So, last Saturday, I had to drive into the desert…

[The Good Reverend Roger]

So, last Saturday, I had to drive into the desert...All the way to Twenty Nine Palms, near Palm Springs, to get my kid.  He had been lucky enough to draw recruiter's assistance while waiting for his last school to begin.  Problem is, that duty is a privilege, so transportation is not provided. 

To give you an idea of the distance travelled, start at Chicago, and drive to Toronto.  Then, for the hell of it, drive another hour.  That's each way, mind you.  My friend Knuckles made the trip with me, both as a spare driver and to keep me out of trouble.  Our route was I-10 North from Tucson to I-8 West to Gila Bend (yeah, that's a real town's name out here), then AZ85 North to Buckeye (Yep.  Real name again), where Nigel had told me there was a 30 foot statue of a hobo. 

We didn't see it, but when we had stopped there, the Seguin-esque misery of the town made us uneasy.  In the diner, some random yokel wandered up and told us a Monika Lewinski joke.  It wasn't a bad joke, and in fact made us laugh, but we felt like we walked into a time capsule.

At Buckeye, we got back on I-10 towards California.  The whole time, Knuckles was deriding my choice in music (who the fuck doesn't like ELO?), so I put on Evita, and sang along...But only Madonna's lines.  By the time we reached Blythe, he was foaming at the mouth and cursing at me.  Lesson:  Things can ALWAYS get worse.  Another example was passing through the "town" of Quartzite, which is a 20 mile long collection of burned out trailer homes, and the sort of RV park where broke old people go to die.

Then it was on to CA177, which is difficult to describe to anyone who hasn't had the wrong kind of near-death experience.  I have pictures, which I will post as soon as possible.  The point at which the highway meets the horizon never changes, and the scenery around you recycles like in a Scooby Doo chase scene.

Eventually, we got to the base, picked up my kid, and headed back.  ALL the way back.  When we finally got back to Gila Bend, we had to stop at one of those gas stations that sells "genuine" Native American crafts made by Native Americans in China.  Of interest (and again, pics are forthcoming), they had a huge metal sculpture of a T-Rex battling raptors.

The point of all this rambling nonsense is that in 28 days, I have to make the trip again.  This fills me with hate.  The good news is, I have managed to blackmail Knuckles into making the trip again...He agreed, on the condition that on the return leg, we stop and raise hell in Buckeye.  I don't see that we have any choice in THAT, of course.  They are a decaying shell of a town that is too close to Phoenix for its own good, and is populated with ex-rich people who lost everything in the crash, and subsequently let their golf courses revert to desert, and illegals carried off the gates to their communities for scrap iron. 

There will be mayhem.  More importantly, there will be pics.

Or Kill Me.

[00.dusk]

Then it was on to CA177, which is difficult to describe to anyone who hasn't had the wrong kind of near-death experience.  I have pictures, which I will post as soon as possible.  The point at which the highway meets the horizon never changes, and the scenery around you recycles like in a Scooby Doo chase scene.

We have places like that around here, except the horizon bobs up and down every twenty yards in a disconcertingly artificial fashion. Eventually I realized that it wasn't bobbing anymore and turned my head to the side to see what the fuck happened. And there it is again like a crowbar to the kidney, nearly making me want to puke. Turns out I had taken to headbanging subconsciously just because of the rhythmic nature and the horrible sickening feeling the shit gives you.

I'm willing to bet the special hells you have out there and the special hells we have out here are connected to the same dimension of condemned trailer homes and disturbing mechanical monotony, like everywhere is made up of stock footage from the Twilight Zone.

[East Coast Hustle]

I'm well familiar with that route. And I fucking love that T-rex sculpture. Last time I found myself on AZ-85 (which was the last time I again failed to make it to Tucson due to vehicular difficulties screwing my timetable) I actually pulled over, got out, picked a direction, and walked into the Sonoran Desert for about a mile hoping to see a Gila Monster. In the end, I came to the conclusion that Gila Bend is the Arizona equivalent of the suburbs in Washington that cut down all the trees and name the towns and streets after them. Then, somewhere on I-8 about 40-ish miles east of Yuma, I stopped at a rest area and took another hike into the wasteland to check out a rock formation. After reaching the rock formation and snapping a few picks, I noticed some clouds WAY off in the distance. Now, I may be dumb but I'm not STUPID. I know that a brief thunderstorm 50 miles away means to stay out of the arroyos, but I had to cross a fairly wide and deep one to get to the rocks and I had to cross it again to get back to my truck. When I got back out of it, I decided I could relax a little and took the opportunity to take a few puffs off the peace pipe and light up a cigarette and sit on a rock and catch my breath. About 5 minutes later a furious wall of water came boiling down the arroyo. Now, I suppose what I saw could have just been a mesquite branch that was somehow being moved back and forth in a waving motion by the flashflood, and I suppose it's possible that the branch could have ended in five shorter branches, and I suppose it's possible that the branch could have gotten a hat caught up on it somewhere along the way. I like to think so, anyway, because the other possibility is that I watched a man drown and was helpless to do anything about it that wouldn't have gotten me killed too.

Sure was a beautiful rock formation though.

[00.dusk]

I'm well familiar with that route. And I fucking love that T-rex sculpture. Last time I found myself on AZ-85 (which was the last time I again failed to make it to Tucson due to vehicular difficulties screwing my timetable) I actually pulled over, got out, picked a direction, and walked into the Sonoran Desert for about a mile hoping to see a Gila Monster. In the end, I came to the conclusion that Gila Bend is the Arizona equivalent of the suburbs in Washington that cut down all the trees and name the towns and streets after them. Then, somewhere on I-8 about 40-ish miles east of Yuma, I stopped at a rest area and took another hike into the wasteland to check out a rock formation. After reaching the rock formation and snapping a few picks, I noticed some clouds WAY off in the distance. Now, I may be dumb but I'm not STUPID. I know that a brief thunderstorm 50 miles away means to stay out of the arroyos, but I had to cross a fairly wide and deep one to get to the rocks and I had to cross it again to get back to my truck. When I got back out of it, I decided I could relax a little and took the opportunity to take a few puffs off the peace pipe and light up a cigarette and sit on a rock and catch my breath. About 5 minutes later a furious wall of water came boiling down the arroyo. Now, I suppose what I saw could have just been a mesquite branch that was somehow being moved back and forth in a waving motion by the flashflood, and I suppose it's possible that the branch could have ended in five shorter branches, and I suppose it's possible that the branch could have gotten a hat caught up on it somewhere along the way. I like to think so, anyway, because the other possibility is that I watched a man drown and was helpless to do anything about it that wouldn't have gotten me killed too.

Sure was a beautiful rock formation though.

We need a word for the feeling that's like horrormirth, but with less mirth and more contemplation on the beauty of nature.

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

The roadside attractions out there, like T Rex sculpture and hotels made up of cement teepees, always remind me of old postcards, the Great American Road Trip ones with ladies in headscarves and cat-eye sunglasses. The tinted ones where the desert has colors other than faded coyote shit. I think the horror must have been there then, too, but nobody talked about it. "Get your kicks on Route 66!" 

This one was extra good. Bonus for "Seguin-esque misery" and "the scenery around you recycles like in a Scooby Doo chase scene." 

Looking forward to pics and hope you guys locate the 30 foot hobo.

[Freeky]

ECH, Gila bend is named after Gila river. That is all I know.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I cannot wait to see pics! I hope to hell that hobo is still there. The fantastic thing is that I haven't seen Buckeye for well over a decade, and when I saw it, it was a burgeoning gated-community town full of yuppie investment-banking rejects from Phoenix. Or somewhere similar. It was all stucco McMansions and iron gates and palm trees and golf courses and PERFECTLY manicured lawns (IN THE FUCKING DESERT!) and fat, tanned fucks in Madrid plaid driving golf carts on the street as if that's a socially acceptable thing to do.

My favorite part is that the hobo won in the end. Take that, Buckeye.

[East Coast Hustle]

ECH, Gila bend is named after Gila river. That is all I know.

I didn't see one of those either.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I cannot wait to see pics! I hope to hell that hobo is still there. The fantastic thing is that I haven't seen Buckeye for well over a decade, and when I saw it, it was a burgeoning gated-community town full of yuppie investment-banking rejects from Phoenix. Or somewhere similar. It was all stucco McMansions and iron gates and palm trees and golf courses and PERFECTLY manicured lawns (IN THE FUCKING DESERT!) and fat, tanned fucks in Madrid plaid driving golf carts on the street as if that's a socially acceptable thing to do.

My favorite part is that the hobo won in the end. Take that, Buckeye.

There's a gated community right beside a drive through booze/food/tobacco/ammunition place, and there's nothing inside the gate.  Streets, curbs, fire hydrants, and no houses.  The crash put paid to the project, and now it's sort of a walled, haunted "neighborhood" that says everything you need to know about November of 2008.

The golfers are all gone now, wiped out by the crash.  Most of them moved to Quartzite or somewhere similar, where they can eke out an existence in the RVs that used to mean "fun vacation road trip", and now mean "OH MY GOD THESE FOUR WALLS I'M IN HELL FOR CHRISSAKES WHERE'S THE GIN?"  Horrible, horrible.  It's one thing to casually curse the bankers who did this, but seeing the result on the ground is a little more visceral. 

As for Gila monsters, I've never seen one out there.  Mostly there's bottleheads, geckos, and the occasional iguana, though they tend to stay away from the roads.

[tyrannosaurus vex]

On the other hand, these assholes getting kicked to the curb in '08 have left plenty of room for assholes like me to come in and take over their lives for about 25% of the price.

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

I cannot wait to see pics! I hope to hell that hobo is still there. The fantastic thing is that I haven't seen Buckeye for well over a decade, and when I saw it, it was a burgeoning gated-community town full of yuppie investment-banking rejects from Phoenix. Or somewhere similar. It was all stucco McMansions and iron gates and palm trees and golf courses and PERFECTLY manicured lawns (IN THE FUCKING DESERT!) and fat, tanned fucks in Madrid plaid driving golf carts on the street as if that's a socially acceptable thing to do.

My favorite part is that the hobo won in the end. Take that, Buckeye.

Nigel! *squeeeee* 

Lawns in the desert seem to be madatory for wealthier people. It's like when you get a "nice" job after you haven't had one for awhile, you really won't see any extra money for a long while because you're expected to wear the "right" clothes, live in a "nicer" neighborhood, and drive a "decent" car or you'll become some kind of pariah and end up falling on your ass again. 

[Juana]

I'm relatively sure there's either something in the water in the South West, or the sun does something to the residents and makes them all fucking nuts.

ECH, Gila bend is named after Gila river. That is all I know.

I didn't see one of those either.

Out here, our rivers are like creeks back east. The San Joaquin, for which my entire valley is named, is less than ten feet across. It's fast and fucking freezing, but it's not really worth calling it a river.

[Freeky]

ECH, Gila bend is named after Gila river. That is all I know.

I didn't see one of those either.

It's basically a ditch.  I'm not surprised you didn't. 

[East Coast Hustle]

I saw some ditches. but none of them had anything remotely resembling moisture.

Well, except for where my prolific sweat kept falling. Did you know it's REALLY REALLY HOT in the Sonoran Desert? Definitely a shit place to work off your adderall hangover.

[Freeky]

I saw some ditches. but none of them had anything remotely resembling moisture.

Rivers a supposed to have moisture in them? 

Well, except for where my prolific sweat kept falling. Did you know it's REALLY REALLY HOT in the Sonoran Desert?

No!  I am shocked.