road trips – Page 6 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

Day Trip to The Slabs

It is five am and I have been awake for awhile now, who knows why. We have been traveling for the last few days, choosing to follow the coastal route through California north from the desert. We have taken our time, ambling north at a rate of about 250 miles per day, taking advantage of Military Family Camps and Passport America to park for the night in reasonable comfort. As usual, when I can’t sleep, I thought perhaps I could write about something with a bit more depth than I am inclined to write later in the day when real life is closer than my dreams.

For many days now, I have been thinking about what to write about Slab City, otherwise known as the Slabs. It is easy to post the photos, to write about the physical reality of the place. Many folks on the road in this part of California have done just that. The physical reality of the Slabs is simple. It is located in a wide open part of the desert east of the town of Niland that has little to offer except simply space. On a section of state land that once held the Camp Dunlap Marine Training Center, there is now a free boondocking oasis for RV’rs of all kinds.

At first glance, entering the area is somewhat shocking, depending on your point of view. Folks who come here seeking refuge because they know about the culture will feel welcomed and safe. Mid America types of RVrs in their big rigs coming here for the first time might be overwhelmed by the apparent lack of any sense of beauty or order. Boondocking types who seek wide open empty spaces might think the place is much too populated. Boondocking types who love the Quartzite atmosphere of daily social gatherings of like minded folks will love it.

We had no plans to boondock in the Slabs, but I wanted to see it. Occasionally I read about folks coming here with their thoughts and experiences, but my view of Slab City has been forever altered by the writing of just one man. Randy, of the Mobile Kodgers, let me see this place with completely different eyes than I would have ever seen on my one afternoon drive-through. Randy’s blog isn’t your everyday blog of the typical RVing full-timer. Much like Debra in Bisbee, Randy says things that might make some people a bit uncomfortable, but he tells stories like few people are willing.

Instead of simply gawking, Randy makes the effort to dig in deep and get to know a place and the people who inhabit it. I think it is because of Randy’s blog that I have been unable to actually write about Slab City, knowing that I can’t come close to expressing what Randy has found and the stories behind the trash and the once homeless lost people who have chosen to live there. If you have an opinion of the Slabs and haven’t read Randy’s blog, check it out and learn something. I surely did.

After a bit of a disappointing drive around the Salton Sea, we saw a sign for Niland and Salvation Mountain. Mo had no idea what awaited us, but I told her that we needed to go there and see it in person. We took the gravel road east and in a short time the multicolored painted mountain appeared. Salvation Mountain is a story of it’s own, again Randy has written about the artist in depth, in ways you might not find on websites telling the story of this amazing piece of crazy folk art.

I cannot even come close to writing about Leonard Knight the way that Randy has. Here is his story about the creator of Salvation Mountain. It was with awe and respect for all the different people in the world that I walked through the nearly psychedelic interior of the hill. We walked past great piles of paint buckets donated by every major paint company in America into one man’s vision of the message of God’s Love.

Deep inside we found four young folks and their dog, taking photos, and they asked me to get a shot of the four of them. They were friendly, open kids, who had driven from Tucson to spend New Year’s Eve at Slab City. They looked at me when I asked why they were here with surprise, as if I should know that the New Year’s Eve party at the Slabs was something not to be missed. While one young woman casually rolled a joint, they told me that Slab City was a dummied down version of Burning Man, only it lasted all year long.

There are no police here, and rules of any kind are conspicuously absent, an important feature to folks who choose to come here and stay. Dogs run freely, rigs range from huge Class A’s to ancient trucks covered with folk art. There is a library and an internet café, tucked away in old buses or tin shacks behind cape verde trees. There is trash everywhere, and much of the trash has been converted to art.

In the midst of the dusty dirt roads, we suddenly realized that an airplane was landing in front of us, and like the other trucks driving around, we pulled over to the side of the road to let it land. The pilot of the small plane taxied up to his big Phaeton, greeting some fellow campers. No rules.

I am pretty sure that Mo and I will not ever choose to boondock here. Our vision of boondocking is more on the level of wide open and silent, like the area behind the Alabama Hills in California, or the Top of the World Highway in Alaska. We have parked in Quartzite, but not during the high season, and our idea of fun socializing is more often one couple at a time rather than big gatherings of happy hour get togethers. Still, I am so glad I got to see this place, had the chance to walk inside Salvation Mountain rather than just look at photos, had the chance to watch a little plane land on the dirt road, and to see the myriad types of shelters that so many people call home.

I am glad there is a place like this in the world for those who choose to be there.

Day Tripping in the Desert

The sunshine has been a welcome gift here in the desert. The days have been in the 80’s, but I have never felt uncomfortably warm. Long lazy afternoons are spent relaxing in our lounge chairs in the shade of the MoHo with a book or some knitting and sporadic conversation now and then. Our plans for this day were simple. We wanted to go on a nice hike early enough to avoid the mid day heat. The Gabby Hayes trail was Paulette’s favorite so we decided to give it a try.

The route to Palm Desert is familiar to us now, and once again we trundled off west on Dillon Road to turn south to cross the interstate to the more populated side of the Coachella Valley. The City of Palm Desert has an extensive trail system, and the Gabby Hayes trail is one section that is dog friendly.

The trail was marked well at the beginning, but not so clearly on the trail, so I was glad that I paid attention to the general route since the several forks are not marked and lead into areas where dogs aren’t allowed. We hoped for a three mile hike but I don’t think that the loop we did was quite that far, maybe two miles or so. It was a nice trail, however, with view of the valley below and a well worn path with comfortable switchbacks.

By the time we reached the Engstrom Point shelter, Abby was ready for the cool bubbling water just at perfect doggie height. Sitting in the shade of the palapa we enjoyed the view of the city below us. There are a LOT of palm trees in Palm Desert, and they are not the native palms at all. We could see a road leading south into the mountains, and our friendly local, also sitting in the shade, told us it was Highway 74. Ding! Both of us suddenly remembered that the Pines to Palms Scenic Byway was on our list of things to do when we were here last year; a plan that was completely thwarted by the heavy rains and snows in the mountains that closed the road.

There was no such problem this year, and in minutes we were traveling south to the infamously curvy, steep road. I didn’t bring any maps, but we had the phone, and the garmin was tucked away under the seat from the last local outing. I was really glad that we weren’t trying to go up that road in the MoHo! It was seriously steep and narrow, breathtaking views of the Coachella Valley below and even on a Wednesday morning, the traffic was fairly heavy.

We really had no idea where the road led, except I thought I remembered something about Idyllwild. Sure enough, we went right through the tiny mountain town. As a kid in the 50’s I would come to church camp at Idyllwild and as we passed through town I saw the old sign for Idyllwild Pines Camp and Mo pulled in.

There were the old bunkhouses, and the main hall where we ate meals and did crafts. I think I was ten the first time I camped here. It seemed so exotic and remote, so wild and mountainous to me then. Actually, where I live now in Rocky Point is much more wild and remote. 56 years ago, though, I had no clue what life was going to bring my way, I just knew I wanted to get out of LA, somehow, anyhow, I knew that even at ten years old.

Our route led us in a big circle, and we stopped at the overlook toward the south and west to see San Diego in the distance and then marveled at the south facing cliffs of Mt San Jacinto, the same beautiful mountain that we see from our spot in Desert Hot Springs. The ride down the hill toward Banning was also breathtaking, with a drop of a few thousand feet in just a few miles and some more narrow, winding highway.

We reached the Palm Springs exit in late afternoon, hungry of course since the trip was unplanned, and decided it was time to try out Rick’s recommended Palm Springs Deli, Sherman’s. The sun was still hot and we couldn’t leave Abby in the car so I planned to pick up something to go. Instead, the patio on the shady side of the restaurant was dog friendly, and we settled in to a nice table with a great view. Of course, the view wasn’t of mountains or valleys, but of local colorful folks having a late lunch/early supper right along with us. Palm Springs is definitely a great place for watching people.

Sherman’s was delightful as well, with New York style pastrami and corned beef, but I only had the free pickles and a small scoop of potato salad so I could try one of the mile high cakes. The desserts at this place are huge, and the carrot cake was quite delicious, although I think there was more frosting than cake! I will say I took home a berry cobbler for breakfast that was a pretty big disappointment, so don’t expect all those desserts to be as good as they look. However, the pickles are the best I ever ate, bar none, so don’t miss them.

Back on the road crossing the valley, we tried a different route. Somehow, for reasons known to no one, the overpasses of I-10 have been under construction for a very long time. Last year when we were here, it took forever to get back and forth between the two sides of the valley. We attributed it to the weather. This year, all the main roads across the highway are STILL under construction. Ah well. We aren’t in any hurry to get anywhere at all.

That’s how it goes in the desert sometimes. Start off on a morning walk and who knows where you might end up.

East to the Desert

In spite of the fact that we could have continued traveling south along 101, we decided to take the quickest route to the desert. From our overnight at Camp Roberts we turned east at Paso Robles toward the dreaded Interstate 5. For the first time, the central coast was thick with dirty air, something I had never seen in this area, and as we continued east toward the Great Valley, the pollution got worse.

Highway 46 was busy with traffic, and a surprising number of RV’s were headed west. The landscape was dramatic in it’s lack of drama. The annual grasses of the California grassland zone were shades of tan and gray, with nothing to punctuate the hills except a few cattle here and there. With the brown tinge to the air, it made the grasslands all the more drab.

Ugly is relative, however, and when we reached the Lost Hills area just west of the I-5 onramp, we saw landscapes that were impressive in their ugliness. The alkali flats west of Bakersfield would be bad enough without man’s intervention, but the forest of oil wells made it breathtakingly ugly. I felt a bit guilty complaining about the ugliness while I rolled through it in an RV sucking gasoline. How to reconcile that disconnect? I haven’t a clue. I hate what oil does to our country, the wars fought over it, the landscapes destroyed by it, but I love my RV and the freedom to travel. Hypocritical as heck, but I probably won’t stop traveling!

Once on the five, the pavement again deteriorated while the air pollution got worse as we approached the Grapevine. I reminisced with Mo about the days back in the 50’s when my family would leave Duarte at 2 am to drive the Grapevine when it was truly a grapevine of curves and steep hills, traveling north on Highway 99 for our annual camping trip to Yosemite. Good memories! I also remember driving the “new” Grapevine in my Volkswagen bus as a brand new driver scared to death and surrounded on all sides by semis. It was the same today, semis on all sides.

We took a quick exit off the highway for signs claiming “fresh sweet oranges” and the small family farm store and petting zoo. The Murray Farm had 20 varieties of citrus, all from their own groves, and the navels were just in. The owner said that they were six weeks late this year. There was a cooler with samples for all varieties including Meyer lemons and a very strange looking fruit called Buddha’s Hand, actually citron. I had no clue that the stuff in fruit cakes came from something that was this strange. I settled for a six buck bag of incredibly sweet navel oranges and we were again on our way.

As we climbed the grade, the smog began to thin a bit, and we were spared the worst of it by turning east on Highway 138, a direct road to the desert and the town of Lancaster. I lived in Lancaster in the 60’s, for just a few months, and for the life of me I couldn’t find a single thing that looked familiar. This sleepy town that once was barely 50,000 has now exploded to a strip mall metropolis of more than 150,000 people.

We thought about boondocking somewhere, but the landscape was broken up by private “ranchette’s”, and we didn’t have a BLM map with us. I pulled up the AllStays web site and began searching for campgrounds. There are surprisingly few places to camp in this area, but we found a state park due east about 17 miles from town and decided that 18 bucks for a dry campsite would be a close second to camping for free somewhere in the desert, and probably safer.

It was a great choice. Saddleback Butte State Park campground was completely empty except for a camp host. The park had shelters for the picnic tables, fire pits, water available, and even a dump station. We chose a spot near the northern part of the park, farthest from the camp host ( whom we never saw) and settled in.

An evening walk before sunset was perfectly quiet and we found beautiful Joshua Trees bigger than any we have seen. The park is a haven for desert wildlife, including the desert tortoise, various snakes and rodents, coyotes and even mountain lions. As night fell, the silence was perfect, the skies dark with a new moon, and the stars were brilliant. I brought some soup from home that made a perfectly simple supper and we settled into to complete darkness and silence for our first night in the desert.

For the rest of the photos, including several shots of the Saddleback Butte campground, click here.

Why we do it

This:

Is why we do

This:

Oregon is beautiful, even in winter, but sometimes the desert calls and we just have to make the journey south to find that unknown “something” that is tucked away in desert landscapes. The trouble with this plan is that the deserts that are warm enough for winter camping require the long journey south through California.

I have stories to write, thoughts to put down, but tonight I am worn and the writing will come later. In the mean time, I am listening to the desert silence east of Lancaster where we are the only campers in a park containing 44 spaces. I need to go outside in the deep darkness and check the night skies, I need to listen for coyotes. Several hundred miles behind us now and we are slowing down, stopping to breathe and listen and be still. The desert does that.

The Coastal Route 101

There are two major routes available to travelers attempting to traverse the length of California. I-5 is a straight shot from Oregon all the way south, fast, and unless you are skilled at paying attention to fine details, incredibly boring. Highway 101 on the other hand, is gorgeous, a winding road that narrows to two lanes fairly often, and skirts the edge of the Pacific at least part of the way.

When we left Trinidad in the morning, the skies were clear and the predicted rain nowhere in sight. We caught the early morning light gilding the waves and meandered through coastal forests intermingled with dunes, beaches, and hills shrouded in intermittent fog. It was my turn to drive, and with light traffic and beautiful scenery, I exclaimed over and over again, “I’m so glad we aren’t driving down the five again!”

The stretch I drove (hence no photos) all the way from Trinidad, through Eureka into Willits was paradise, and then things started to shift. The traffic got heavier, the drivers more aggressive, and we realized that we were no longer in heaven, we were in “the Bay Area”. Stopping on the side of the road near San Rafael, we switched drivers. Having lived south of San Francisco in Monterra for 25 years, bay area roads are familiar territory for Mo. She negotiated the lanes and the cars over the Golden Gate Bridge while I shot photos from crazy angles and navigated our route with a combination of the iPhone, the NUVI GPS, and the internet. Yes….the internet.

A week or so before we left, I decided to purchase a nifty little gadget called MiFi from Verizon. Last fall Laurie and Odel had theirs with them when visiting Rocky Point and it worked just fine. For a long time, high speed internet was an impossible dream out there in the forest, but lately a new tower has given us the delights of cell phone service. We still don’t have cable TV and my only option other than dial-up for the internet so far is HughesNet satellite, an expensive and fairly cumbersome system. Amazingly, the MiFi works great and I can actually do my work with it. And! it travels!! Yes!!

So far, it travels quite well and I have been having all sorts of fun doing internet stuff on the computer while Mo drives down the road. As we passed through San Francisco, I spent a bit of time searching out places to get cheap gas, found a restaurant to get some supper, and did some internet searches of possible boondock locations for Wednesday night in the desert. Thanks to Laurie for testing the Rocky Point Verizon bars, and to Randy for sending me a great email detailing how well the MiFi has worked for him while on the road.

For some reason, when planning the trip with Streets and Trips, I decided that we could make it to San Miguel in a day. I don’t remember seeing that it was nearly 500 miles, only that we could stay at the Camp Roberts Military Family Camp for ten bucks with full hookups. As the day progressed, we thought a few times about stopping earlier, but once we hit the bay area there really wasn’t a reasonable stopping point.

Mo did great, much better than I can do driving in the dark, and we pulled into the camp around 8pm. Now describing what it is like to drive into Camp Roberts in the dark is almost impossible. It is about two miles from the gate to the campground, and there is no light at all, and the road meanders around a portion of the camp that has been abandoned. Once we arrived, our reserved site was waiting, and setting up went smoothly, even with the tiny flashlight. No TV, and of course no internet, except I am now armed with Verizon and I had five bars of rip roaring speed. Amazing!

There are 22 sites in this camp, and there are absolutely no frills, but who cares?! I think we have paid ten bucks just to dump, much less camp. The highway runs parallel to the campground and is a bit noisy, but on a mid week dark night this time of year it wasn’t much of a problem. I read a scary post recently from Janna and Mike where someone attempted to hijack their toad while they were sleeping in the rig! Sure made me appreciate a reasonably safe place to park! We slept great and woke up early to 27 degrees showing on the thermometer and before the sun was all the way up it had dropped to 24. That is F, not C by the way. UhOh. Even though our little electric heater kept us cozy for the night, the outside water hose was frozen solid.

We still had plenty of water in the fresh tank and within a short time the sun brought the temperatures up dramatically. Mo thawed out the hose with the hair dryer, we cooked a good breakfast, and took our time getting back on the road since the day ahead was to be a short one.

San Miguel and Camp Roberts are just a few miles north of Paso Robles and our route east toward I-5 on highway 46. It was a fine stop for one night, but I surely wouldn’t want to actually camp there for any length of time. As we left the camp, I took photos of the abandoned buildings, and only in the distance did we see some nice buildings in good repair that were still in use. Mo did training at this camp back in the 80’s when she was in the Army Reserve, but she didn’t recognize much of what was left.