Lost in the Desert, pt.2

Sunrise at Joshua Tree National Park.

The first traces of morning light, a welcome sight to the desert camper.

After breakfast, I took a ride down Desert Queen Mine road,

which had just, unfortunately, been graded for the year.

There's no desolation like western desolation.

I head north,

out of the park,

and into the inhospitable Mojave.

From this spot, the next services were 96 miles away.

Not a good spot for a flat.

I saw this promising road, but feeling feverish, thought the better of it,

and continued north, past this crater, for another 45 miles, before arriving in Kelso.

This ghost town has a surprising depot that once served the Union Pacific railroad.

Now, it's a museum, and a diner, where I had some blackberry pie and coffee.

The stationmaster's office, Kelso, CA.

A suitcase, but whose?

One of several historic posters on display.

This holding cell...

sits opposite a defunct Post Office.

No doubt about it, the Mojave desert is a tough place to survive...

But I had beastie, so it was a piece of cake. By now, my head was throbbing, I had cold sweats, and I pretty much
wanted to die. I had planned to camp in the Mojave for a day or two, but it simply wasn't happening. I hit it from Kelso,
pinning it across the windswept desert, heading north. I needed medicine, a bath, and a bed. In short, I needed civilization.
Las Vegas was only ninety miles away. It would have to do.

Lost in the Desert, pt.1

The sign pretty much says it all...

...lots of empty space...

...without much of this.

Looking south.

A Cholla cactus.

If the plant bears any helpful or even innocent part in the scheme of things on this planet, I should be glad to hear of it.      

J. Smeaton Chase, California Desert Trails

Is beauty helpful or innocent, I wonder? Typical rock formations of Joshua Tree National Park.

I take Brünhilde down a side road, pausing for a picture or two.

It gets cold quickly in the desert, so I prepared my bed,

and a modest dinner of tinned soup, brie, and Penfold's.

When the sun sets,

I crawl into my tent and fall asleep beneath a vibrant sky.

Palm Springs

I was feeling really ill, and I hoped the desert climate would do me some good. After a tiresome drive through
hideous San Bernardino,

one finds oneself in Palm Springs in no time.

It is an utterly bizarre place, both artificial

and ostentatious. I followed the GPS to this discreet, citron-colored doorway,

beyond which lay my hotel. Passing beneath this beautiful lemon tree, 

one finds the swimming pool and its well manicured gardens.

After checking in, I sought out this thermal pool.

Unfortunately, even a relaxing day at the baths was no help, and I returned to my room feeling feverish and weak.

Perhaps I'll feel better tomorrow...

Topanga Time

I'm feeling the tingle of a nasty microbe - contracted from the sewer, no doubt! Poor me! I have a soak, in the hope
that it might improve my state, but to no avail. Fortunately, a friend of ours from New York contacts the ever-
networked Lexi, and I'm sent off to Topanga for the cure. After a quick run up the coast, I end up here...

RedHanded, an artist collective and gallery, run by two redheads, the brilliant and elegant Anastasia,

and her partner, of whom I would hear much, but never meet. In addition to running RedHanded, Anastasia is also
a filmmaker, so we started chatting about Night of the Hunter and Robert Mitchum, and in no time at all, yet another
gorgeous redhead turned up. Something in the water, perhaps?

Listening to these two, as they hold court on Topanga Canyon Blvd., is an easy way to spend a day. Incredibly,
another of their friends, this gem of a blonde with a bottle of Jameson's in her handbag, turned up. Needless to say,
I loved her style. But, like the sign says...

Topanga Time.

I hated to go, so good was the company at RedHanded. But I was leaving LA early, and I knew it was now, or never.

Los Angeles, day 2

LA: 75 and sunny. Not that I'm complaining.

I spent much of the morning posting, then drove over to the Langham to spend the afternoon
by the pool. From the roof of the Langham, taking nothing for granted.

A kind hello from Alex.

A hummingbird appeared, and expressed an affection for Alex, who had built two feeders for him earlier in the day, and took this photo.

Is it better to post nothing? There is nothing interesting
about an indolent life, except to its participant.