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Published: April 11th 2008
First and foremost, I am alive. Barely, of course, but I am here right now in 29 Palms, CA. I have been on the road for only 4 days now and have put in 100 miles. Not a good average.
Let me begin...
Every year about 20,000 lesbians descend upon the town of Palm Springs for the "Dinah Shore" weekend, which ostensibly started out as a lesbo party associated with an LPGA golf tournament (the "L" in LPGA can be apparently be read as "Ladies" or "Lesbian", apparently). Regardless, the Dinah Shore weekend is definitely not about golf anymore, and it's "not just a weekend" either.
And so it goes that the two women I rode down with from Eugene were "coming down" to experience the Dinah Shore series of events, everything from daily pool parties to all-white dress cocktail balls. While I started out my stay in this household of 5 women out of mere necessity for my preparations, it morphed into morbid interest and then came around full circle to necessity--but this time for them and not me.
I will have to spare the details unfortunately, which include car rides involving quite serious conversations about how I could be a sperm donor, or the crazy interpersonal politics that men would never, ever care about--but I will say that in order to survive for a week in a house with 5 women it is absolutely imperative to never, ever leave the toilet seat up. And I never did. Call in intuition. And I did a LOT of dishes and cleaning.
I will say this though: Palm Springs is ridiculous. First of all, one of the women I was staying with was standing in a parking lot in her PJs one morning and a random woman drove by and offered her $20. "Here, buy yourself a good breakfast". She was, for sure, in nothing less than a standard Oregon weekend outfit, and down here they give you money while standing in a parking lot for it. Because certainly she was down-and-out homeless for wearing such drivel! Wow! And they have a Bentley dealership, which at first I didn't even know what they were selling. Then right afterwards I saw a brand new Rolls Royce driving down the road. Who buys this stuff? The kind of people who buy houses there. We were staying in the "Merrakesh Golf Club" which was adorned with 1970s-style square houses replete with pink stucco siding (ALL 384 units were pink) and bizarre white cement-tiled roofs. And I think there were 15 pools. I estimate that there are no less than 178,000 pools in the Palm Springs area. In short, my stay there was everything I wanted my journey to be, a true testament to the possibilities of life in this country, no matter how absurd.
So after a week of pool lounging, druken golfing and concomitant golf cart antics, and learning a lot more about lesbian culture than I ever could have imagined, I departed on Monday afternoon. I had 2.5 gallons of water with me (20 lbs), and in general way too much weight. The sidewalks would end in long stretches of sand, bike lanes through town did not exist, and my front end was so wobbly I could barely steer. It was immensely dangerous and stressful. I ditched a bunch of weight at a random desert preserve visitor center (dad, you should have a package coming soon) and ended up sleeping in basically a desert wash beside the road, setting up camp after dark. I quickly abandoned my idea of riding up Berdoo Canyon Road, a 4x4 road into the heart of Joshua Tree National Park, knowing that I would not make it (call it intuition again).
Instead I took off on some random sandy gravel arounds around the southern portion of the park border. It started near an asphalt plant that had "STAY OUT: ACTIVE SURFACE MINING" signs all around and I talked a truck driver who referred me to the "loaders" for more information about roads in the area. No information from them (over the CB), but I did get to see one of those GIANT dumptrucks driving around which really made me question where the hell I was going. The pavement ended there and I took off with a dotted line on my GPS and a lot of faith that things would work out okay. At first there was lots of illegally dumped garbage and ravens, but then it ended up beautiful. I eventually spent mile after mile right along I-10. Fabulous. So my second day of riding was 46 miles up 3000 feet of elevation with over 25 miles on gravel roads. I arrived in Cottonwood Springs Campground in Joshua Tree NP completely exhausted and very skeptical of what the hell I had gotten myself into, but I did accomplish my goal!
I awoke the next morning feeling amazingly good and started on a 20 mile descent into the heart of the park. The vistas were beautiful! I got a great look at a Horned Lark, a difficult-to-find bird and I was 10 feet from it for a few minutes while it sang. And the lizards! Oh the things you miss in a car! But then I had a 9 mile climb up 2000 feet. It wasn't as bad as I made it--I am still not used to being on a bike all day, the slow cadence of 3 MPH climbs. I spent last night in White Tank Campground, in the waterless higher regions of the park with the trees that are the park's namesake. It is here that the bizarre rock formations start and I had some time to hike around in them. I ended up meeting a cool and very nice couple from Bend, OR...at this point I'm realizing that meeting people from Oregon is going to be a regular occurence. I apparently admit an Oregon vibe that resononates with Oregonians. They visited me with water after nightfall when the moon came into its own and the rocks took on a totally different appearance. Suddenly there were shapes, faces, animals and morphism everywhere. And it was only a quarter moon! Joshua Tree in a full moon would be seriously intense and insanely creative, a true psychedelic experience (without the drugs).
Today I decended 2000 feet for 12 miles into 29 Palms, "An Oasis of Murals". The woman at the Chamber of Commerce told me all about some dude who came up with the idea that murals are a good way to promote rural tourism. This much is true. But when they are of G.W. Bush with Saddam's statue falling in the background...The problem with putting murals everywhere is that you get desparate for mural ideas, and things just start getting weird. People start making murals around the idea that "On this day in 1876, nothing happened." This is a truly bizarre place to ride a bike around, let me tell you! I ended up taking the day off accidently, getting a late start and then getting stranded in town running errands. I shipped off another 7lbs of BS to my dad, including my Chaco sandals and my 4lb bird book (I bought the lighter weight Western edition as a compromise). I noticed the difference in weight immediately! I then bought unleaded gas for my camp stove, a whole $0.31 worth. The surcharge on my debit card was more than the gas I bought. Tonight I am sleeping at some RV resort 2 miles from the 29 Palms Marine Reserve surrounded by dunes full of ATVs and golf carts. This is the American Dream in action.
And I don't get it. Of course, no one gets me either. Everyone I have met thinks I'm crazy. The women who checked me to this place kept asking me "Why? Why? Why?". Tomorrow I depart on a 50 mile ride into one of the most remote stretches of desert in the country. My destination is Amboy, CA, a very small outpost that is nothing more than a run-down cafe/motel that are both closed. I'm betting that some guy that I've read about through various bike tour blogs has 24-hour bathrooms with running water available. If not, I will be in trouble and probably have to start flagging down cars. After that, more of the same the following day. I face a 4000-foot climb and descent into Mojave National Preserve with my destination a restored train depot called Kelso that also has 24-hour bathrooms with running water for this very purpose. Then, finally, onto Baker, California. All in all, I face something like 120+ miles of insanely desolate and waterless desert before my next true contact with civilization. And you know things are getting crazy when Baker, California becomes my idea of "civilization".
I don't know why I am here, I don't know what I am doing, but here I am. Some things are better left for time and age to figure out, and this journey, this starting point in one of the most difficult areas in the country, will be one of them. I was truly called here and I don't know why. Everything up to this point seemed obvious and straightforward, and now that I'm here I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing all alone in the desert with nothing but a bicycle. A quote from Hunter S. Thompson's masterpiece "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" has been coming to mind...
"You'd better take care of me, Lord. Because if you don't, you're going to have me on your hands."
Until next time, enjoy your running water....
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Kelly
non-member comment
:)
I guess there really is a way to apply 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas' to every situation!