Trona CA, and beyond

It only took a day or so before I was completely comfortable in the car. The first few hours were somewhat hairy but I was mostly on the motorway and they are so straight and long you can actually eat an entire snickers without looking once at the road. It got dark before I had even made it out of the rush hour traffic in LA but I battled on and got to the delicate town of Trona by 10pm. 

I stayed at the only motel in town, a grim but serviceable little place with two remotes but no TV, strangely. Coming into Trona at night was perfect. The town is a gain borax mine with a giant causeway carved salt lake at its heart. WIth a population of only a few hundred it's area is greatly increased by the insanity of the mines and refinery. Huge, shining, silver pipes large enough to house a lorry burst from the ground like the sand worms in Dune. The whole landscape is Tatooine-desolate and was actually used as the film set for sections of Planet of the Apes. 

Its beauty is breathtaking and driving over the mountains down into its salt-scarred valley on hat clear night actually had me telling myself outloud how wonderful it was. Parts of the plant run all night and their yellow hazard lights bounce off the rest of the refinery, as the heat does during the day, to make for a glowing piece of manga dumped in a wasteland. 

I ate the next day at the Desert Rose cafe where I ended up staying a couple of hours (popping out occasionally to put more quarters in the washer/dryer up the road) chatting to the owner and the young girl who worked there about living in such a place. She was a real go-getter, the proprietor, having hooked up the only internet access in town and invested in a smoothie maker. They made me a strawberry smoothie to pass the time and served me orange juice in a glass cracked the whole way down. When she told me that the Chinese actually secretly owned 80% of the USA and that the town was better off before the police, when townspeople metered out their own justice, I decided it was time to take my leave and go on the desolate road to death valley. 

I'm not going to say much about the drive north because the silence and the desolation are indescribable. Suffice to say I was completely taken aback by how incredible and endless it all was. If there was ever a road to insanity, it probably runs mostly through death valley.

I likewise don't have the words to describe coming over the mountains and into Sequoia national park but if you have ever driven in the alps imagine a scaled down version with (for me anyway) no cars at all. Luckily, actually as it turned out, since at one stage I flew all over the road on some black ice and very nearly sailed off the mountain. Eep.

A good chunk of my journey was freeway about which I have nothing interesting to say. *shrug*.

There was some significantly interesting countryside between Sequoia and the coast and about half way along I left the freeway to drive about 20 miles through orange groves. The road was not much more than a dirt track and I was only a few feet from the oranges all the time which was pretty ace. Thats all there really is to say about that which is a shame because it was actually a really wonderful half hour.

Santa Cruz with its sealions and pelicans was next, but I mentioned that already, and the Winchester Mystery House which I visited after I will allow to remain a mystery. Go and see it - its a thousand times more impactful than Graceland despite being devoid  of furniture. 

Oh actually I will say one more thing about Santa Cruz : I got there just in time to see the last Monarch leave Natural Bridges park. I wanted to see them all there but actually, this was far more romantic and I'm glad. I was also thrilled to find a small plastic deer in the sand as I left the beaches. I'm not sure why.

Silicon Valley was my last day 'on the road' and after a pretty comfortable night watching 'Gavin and Stacey' (who knew that was so good?) in a business hotel in Cupertino it was time for San Francisco. Or, 'home'. 

Mesa City, CA

(Cattle brands in Mesa City, through the ages)

LA, CA

LA was a bit brief to really get to grips with the city. Mostly I wandered and wrote but I had time to see Krys (some of you may remember him as Foxy Cotton) at his place of work "The Pleasure Chest" and Akbar - the silverdale bar that has distressingly little do with Star Wars. Curses.

It was beautifully warm and I did a lot of walking which reminded me how much I enjoy a wander. Where I was staying was mostly residential and all felt like a fancier souped up version of the house John Conner lived in in T2. Fewer cyborgs though. Mores the pity.

On my last day I got the car on Hollywood blvd and drove my first few terrifying miles… I actually had to have someone in the rental place show me how to operate the vehicle since it was an automatic and it turns out you have to be pushing the footbrake to put them 'in gear'. My left foot was punching at a non-existence clutch the whole damn time too and it was not until the following day that natural breaking spasm vanished. Its like driving a gokart. A giant, hefty, lethal gokart. 

Having grabbed the thing I went to pick up Krys from his cute little house and we headed down to Venice beach to get swarmed by seagulls and run about on the rocks.

A couple of times Krys had to remind me to move onto the right hand side of the road but otherwise it was a fairly safe journey, I thought. When I parked the car the attendant offered me the full day for just $5 which may well have been him doing his civic duty by keeping me off the roads as long as possible… or it may have been a slow day.

There was even wildlife on the beach. A handful of confused stoners were manhandling a giant starfish and poking sand dollars. The rocks themselves seemed to have been dedicated to a particular life guard and who knows if he is buried under them but it would be a pretty idyllic site to rot, even with the hippies. Don't bury me there though, I have other (better) ideas.

I ate some ropey beach food the highlight of which was its purchase; having paid my money I was given a one inch square disk with 'Chicken' written on it. Oh how I wished it was space food and swallowing the disk would have given me the experiment of a whole roasted bird, but no. The token was to be swapped for the real food when it was cooked. Curses.

Santa Cruz, CA

How am I ever going to unwind?

I can feel calm all around me. I am ten storeys up on a hotel balcony above the beach in Santa Cruz. Countless tonnes of salt-water melancholy stroke at the sand  in rolling sighs below me and were it not for the ten storeys between us I'd be hopping about in the foam. (Its lucky we have three dimensions).

I am trying to relax. I really am. I am warm, and drinking even hotter chocolate, but even here in this postcard of western calm my little brain still buzzes. Everything I have to think about whirrs at once and like the toddlers everyone hates, even when I put one to bed with an answer it's back five minutes later; 'but whhyyy?'

I don't know whhyyy. Just let me sleep.

Las Vegas, NV

Woah. Vegas was loud. Im about fifty miles away on a greyhound bus and my ears are still ringing. It was basically 4 days of facing lights and titties with the occasional clatter of falling quarters. 

I stayed in the Luxor, an egyptian themed hotel and casino which actually totally rocked. My room was in the pyramid itself which is one giant hollow building with the bedrooms located around the inner walls. I was on the 18th floor so not only could I look down into the insanity that was the casino but I could also have killed myself without even having to open any windows (which was lucky, since none of them actually opened).

(Luxor, exterior)

(View from outside my room door. The sloping walls with lights are actually the walkways to the rooms. This photo was taken from one of them)

The strip is pretty bananas. the scale is just so unreal. From the wonderfully mismatched but woefully inaccurate street scenes of 'New York New York' to the ill considered but breathtakingly huge medieval ramparts of 'Excalibur' (which, frankly, would offer little to no protection from determined invaders), the place is a crammed with architecture as cumbersome and gigantic as this sentence. I suppose the common analogy is of a 'disneyland for grownups', the implication being that 'adultifying' disney just takes stripping down tinkerbell and swapping her sparkles for shame and desperation, but to me it was more like legoland; nothing had any sense of permanence. The turrets and tassels are all fiberglass or at best moulded concrete. Everywhere you look paint peels and plastic perishes - it must be a constant battle to keep the place shining the way it does. Nothing is quite real so that undersized doors and windows or a sphinx shaped car park make up a town built from a particularly eclectic lego collection. A little from the indiana jones set, a little from the star wars set, even a touch of duplo at the 'Tropicana'. Even the performances give the impression that backstage there is a ritalin starved child swapping on a new hairdo and set of legs with each costume change. Its not real and it wont last, but thats not really the point maybe.

I had fun anyway. I won nearly $20 on the slot machines, I swapped shirts with an inebriated birthday girl, I balked at the decadence and then spent $100 on dinner for myself, and i witnessed what must be millions of flashing lights without having a seizure. Now i'm hurtling down the 15 through the desolation of the Mojave national reserve and even though i'm hardly an hours drive away I feel a million miles form vegas. 

Here are some slot machines some of you may enjoy. You know who you are...

Parthenon, Nashville, TN

Memphis, TN

Yeah its pretty bleak. It seems to have been hit really hard by this recession and whole streets are shut down completely, the only businesses left open the Taco Bel and KFC. Out where my hotel was there were two other derelict motels not a hundred yards away. I think this is very much a tourist town but noone seems to be here. Even Graceland was on the quiet side, just  a few ageing pensioners and a really bizarrely angry, angry middle aged man and his absurdly overdressed wife in a silver mini skirt and six inch heels.

Graceland was weird, actually. Its completely soulless, which seems off for the home of Elvis. The house itself is pretty amazing / mental but I got very little sense of the man. It doesn't feel like anyone has ever lived there despite 'all the fixtures and furniture being original'. Even his grave site is without a sense of awe. The jet was maybe my favourite bit. The 'Lisa Marie', the private jet he used to tour with. Amazingly, the seatbelt buckles are gold plated, as are the bathroom sinks. No, really.

I didn't really make it to 'mid town' which is the sort of arty by (rather than the musical / downtown bit) except at night to go to a famous drag bar, Crossroads. I believe mid town is a bit less adversely affected but I cant confirm. I can confirm, however, that the drag was horrendous. It was like Candle Bar drag for those of you who remember the Candle Bar (which is likely none of you, since I don't think anyone form Glasgow could possibly be reading this / aware of its existence) but it was a giggle all the same. Next to me sat an ancient Chinese man dressed like a Glasgow ned. Imagine a meth-ed up version of that crazy martial arts trainer in Kill Bill complete with long wispy moustache and straggly white hair, only this time it was peeking out from under a high set baseball cap. He didn't seem to speak any english but he was LOVING the drag show, jamming dollars into the sweaty fat palms of portly drag queens every time they waddled past.

Amongst the Celine and Dolly was a seriously cracked out, crystal-skinny, black queen. According to the MC, "that bitch could paint a face and snatch up some hair to heaven" and she was blatantly as high as her 'do; all leg kicks and gurning. I don't even remember what she did, but it was pretty 'outreach'…

I think my favourite moment was the hefty, aged Cher. This 'lady' was like seventy if she was a day, and a good 18 stone. She performed to a clubbed up version of 'walking in memphis' only it was more like 'shuffling back and forth on the stage lip-synching to all hell in memphis'. Bless her. Where the other queens clambered down off stage to come and collect their hard earned 1's she had to have them delivered by willing members of the audience. (Most willing was a mullet haired diesel dyke wearing her cell phone on a rotating belt holster *shudder*.)

Anyway, the highlight of the performance came as she completed her number. It was obviously fading out so in order to free up her hands for the finale this lovely lady tottered to the back of the stage and hurled her tips to the floor, half behind the curtain that led backstage. There was some arm waving as the music faded out and a heartfelt '…middle of the pouring rain' before she graciously retired from the stage. Mostly… As the applause subsided we could still see the hefty back end of this woman, now on all fours just behind the curtain, scrabbling around, grabbing at her thrown dollars trying to scratch them up before being trampled under the man-heels of the next creature out. Amazing.

Memphis, TN

I'm in the lobby of my hotel in Memphis waiting for a taxi. its pretty quiet, so the sweet but dumb lady manning reception is watching a movie. Unfortunately, its some kind of horrific creature feature and the faded marble reception is bouncing with the terrifying screams of women and children as they are mauled and torn by some kind of vicious monster. It's a little unnerving. "noo! my dog! save my dog! my dog! Nooo! aaaarheeek!"

I am trying to busy myself with a magazine while I wait but for some reason the table in the lobby is also furnished with back issues of 'Diabetes Forecast'.

So first impressions... Memphis seems a little bleak… To be fair I am here completely off-season so that might explain some of it. There are a whole lot of closed/shut down/empty shop fronts in down town though. I did spot a fair amount of 'Opening hours : 4pm - Midnite' so it should maybe hot up a little as the sun goes down but right now, its a ghost town. Pretty though, especially by the river.

I did manage to find the only restaurant with customers though : Huey's. Its kind of rockin'. Soundtrack includes Cyndi Lauper, Nena, Marvine Gaye, Meatloaf, and The Vapors. Ace.

I'm...

Reading 'Latina' magazine in my hotel lobby waiting for a cab. I can
tell you the '25 books every Latina should read'. Aaaiight.

VroomVroomWoof

The greyhound bus is not necessarily the nightmare they make it out to be. sure its cold, and noisy, and draughty, but on my trip from Birmingham AL to Memphis TN we had a kind of 'in flight entertainment'. The large black lady who was driving the thing was handicapped by the broken PA system. Handicapped, but not inhibited. Every hour or so she would bellow something unintelligible (to me) in a thick southern accent hacked up with a smokers laugh. If anyone happened to be on their phones or listening to headphones at the time she would somehow spot this in her rear view mirror and holler abuse at them till they were listening full scale to her instructions / observations / announcements. talk about value; i didn't have to pay a penny extra for that.

Cannontastic, Columbus, GA

Monkey with banana, Columbus, GA

Sputnik bar, Columbus, GA

From outside the bar looked like someone's forgotten garage. Plonked in the middle of a derelict lot, serving as a car park, the windowless prefab looks like it could date from anywhere between 1950 and 1970. It was once blue, maybe even electric blue, but now just a ghost of colour clings to a handful of planks like a watercolour wash. Once blazing, now fading, on the front wall the word 'Sputnik' flickers and stutters in reds and yellows, its neon glory muffled by grease and dust. It looks closed, abandoned even, but following Brandi inside I realise that is probably just the 'pace of the south'.

Inside the air is flavoured with cigarette smoke and sweat. We are the only people in there but for the ancient barman sat watching Oprah behind the bar. Maybe 70 years old he is Tim Burton does hillbilly, all sharp chinned and gummy in a lumberjack shirt and jeans. He creaks to his feet as we wander over his only greeting a slight widening of the eyes that says 'what can I get you'. Brandi orders a PBR without Irony and I nod along to fit in. Marky throws a spanner in the works asking 'what beers do you have?'

The old man looks to be caught off guard for a moment, blinking slowly but saying nothing. He shuffles over to the cooler and peers inside.

"PBR, Bud, Bud Light…"

His voice trials off. We all wait expectantly… but thats it. Before the silence gets too awkward Marky orders a Bud Light and our two cans and a bottle are parked on the bar. A confused conversation about starting a tab ensues but its mostly between Brandi and Marky despite its intended recipient who answers only "That'll be $6.75" waiting for the cash. I press a $10 bill into his arthritic hand and my companions shuffle over to the jukebox. While our new friend makes up my change take a peek at the bar.

The floors are unfinished chipboard and it looks unlikely they ever will be finished since there is already maybe 20 years of footprints ground in there. The walls are clad in tongue and groove but mostly they are clad with shelves; shelves laden with an endless array of trophies. Hundreds of tiny golden men brandish pool cues in triumph atop pedestals and plinths or carved into shields and plates. Every award bears the same name but a different year or county, and every one of them is 'first prize'. Whoever this guy was I am guessing his sporting success might be something to do with this bar - the only furniture in here other than the bar, the juke box, and a few bar stools are the 5 pool tables dominating the bar room.

Passing back my change brings more confusion. Marky has left $3 on the bar for service and I have to explain to the old gent that they are meant for him. He reluctantly jams them in the tip jar with a shrug and a mutter and tries to make conversation. Unfortunately, we are separated almost entirely by the thickness of his accent and the foreignness of mine. I foolishly try to explain that I am Scottish, but most recently from London. He is confused for a moment but recognising the word London launches into a story about his nephew who used to live in Kent. The exchange is slow and ugly - both of us screwing up our faces in concentration to try and follow the other and I suddenly catch a glimpse of my twilight years. Excusing myself, I decide I might make morse sense over by the jukebox…

The jukebox is ace. Super ace. The next couple of hours are all Credence Clearwater Revival, Tammy Wynette, The Doors, and Hank Williams. Every few songs or so our friend behind the bar will make an approving noise and claw a dollar out of his tip jar and make a single request, offering us the other two plays if we make the long trek to the box for him. The smoking is chained, the PBR flows, and we strike up a game of pool, much to the amusement of the old geezer who watches intently and giggles at our incompetence. He warms to our awkwardness buying us a round of drinks and refusing any more tips. This is so much what I expected of the south. I feel like I am in a Chuck Norris movie. Not Chuck himself, but one of the random patrons at one of the random bars he will probably start a fight in. It's bizarrely familiar and uncomfortably foreign at the same time.

Once we are good and buzzed we decided it might be time to eat some lunch and Brandi has to go and pick up her son from school so we shake hands with the old guy and make our exit. Marky is creeped out by the clawlike grip - a product of the arthritis - but despite the run in with 'his strong hand, child' we are pretty sure he and his bar are the best thing ever. If you get to Columbus you have to go here.