Over the river from Parker things got considerably emptier as 62’s two lanes

snaked through dried mud hills, intermittent motorhomes distantly distributed, between

there and the Port of Entry after which

the next 92 miles became ever more minimal* [no motorhomes, nothing].  After intersecting

117 62 became the “Twentynine Palms Highway” and somewhere beyond that

I stopped to stretch beside a canal, then

went

west

until, dropping in to the Morongo Basin around Wonder Valley [Lee Saloutos photos],

the crystal-gazing environs of 29 [saw no] Palms and Joshua Tree began to manifest themselves in earnest. I continued on, with a gas stop and a text from Bryan saying that in Scottsdale they

were just heading out for brunch, while here in the west the architecture ranged from travel trailers, singlewides, shacks and concrete block enclosures in various states of undress to designer homes, some of which looked to be inspired by one or another of Ed Ruscha’s “Twentysix Gasoline Stations” [the one with a lap pool right up against the highway very like his “Phillips 66, Flagstaff, Arizona” although not quite as imaginative] all jammed onto little half acre plots which gradually spread out to be strewn across the alluvium…local businesses included but were not limited to the Glass Outhouse Gallery, High Desert Thai Massage, Rhythm of Life,

Desert Insulation, Untamed Yoga, Etter Auto, etc… Beyond Flamingo Heights 247 turned into Old Woman Springs Road through Lucerne Valley, made a right in Lucerne proper to become the Barstow Road where finally, on an unnamed pass after the St. Joseph Monastery, I pulled off

for remnants from the ice chest, buzzed but looking a little early for an overnight in Barstow so

once through there continued on the formerly two-laned 58 across the desert, circled Mojave,

climbed over Tehachapi Pass down to 223, Arvin, then

zigzagged through Big Ag at the lower end of the San Joaquin to eventually intersect the

Maricopa Highway and wash up in Maricopa at Motel 8 around 4:30, nine+ hours from the Scottsdale Rodeway and just in time to make it to Tina’s, the only restaurant in town, before

her six o’clock Sunday closing time, good as Gema’s, but different.

An early night in Maricopa made for an early departure, somewhat dampened in that the Maricopa Highway proved to be major thoroughfare for an endless stream of slow moving semis but fortunately I only had to go 9.5 miles uphill  to Soda Lake Road, then north

into the Carrizo Plains National Monument, singularly unpopulated on a November Monday

and a place about which I’d long been curious…

One curious thing immediately evident was the ubiquity of sheet metal and pipe used in the

construction of the [now disused?] corrals and fencing, perhaps a function of the valley’s proximity to the considerable and historical oilfields just over the hills to the east.

Further in the “Traver Ranch”, home now only to bats, about which aside from said bats I

couldn’t find much out [note information kiosk, but the internet was really not much better. Well, the Santa Margarita Historical Society has some good stuff, though it mostly deals with the northern end of the plains and doesn’t mention any Travers at all], left me wondering what ultimately persuaded all those dryland farmers and ranchers to clear out…but onwards;

flat light, flat lake [Soda Lake] and old-timey roads led north, eventually exiting the minimalism

of the Monument into country [un]settled in ways that made yesterday’s desert seedinesses seem pretty together – a sort of abandoned vehicle/abandoned California methlab aesthetic

prevailing – until after that scatter came Highway 58 with larger more viable holdings; ranches, fences, gates, few opportunities to pull over and a road through fabulous hills way too fun

for driving to bother with photography anyway which led on to vineyards, wineries, tasting rooms and eventual affluence on the descent to Paso Robles, through which I passed without sighting a single likely breakfast place so substituted the first rest stop upstream of San Miguel

[actually downstream, the Salinas River running north] to raid the ice chest before returning to the highway with Camp Roberts on the west, oil wells to the east, Nacimiento, vineyards in fall coloration giving way to industrial agriculture by San Ardo, the ag continuing past San Lucas,

King City [where after crossing the river the mountain to the east that looked to my young self in the fifties like a racecar from the forties still does], Greenfield, Soledad – missions and

prisons – Gonzales to Salinas, home of Deadend Worldwide; I pressed on, turned at Hollister to pee despite it now being a four lane freeway and then, the possibility of Lunch in Benicia

looming, bombed up through Gilroy, Morgan Hill, San Jose, Milpitas, Dublin, Pleasanton and after a brief delay watching Highway Patrol officers deal with some sort of Mysterious Mess

before Martinez that closed down two lanes of 680 still made it over the bridge and back,

after six months away, to Benicia’s downtown for a mid-November outdoor lunch of Lucca’s caesar salad, extra anchovies and, not shown, their ahi tacos.

Ok; time to settle in…somehow.

*It was a WWll desert training center from there to Twentynine Palms and all the way back to Bouse [rhymes with ‘mouse’]…quite an expanse.