Friendly truckdrivers.

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On the way to Joshua Tree National Park, 10-10-2002.

I wake up early to the noicy Quack Quack of snow geese that have invaded the campground. With the stale taste of californian red wine in my mouth and still half asleep I stick my head out of my little tent seeing these fat birds all around my tent and these old caravans that house a small colony of alternative hippies. Investigating goose beaks snap at anything that might be edible but the enormous bowl of spagetti bolognese on an old camping table, from last night has got a sturdy lid and while I eat cold italian spagetti for breakfast helping myself to a huge glass of wine from a half empty bottle, I contemplate last night's party.
Most of these friendly old hippies have never been out of the States - apart from Mexico - travelling across the USA in their old and rusty caravans in summer and wintering here in the south. The spagetti I'm now eating was warm then and the stale wine Im drinking was fresh and full while I told them about my travels in India where I was fully immersed in the Chilum and Charras scene, the alternative scene of down and out western long term tourists in India's holy cities and not so holy places.
I got there attention all right, they gave me more red wine and cheap californian grass to smoke, a guitar appaered and we sang mexican love songs....now they are all deep asleep probably not waking up untill noon....
I leave the campground and these quacking snow geese after my cold spagetti breakfast cycling along the shore of Lake Salton. The Chocolate mountains on my left have a strange dark brown color in the first rays of the early sun betraying to me where their name comes from.

Just past noon in a truckstop restaurant.

I'm having my lunch in this truckstop restaurant south of Coachella. My plate is covered with patatas fritas, two enormous hamburgers, omelettes and vegetables and despite all the excersize I've done on my bike this morning, despite the strong empty feeling in my belly, I've serious doubt I'll be able to get this all down. The other customers don't see to have that problem, they're big guys with muscular hairy arms covered in colorful shequered shirts, sporting proud beer bellies, caps on their heads and legs clad in greasy blue jeans. I know for sure they are the truck drivers that have been overtaking me this morning, the horns of their trucks encouraging me on while they drove past leaving me in huge clouds of gray/white dust the taste of saline uppermost on my sunburned lips.
They give me friendly smiles while gorging themselves on their american hamburgers. Coffee, strong and dark black, comes for free in this place with the waitress every so often asking me if I like a refill.
The road to the north goes on to Coachella but there is a turn to the left called the Box Canyon Road that according to the waitress will bring me to the south entrance of Joshua Tree National Park. She also offers to make me some food to take along as well as selling me a two gallon plastic can of garpe juice.

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