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22 December 2023
11:37AM
We drive out of Stovepipe Wells with the “Amelie Waltz”. I make a note: no more alcohol with military personnel.
Both Shalon and I are a little quieter today.
The air is dancing in the heat and there are dips in the road that send my stomach up into my mouth.
We drive peacefully down the same road. I attempt making a sketch of the road while driving (not successfully).
Our conversation turns to the desert and we start naming things. We call the vast field of rocks "God's Rockgarden"-- and shortly afterward change it to "Devil's Rockgarden". We feel much better after having labeled some unnamed portion of Death Valley.
Next, we drive through a vast area that we name "Mars".
We stop by the side of the empty highway and get out. I love standing by the side of roads that trail off into the distance and disappear into hills at the horizon. I've always wanted to see a desert road, but was convinced that they didn't exist.
12:30PM - PANAMINT SPRINGS
This place is great. It's a tiny gas station and restaurant with a little motel in the back. It's privately owned and has nothing of the sickening touristy air that Furnace Creek or Stovepipe Wells has.
We sit down outside in the shade of the porch, and once again everything is perfect. The owner/waiter/manager comes out to take our orders, and he's another one of those adorable elderly men. The desert seems to be full of them.
Next to us is an old couple who say they saw us last night in Stovepipe Wells. I ask them where they're from. Oklahoma. I think that's great, without really knowing why. There's something about the whole Bible belt that I'm fascinated with. The woman has an accent, the man doesn't. They begin to explain in detail all the highways they took to get here and become way too intricate. I don't know how to end this conversation.
I note down in my notebook: "This place is definitely purdy. There's a tree or two here and a patch of mysteriously green grass."
We look at the map and realize that we have to drive about a mile back the way we just came from in order to get on the right highway. We make sure to remember this.
Shalon and I talk about puzzles, and I get a serving of french fries the size of Texas. Shalon and I can't even eat a quarter of it together.
The friendly owner comes back out and says, "Want more tea there, kiddo?"
1:50PM
We're back on the road and are now getting into the mountains. As mentioned, I'm scared of heights, and Shalon doesn't love them either, so we have a great time winding along the sides of these narrow mountain roads. I can't help but think of earthquakes.
We are very talkative once again, and exchange a lot of nonsense. We say things like: "Let's bump that car off!"
2:00PM
The speed limit is 30mph-- it's the first time I couldn't agree more with a speed limit. We are going about 15 mph.
We’ve been driving through these treacherous mountains for about an hour and feeling very proud of what we have accomplished, when Shalon suddenly says, "Wouldn't it be funny if we were driving the wrong way all this time?"
There is a short pause. We realize instantaneously that that's exactly what just happened-- we never drove back that one mile to get to the right turn. It's painfully funny. We are laughing so badly that my lungs hurt and tears come streaming down my face. However, as soon as we are done laughing, we get pissed off, and crawl back through the mountains.
I offer to drive, but Shalon says, "No, it's all right-- it's worse for you." I think what she really means is: "HELL NO!"
3:40PM - WHISTLIN' PAST THE GRAVEYARD
We are no longer in Death Valley. Everything around us looks abandoned and depressing, even though we haven't come across any towns yet. Something about this area is miserable; suffocating and dead.
We see a military plane fly overhead. I look over at Shalon uneasily.
She returns the look and says, "That was a toy plane."
"What? That wasn't a toy plane. Who the hell would sit out in the desert here and play with a toy plane?"
"It's probably a camera."
We fall silent and immediately feel a little helpless and uncomfortable. For some reason, the only consolation I can think of is pressing the gas pedal down further. From then on, everything looks suspicious to us. We don't discuss it much, but point out everything odd we see while listening to Bob Dylan.
3:40PM - TRONA AND ARGUS
These are some freaky towns. Half of them consist of deserted buildings in various states of decay, but at the same time they make a weak pretense at being normally populated towns. There are little American flags fluttering in empty front and backyards, and a high school, but not a soul in sight.
The nail-clipping cashier was right-- you do not want to eat in Trona.
We follow a sign to the graveyard, which is situated next to a factory that has two rings of abandoned cargo trains around it. There is smoke coming out of various funnels of the factory, and two or three men in tractors drive by. Shalon takes pictures of the graveyard and I'm itching to get back in the car. I feel like we're the simple-minded victims in an X-Files episode.
The church has a sign in front of it: "Church of Christ", just in case people are wondering.
A black guy sitting on the back of a parked pick-up truck stares at us like he's going to burn holes into our faces. Three white trash teenagers walk down the road, also staring. What a life.
The supermarket looks scarier than a concentration camp.
4:02PM - RIDGECREST
A large, more evolved version of Argus and Trona. They even have a Bank of America here and a couple of junk-food chains. But everything is still appalling.
We get directions from an Indian gas station cashier. I ask him if there's a Starbucks in town, but he only smiles and says he doesn't know, he just moved there. I feel depressed for him. What's a sweet, innocent Indian guy doing in Ridgecrest? This whole area is like a graveyard. One doesn't MOVE there.
5:00PM - RANDSBURG
We are more or less out of White Trash Land and have found our way off the highway into a little ghost town called Randsburg, which is more than you could ask for. This place is like an old abandoned mining town. It looks so perfect, that you'd expect some weather-beaten man to step out into the sun-drenched road and say something like, "There ain't room enough in this town fer the both of us."
We go into the general store where I buy more red vines, an orange juice and a bottle of chocolate milk. The store is amazing. Everything is still original-- the ceiling, shelves, bar, and counter. This is the supermarket for the four or five people who live here. The old man who works there is perhaps the most adorable of all the old men so far. He seems a bit lost and helpless. Shalon confuses him somewhat, trying to order the right amount of fudge, but he doesn't seem to mind and says, "That's ok. We can handle that."
We say goodbye and he says, "All right".
I stare at a red vine as we drive on and marvel at it's glowing, electric red color in the evening sun.
OH, MAMA, IS THIS REALLY THE END?
Desert, desert, desert. This is all I've seen for days and am already upset at the thought that we are leaving it.
THE SUSPICIOUS "RALPH'S" TRUCK
"What's a Ralph's truck doing in the middle of the desert?"
"It's not REALLY a Ralph's truck, you know."
I smile. "Exactly."
5:45PM
I wanna eat more red vines, but wonder if this would be seriously damaging to my health.
The scenery is now becoming more inhabited. We pass a number of billboards that say things like, "We toss 'em, they're awesome!"
6:45PM
Starting to get tired. The sun has worn us out.
I try my best not to go unconscious. Everything we say sounds drawled out, like we're high on pot.
LOS ANGELES
Our trip is quickly winding to an end, and that's a sad thought. I'm so in love with these past three days that I already feel nostalgic. Shalon has a real cough now and just wants to go to bed. I want to turn east and cross the whole country.
As we drive off the highway onto Fourth Street I feel for the first time that I'm “going home.” Every time I've ever arrived in L.A. before, I arrived with a baggage of suspicion. Now, for the first time, I was feeling friendly towards this monster of a city.
In fact, I feel relieved in all sorts of ways. I feel like a big chunk of sanity has been restored to me and I can stop being such an uptight asshole. I feel like working again. I don't mind my neighbors anymore. The whole mass of shit is now disintegrating. Yep. The desert did the trick.
But that really doesn't change the fact that I am ready to pack my things and leave again right now.
We drive out of Stovepipe Wells with the “Amelie Waltz”. I make a note: no more alcohol with military personnel.
Both Shalon and I are a little quieter today.
The air is dancing in the heat and there are dips in the road that send my stomach up into my mouth.
We drive peacefully down the same road. I attempt making a sketch of the road while driving (not successfully).
Our conversation turns to the desert and we start naming things. We call the vast field of rocks "God's Rockgarden"-- and shortly afterward change it to "Devil's Rockgarden". We feel much better after having labeled some unnamed portion of Death Valley.
Next, we drive through a vast area that we name "Mars".
We stop by the side of the empty highway and get out. I love standing by the side of roads that trail off into the distance and disappear into hills at the horizon. I've always wanted to see a desert road, but was convinced that they didn't exist.
12:30PM - PANAMINT SPRINGS
This place is great. It's a tiny gas station and restaurant with a little motel in the back. It's privately owned and has nothing of the sickening touristy air that Furnace Creek or Stovepipe Wells has.
We sit down outside in the shade of the porch, and once again everything is perfect. The owner/waiter/manager comes out to take our orders, and he's another one of those adorable elderly men. The desert seems to be full of them.
Next to us is an old couple who say they saw us last night in Stovepipe Wells. I ask them where they're from. Oklahoma. I think that's great, without really knowing why. There's something about the whole Bible belt that I'm fascinated with. The woman has an accent, the man doesn't. They begin to explain in detail all the highways they took to get here and become way too intricate. I don't know how to end this conversation.
I note down in my notebook: "This place is definitely purdy. There's a tree or two here and a patch of mysteriously green grass."
We look at the map and realize that we have to drive about a mile back the way we just came from in order to get on the right highway. We make sure to remember this.
Shalon and I talk about puzzles, and I get a serving of french fries the size of Texas. Shalon and I can't even eat a quarter of it together.
The friendly owner comes back out and says, "Want more tea there, kiddo?"
1:50PM
We're back on the road and are now getting into the mountains. As mentioned, I'm scared of heights, and Shalon doesn't love them either, so we have a great time winding along the sides of these narrow mountain roads. I can't help but think of earthquakes.
We are very talkative once again, and exchange a lot of nonsense. We say things like: "Let's bump that car off!"
2:00PM
The speed limit is 30mph-- it's the first time I couldn't agree more with a speed limit. We are going about 15 mph.
We’ve been driving through these treacherous mountains for about an hour and feeling very proud of what we have accomplished, when Shalon suddenly says, "Wouldn't it be funny if we were driving the wrong way all this time?"
There is a short pause. We realize instantaneously that that's exactly what just happened-- we never drove back that one mile to get to the right turn. It's painfully funny. We are laughing so badly that my lungs hurt and tears come streaming down my face. However, as soon as we are done laughing, we get pissed off, and crawl back through the mountains.
I offer to drive, but Shalon says, "No, it's all right-- it's worse for you." I think what she really means is: "HELL NO!"
3:40PM - WHISTLIN' PAST THE GRAVEYARD
We are no longer in Death Valley. Everything around us looks abandoned and depressing, even though we haven't come across any towns yet. Something about this area is miserable; suffocating and dead.
We see a military plane fly overhead. I look over at Shalon uneasily.
She returns the look and says, "That was a toy plane."
"What? That wasn't a toy plane. Who the hell would sit out in the desert here and play with a toy plane?"
"It's probably a camera."
We fall silent and immediately feel a little helpless and uncomfortable. For some reason, the only consolation I can think of is pressing the gas pedal down further. From then on, everything looks suspicious to us. We don't discuss it much, but point out everything odd we see while listening to Bob Dylan.
3:40PM - TRONA AND ARGUS
These are some freaky towns. Half of them consist of deserted buildings in various states of decay, but at the same time they make a weak pretense at being normally populated towns. There are little American flags fluttering in empty front and backyards, and a high school, but not a soul in sight.
The nail-clipping cashier was right-- you do not want to eat in Trona.
We follow a sign to the graveyard, which is situated next to a factory that has two rings of abandoned cargo trains around it. There is smoke coming out of various funnels of the factory, and two or three men in tractors drive by. Shalon takes pictures of the graveyard and I'm itching to get back in the car. I feel like we're the simple-minded victims in an X-Files episode.
The church has a sign in front of it: "Church of Christ", just in case people are wondering.
A black guy sitting on the back of a parked pick-up truck stares at us like he's going to burn holes into our faces. Three white trash teenagers walk down the road, also staring. What a life.
The supermarket looks scarier than a concentration camp.
4:02PM - RIDGECREST
A large, more evolved version of Argus and Trona. They even have a Bank of America here and a couple of junk-food chains. But everything is still appalling.
We get directions from an Indian gas station cashier. I ask him if there's a Starbucks in town, but he only smiles and says he doesn't know, he just moved there. I feel depressed for him. What's a sweet, innocent Indian guy doing in Ridgecrest? This whole area is like a graveyard. One doesn't MOVE there.
5:00PM - RANDSBURG
We are more or less out of White Trash Land and have found our way off the highway into a little ghost town called Randsburg, which is more than you could ask for. This place is like an old abandoned mining town. It looks so perfect, that you'd expect some weather-beaten man to step out into the sun-drenched road and say something like, "There ain't room enough in this town fer the both of us."
We go into the general store where I buy more red vines, an orange juice and a bottle of chocolate milk. The store is amazing. Everything is still original-- the ceiling, shelves, bar, and counter. This is the supermarket for the four or five people who live here. The old man who works there is perhaps the most adorable of all the old men so far. He seems a bit lost and helpless. Shalon confuses him somewhat, trying to order the right amount of fudge, but he doesn't seem to mind and says, "That's ok. We can handle that."
We say goodbye and he says, "All right".
I stare at a red vine as we drive on and marvel at it's glowing, electric red color in the evening sun.
OH, MAMA, IS THIS REALLY THE END?
Desert, desert, desert. This is all I've seen for days and am already upset at the thought that we are leaving it.
THE SUSPICIOUS "RALPH'S" TRUCK
"What's a Ralph's truck doing in the middle of the desert?"
"It's not REALLY a Ralph's truck, you know."
I smile. "Exactly."
5:45PM
I wanna eat more red vines, but wonder if this would be seriously damaging to my health.
The scenery is now becoming more inhabited. We pass a number of billboards that say things like, "We toss 'em, they're awesome!"
6:45PM
Starting to get tired. The sun has worn us out.
I try my best not to go unconscious. Everything we say sounds drawled out, like we're high on pot.
LOS ANGELES
Our trip is quickly winding to an end, and that's a sad thought. I'm so in love with these past three days that I already feel nostalgic. Shalon has a real cough now and just wants to go to bed. I want to turn east and cross the whole country.
As we drive off the highway onto Fourth Street I feel for the first time that I'm “going home.” Every time I've ever arrived in L.A. before, I arrived with a baggage of suspicion. Now, for the first time, I was feeling friendly towards this monster of a city.
In fact, I feel relieved in all sorts of ways. I feel like a big chunk of sanity has been restored to me and I can stop being such an uptight asshole. I feel like working again. I don't mind my neighbors anymore. The whole mass of shit is now disintegrating. Yep. The desert did the trick.
But that really doesn't change the fact that I am ready to pack my things and leave again right now.
artid
908
Old Image
5_2_mercedes.swf
issue
vol 5 - issue 02 (oct 2002)
section
pen_think