Hey Dear Readers! Last week marked one year since 6 Days on the Road went live! I’m really proud that this little venture prompted me to create 136 posts. That’s a lot of writing! And a few videos and playlists for the Big Spender subscribers. It’s easy and inexpensive to become a Big Spender, so why don’t you? If you get a paid subscription before the end of June, you’ll get the usual videos and playlists, and discounted travel planning. And! I’ll put together a souvenir goodie bag for you during my awesome summer road trip from St. Louis to the Berkshires in Massachusetts! Ready to hit the road with me?
On Memorial Day I awoke to a breathtaking Mojave morning with no plans or obligations. National park entrance was free, and I considered making another drive through Joshua Tree, maybe finding the supposed place of Gram Parsons’ temporary interment.
I got up, threw on my clothes, and headed into the town of Joshua Tree, thinking I’d grab a coffee, poke around town, then hit the park.
Last time I was in the area, I drove through the sleepy, quiet town of Joshua Tree. That was not what I found on Memorial Day. It was neither sleepy nor quiet, but rather, full of packs of tourists. Good for a little arts town with indie businesses! Not good for how I was looking to spend my day. I grabbed a cold brew, a bag of beans, and high-tailed it out of town. It was a great day for napping in the sunshine at my place, anyway.
Besides, as much as I like to support national parks, I was surrounded by terrain just as spectacular as what was in the park. I drove around my rutted dirt road neighborhood and took in the sights before I napped.
I was taken by the same thing that got me when I was in Joshua Tree two years ago—Being from the southern Midwest, I associate green with life. This time of year, Missouri is awash in lush green leaves and prairie grasses. My mom had an old aunt, Lissie, who lived in Colorado. Mom stayed with her during her first husband’s Vietnam deployment. When Aunt Lissie visited Missouri, she was astounded at the greenness that we take for granted, that makes us think anything else must not be as alive.
Wrong.
The desert teems with life. The green spikes of the Joshua trees and sagebrush are just a small part of it. The plant life is always in motion, activated by the lizards, roadrunners, and jackrabbits that take cover in the scrubby bushes that blanket the sand. The sounds of birds and bugs punctuate the early-morning hours. I always crept while driving to or from my place, partially because the trail wasn’t safe over 15 mph or so, and because my path was repeatedly crossed by lizards, roadrunners, and the jackrabbits that delighted me so much I immediately had to send texts alerting friends that I have a new favorite animal. One I’ll likely never capture in a photo because those fuckers are FAST.
That night, after napping in the cool air conditioned bedroom and escaping the harshest of the sun, I threw on a dress that’s still too short for me to wear in public. So I tossed on a pair of old cut-off leggings so at least I wouldn’t be giving anyone a show on the slim chance I needed to get out of my car.
Lately I’ve developed a habit I’m not thrilled with, but it’s become necessary because of the migraines. I have to be really careful to ensure that I’m eating enough (stop it). Protein staves off the crazy migraine exhaustion, while salt helps with electrolyte balance. This is the boring shit I have to think about all the time lately.
It was even worse a few months ago before I got over myself and my rules about no fast food, and no food I can get back home when I travel because let me tell you, a 10-piece McNuggets is damn near perfect in fulfilling my dietary needs while being inexpensive and endlessly accessible while traveling.
Hell, even Julia Child liked McDonald’s because they’re consistent. Who am I to be snooty?
I’ve eaten more McNuggets in the last six months than I’ve eaten in my entire life. No sauce. Just crispy, salty, somewhat meaty little morsels that somehow seem to be keeping me alive.
Coming down the mountain, I swung through the nearest McDonald’s drive-thru with plans to grab some chicken-flavored People Chow and find a place to watch the sunset. I knew a wind advisory was already in place for the next morning, but I didn’t plan on the mild breeze snatching the debit card from my fingers and blowing it a good 20 feet behind my car. The sweet cashier spotted it. Otherwise I would have been screwed.
Glad I decided to wear pants, since I had to chase the card down.
With yet another financial disaster averted, and salty protein bombs acquired, I hit 29 Palms Highways which circles the park, and headed east, although it felt like west. I generally have a great sense of direction but California defies it. I had no idea where I was going, other than to look at the town of Joshua Tree now that the tourists were lined up in traffic leaving the park. It was still plenty light out, so I kept going.
The highway featured plenty of art, none of it looking officially sanctioned. I like that. One sculpture included a (hopefully decommissioned) military bomb. Another included rows and rows of silver Airstream trailers gleaming in the evening sun. Or maybe that was a trailer park. It’s hard to tell what’s life and what’s art out here. I like that, too.
About halfway between Joshua Tree and 29 Palms, things seemed to be getting sparse and I started keeping my eye out for the place and time to do a U-turn back to my place. It was about ten minutes until sunset. I’d catch it from behind the wheel.
I didn’t take time to read the other signage near the road before I executed a U-turn with such speed I almost dislocated a shoulder. But the signs indicated that I was at Rainbowland. The house/gallery/Big Whitey’s digs were closed for the day, but a sign encouraged me to go down the driveway, park, and … experience.
The expanse of desert sand behind the house had less plant life, so it was easier to walk through than any of the spots by my cabin. Among the desert browns, golds, and greens, Rainbowland splashed the primary and secondary colors across a landscape that could be mistaken for barren by those who fail to look.
Towards the back, five people sat around a picnic table on rainbow-colored chairs, speaking Spanish and laughing. After I walked past paint-streaked pianos and a car, the rocks circling the fire pit and the cactus garden, I took a chair of my own at another table. We smiled and waved when they returned to their car.
Soon after they left, a couple arrived. He plunked a melody on the black piano’s keys, surprisingly in tune for an outside piano. The lack of humidity might have helped. I relaxed in my chair, my eye on the sun as it began its downward dip, serenaded by his impromptu tinkling keys.
It was tempting to stay late, lingering in my chair among the desert and the colors, awaiting other visitors who probably wouldn’t arrive until the next morning when I should be on the road back to Los Angeles. But I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of navigating the trails and the jackrabbit population in the dark, so I begrudgingly slurped up some of Rainbowland’s spirit to take me on my way.
Or treat me to a coffee for the road. Thanks!
CAT ART OMG