Leaving Arizona

I just couldn't get up and leave. My delay helped as I was able to find my iPod and my notebook, which will come in handy with downloading photographs and updating this blog.

I finally left the house at 11:18am, knowing the drive through Phoenix would be hot and miserable. The dogs had no clue I was leaving as I didn’t make a big deal. The one thing I felt a little bad about is that none of them got walked in two days; the heat was too much and I had too much to do in the evenings. Pache has our bedroom all to himself. At least I know the birds and lizards in the backyard are safe and so is he.

It was 82F when I left, but it topped off at 113F when I pulled over briefly in Phoenix to rest a bit. There was already so much traffic there at 1pm. The AC couldn’t keep me cool. It was like being back in Baghdad again: I could feel myself sweat and my clothes were sticking to me.

I dreaded driving through Phoenix and regretted not having taken I-8 to Gila Bend and then AZ Hwy 85 to I-10, bypassing the greater Phoenix area altogether. The city slowed me down, and Baseline Road is now a congested stop-and-go boulevard full of oversized single-family homes kvetched next to other homes. No one in Phoenix seems to want a big yard; it's all about the house. The Gila Indian Reservation on the west side of town, however, breaks up the monotony when run-down, cracked and littered box houses of the reservation come up.

I have driven this stretch of I-10 before to Quartzite, in early 2009, but this time the wintering Midwesterners and their RVs were mostly gone. Quartzite, on the Colorado River, swells to over a million people during the winter, but today it was a quiet rest stop town with empty RV lots, closed rock stores, dusty side roads and political campaign signs.

Once I crossed into California, though, it seems as if the desert expanded and oversized cars were everywhere. Gasoline shot up 50 cents as well. I now was going to drive as far as I could before sunset. I was nowin unexplored territory.

The Mohave desert here and the Mountains on either side were treeless but were of such pretty pink that the barren rocks were pictoresque. I wouldn't want to hike them in the dead of summer, but a winter hike would be nice. I'd even consider the Salton Sea Recreation area as a winter vacation.

The wide valley slowly narrowed as I was ascending, driving in a southwesterly direction. When I neared the town of Indio in the valley, the now red mountains and the tall date palms rose from all directions. I thought of Erin here, as she likes palm trees and the town, although clearly a working Hispanic town, was very much “southern Californian.” Indio is the self-named “Date Capital of the World” and is on the northern banks of the Salton Sea. It is also a towm of mostly Native Americans and Mexicans.

I couldn’t find the nice part of town except for a two-block artsy section that was too fancy for me. My dinner tonight was at a Carl’s Jr with a chicken sandwich, where again I was the lone Anglo until another couple came in. The blonde woman looked approvingly at me as if our shared whiteness gave us unity, although I was comfortable in the restaurant. They were waiting on the local bus. Dressed in a white sleeveless shirt, the woman seemed restless. “I felt that earthquake yesterday!” she said, referring to the 5.4 earthquake from yesterday. They soon left when their bus arrived. I had dinner in silence.

It was dark now and I wasn’t sure where to go. Highway 111 took me west into Palm Desert and then Palm Springs, and all I could see were resort golf courses and lighted mansions in the hills to my south. Extreme decadence. Even the palm trees were lighted along the road. Calling this area Palm Desert and Palm Springs was well-deserved. Other than acacia trees, I didn't see any other species of tree.

I came across a street fair in Palm Springs as I rode into town. This was a perfect opportunity to get some walking in and see the town, try out my new Canon S90 for night shots. Quite a few blocks of Main Street were blocked to vehicular traffic. It turns out this street fair is every Thursday all year long, according to the shop owner of “Life is Good” in town. All sorts of dates, local candies, art products and clothes were for sale but I got to town as the fair was winding down and even the musicians were grateful for the break. This would have been a nice event to see earlier in the day, as the setting sun reflected off the windows of the resorts.

I always like the unusual displays. Tonight it was a small booth with the banner "Ask a Rabbi." The bearded Gent had a few inquisitors.

There were dogs everywhere, from a small Maltese named “Chiquita Bonita” who walks this fair every Thursday with her proud owner “in a new outfit every week” she added. Some of the shops and outdoor restaurants offered mist for the customers. Even at night it was 82F and I was quite warm when I got back to the van to continue a little further west and north. The lights of the valley were now bright and the nearby hills shadowed in the dark. This was the California I remember. I was now on a four-lane highway. All I needed to hear was the Eagles tun “Take it to the Limit” and my return to this state would be official. My homecoming was rather quiet as it didn't feel like I was gone for so long anyway.

In San Bernadino where I stopped to rest, it was a mere 64F and according to a radio announcer, one of the colder nights this summer for them. I drove 40 miles and went through a 20-degree temperature change!

I spent the night at a rest stop at the start of Highway 395, the edge here of Death Valley. The parking lot was packed with both trucks and vans like mine. I was exhausted by now. I watched a cat stroll near a fenced-in small house on the edge of the property, but I didn't stay up long enough to find out where the cat was heading.