FURNACE CREEK
We're in this artificially disgusting, tourist place called Furnace Creek. Supposedly there's a golf course here.
"Who the fuck would play golf in this heat?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Or anywhere at that?"
"I like golf."
FORTY-NINER CAFE
Everything here has these embarrassing names. We're not hungry at all, but we need to do something other than driving, so we eat salad in this dark, air-conditioned hole. Opposite from us are two Russian tourists contentedly eating their free rolls. They're sort of adorable, the way they sit silently, chewing and staring off at different things. They're badly dressed and very content. I have the bad luck always to be staring at them when one of them looks over.
Other than that: the prices are insane and I hate it when there's bread on the table. I had to buy a hot chocolate to take with me in the car.
We spend the rest of the day driving around.
DANTE'S VIEW
Dante's View is sort of impressive because it's so high up and really vast. I'm scared of heights though, so I can't go near the edge. And there are a lot of ravens there.
ZABRISKIE POINT
We liked Zabriskie Point more than Dante's View. I spent the first few minutes moaning because of the heat, but the further we walked, the more I liked it. My comments went from, "This is sorta neat, I guess," to "This is incredible."
A German tourist explains to someone else how he's waiting exactly for the right kind of light to take his picture. Shalon loses her scarf and has to climb down a rock to get it back.
7:30 PM • BACK ON THE ROAD SOMEWHERE
Everything in the desert has names like, “Devil's Cornfield”, “Funeral Peak”, “Last Chance Mountains”, “Devil's Hole”. Well, it IS called Death Valley.
I eat way too many red vines.
9:10 PM • EVENING AND NIGHT
We get to Stovepipe Wells, where we'll stay for the night. It's now dark again, but still as hot as ever. Even the wind is hot. This place was supposedly founded in the early ‘20s, but it looks more like a Disney World motel with a cowboy theme.
We get the cheapest room-- no TV-- and the loudest air-conditioning in the universe.
The evening seems long and endless before us, so we decide to make use of it any way we can. As always, neither of us is physically hungry, but we eat anyway. This time I can safely say that we ate more than a human being needs for survival.
The waiter is from Oregon and lives in the staff quarters out back. He says he's been here for about a month and will probably leave to Yellowstone soon. I feel sorry for his depressing life. Shalon whispers: "I think he needs to get laid. Wanna help him out?" But I can't hear what she's saying, so she has to repeat it over and over again. Finally I understand and say, "Maybe after four beers."
"Four beers, are you serious?"
"Well, no. He's too ugly."
Then we go to the bar and buy a drink to share.
The bartender says, "Two cups or two straws?" and laughs.
We take our drinks outside and wonder whether that was an age joke.
CLICK HERE TO READ PART THREE OF WEIRD OLD AMERICA.
artid
804
Old Image
4_11_mercedes.swf
issue
vol 4 - issue 11 (aug 2002)
section
pen_think