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Published: June 26th 2008
Hotter Than Hell
Palm Springs. No escape.One of the major plus points of living in a place such as California in a country that exists by the
Live to Work ethic as opposed to my own favoured
Work to Live theory is that there are so many things to do and see, if not within driving distance then at least within a reasonably priced flight cost and time that can easily transform any particular weekend into a little mini holiday all of its own. This weekend was to be my first excursion beyond the city limits of Los Angeles.
With the start of the school holidays and Marisa's subsequent graduation coinciding with Lisa's birthday week the Kirby's had hired an apartment in the desert town of Palm Springs, situated two and a half hours drive outside Long Beach in the midst of the Roachella Valley. I had always pictured Palm Springs to be a town full of filthy rich, poodle pampering blue rinses who had fled the confines of the big City to see out their final days in a climate that would keep them rheumotoidally arthiritic free until they'd finally breathed their last breath and to be
honest I wasn't too far off the mark. However, the town was still to provide a few surprises.
Phil and I left work at 2.30 on Thursday afternoon and headed for the freeway. The vastness of this country means people over here think nothing of a two hour commute to the City and it wasn't long before we were caught up in rush hour fever. My recent lack of a full eight hours allied to the clogged bumper to bumper nature of the drive worked it's hypnosis on me to such an extent that just over an hour after departure I was in danger of passing out so with survival in mind we pulled off the freeway for a drink, leg stretch and revitalising breath of fresh air which, we were soon to discover, just didn't exist. The junction we randomly chose exposed a different kind of California to what I'd become accustomed as we searched for somewhere to stop. Every building seemed to be either a motor repair garage, a fuel station or a tyre replacement joint and every person seemed blessed with the menacing looks of a Mexican/Native American extra plucked straight from a Quentin Tarantino movie,
Hotter Than Hell
Phil and his hareem. With Lisa and Jo. the type of character whose clothes hide an array of small arms firepower and who'd cut your throat for the price of a can of coke. We eventually found a garage close to the slip road back on to the freeway, got out and were immediately hit by a wall of heat similar to holding a hair dryer inches from your face which explained the impoverished nature of the towns occupants. No one with any modicum of sense or economic resouces would even consider living here. Needless to say we didn't hang around and an hour later were pulling into Palm Springs where upon arrival we stopped off at The Blue Coyote, Phil's traditional arrival watering hole and ordered a welcoming Margerita. It was delivered by the campest waiter I've ever laid eyes on and it wasn't too long before three things had become clearly apparent about Palm Springs;-
i) It more or less closes down for the summer, the streets were all but deserted,
ii) It is hotter than hell itself, mid afternoon temperatures touching close to 120 degrees for the duration of our stay, not far off the hottest on record and
iii) It is inhabited by
the highest ratio of shirtlifter's and arse bandits this side of Key West.
Days earlier in Downtown Long Beach I'd passed a group of chanting protesters gathered on the pavement holding placards emblazoned with statements such as 'Marriage = Man + Woman' and various quotes from the bible about the definition of the word matrimony and soon discovered it was in protest at Governor Schwarzenegger's decision only last week to allow same sex marriages to take place in the state, a decision which would no doubt currently make Palm Springs one of the happiest, most celebratory places on earth. I was aware that more 'freaks', religious and otherwise, reside in this country than in any other worldwide but still wondered what could possibly inspire these people to spend all day under a hot sun holding a heavy placard vociferously protesting about something that was neither any of their concern nor business.
By 7pm the temperature was still in the mid nineties but I'd packed my trainers determined to get back into my excercise regime which had become somewhat neglected of late and set off for what was intended to be a twenty minute run. As I've mentioned before
grid systems are the most straightforward, logical aid to navigation possible and with our secure apartment complex situated right opposite the gates of the town's impressive Conference Centre I took no notice of the street names, merely turned left, left again and headed for the centre of town armed just with my trusty iPod, not even a bottle of water. The town of Palm Springs is flanked by mountains on three sides, two sides of which see by huge banks of yellow, craggy mountains press against the outskirts of town providing a quite spectacular back drop for a run and after twenty minutes I'd taken my fifth left turn and knew I was close to home. Or so I thought.
I used a rare passing heterosexual couple as an excuse to stop and rest and asked them directions to the Conference Centre but they were as lost as me and told me they were searching for it too and then three youth's carrying skateboards (it was too hot even to board) appeared around the corner. I asked them the same question and they pointed to the lights at the next block in response, told me to take a left
and that I'd find it down there. I set off with a spring in my step that surprised even myself as I bounded down the street acting resembling a mobile sprinkler for the passing lawns as the perspiration squirted out of me but found no sign of any Conference Centre. After four or five blocks I came across a small park on my left hand side and cursed both Phil and Lisa for not telling me there was such a thing so near to home that I could have just ran around it a few times at the same time keeping cool by running through the many sprinklers that showered the greenery but it soon ended and I was back in suburbia. Now all I could see was an endless stretch of wooden bungalows flanking a dead straight road heading out into the desert and pictured the three youth's rolling around with their legs in the air wetting themselves laughing at just having sent the ageing, long distance runner on a never ending goose chase to hell. Finally I came across a man watering his lawn on the other side of the road, crossed and stood in front of him
hunched and panting with both hands on knees. When I'd finally gained enough breath I asked him if he could direct me to the Conference Centre and obviously having witnessed me staggering into sight from the far distance he looked as though he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
"Back that way you've just come six or seven blocks" he said incredulously. "Just before the red light on the right".
I looked up from my still hunched position and through the shimmering heat haze could just about make out a red traffic signal in the far far distance, the very same signal the youth's had told me turn left at fifteen minutes earlier but which they'd neglected to tell me would lead to the small gated REAR unsigned entrance to the Centre and which, expecting to find it on my right I'd promptly ran straight past. Pride wouldn't allow me to walk back and when I finally made it home almost an hour after departure without water or rest I resembled a punch drunk marathon runner who'd just 'hit the wall', a feeling exaggerated ten times over when I looked through the apartment patio windows and set eyes
Hotter Than Hell
Our welcoming and essential pool. on Phil horizontally sprawled on the couch, crutches neatly laid alongside with an ice cold beer in his hand. I turned, staggered to the pool and fell in.
My three initial suspicions about the town had been well and truly confirmed on my run. Obviously it was hot, Palm Springs is an oasis in the middle of a desert after all and there was very little sign of life due to the onset of Summer, what life there was seemed to consist mainly of hand holding homosexual couples in their forties and fifties. Of course women existed here, someone had to wait on and serve in the boutiques, galleries, supermarkets and bric a brac stores but it was very much a gay male community. I passed two vested and moustachioed muscle bound queens walking their matching boxer dogs, each dressed in matching red shoes (the dogs that is, not the puff's) and obviously avoided eye contact as I veered into the deserted road to pass.
Lisa's friend Jo who I'd met at Christmas had been with us the for first night and on Friday morning returned home to Long Beach to be replaced at lunchtime by Phil's nephew
Hotter Than Hell
Having a 'Desperate Dan' has it's advantages. Andrew who had extended his San Diego business trip by a couple of days to see his uncle and cousins. I hadn't seen Andrew since his Liverpool stag trip last year so it was good to see him and the rest of the weekend was spent doing next to nothing other than eating, drinking, liloing around the pool and finally managing to take advantage of cable TV and sensible kick off times to watch the quarter finals of Euro '08. Come on Russia.
Phil's rehabilitation is progressing to the point where he asked me if I'd like him to drive home and I didn't need asking a second time. Initial novelty and enjoyment of driving over here has now faded to the point where I almost find it as much of a chore as I did back in the UK and I didn't need asking twice and spent the ride back to Long Beach drifting in and out of a welcome sleep followed by an hour taking the last of the LA sun on the beach outside home.
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non-member comment
Arnie - The Liberal Terminator. The vast amounts of booze being consumed in these photos would seem to belie the fact that you have adopted the 'healthy Californian lifestyle' you championed in your previous blog. Your lungs are fine but your liver is running for the hills.