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April 1, 2006
Car Culture – Southern California and the desert
Two things brought me to the desert; someplace I’d ordinarily never go. The first was FlyerTalk’s GLBT Traveler’s forum. Much of what I’ve learned about miles and points I learned at Flyertalk. The GLBT group has sponsored get-togethers – “Gaylas” before; I went to one in Philadelphia in September ’04. Joe has organized three gatherings in Palm Springs so far; I met him in NYC around the holidays in ‘04 when he came up to NYC, along with another FT’er we all went to the Trocks together.
Joe asked me to come this year, but what clinched it was when my friend Grace told me she would be there at the same time. That, along with a JetBlue sale, was a sign from above. Flights directly into Palm Springs cost at least $150 more; I could have earned miles on another carrier but JetBlue’s direct flight to Ontario, 70 miles from Palm Springs, and redeye service meant I was getting the most vacation for my money. The ticket was bought, hotel arrangements were made and off I went Thursday night.
JetBlue’s flights are perfectly fine and uneventful, but on four flights so far (roundtrips to Oakland and Ontario, CA) I haven’t been on one with less than a full load. Assume you will have no room to spread out. The JFK terminal has free wireless, which is appreciated. The ONT terminal does not have check-in kiosks, so try and check in online if you have access to a printer. One more tip, the JFK terminal has two security checkpoints, one obvious one close to the escalator to the second floor and a second one across the terminal - walk across the floor past the snack shops and newsstands. That one has a shorter line.
JetBlue flight 89 left JFK at 8:30 EDT and arrived about 11:30 pm PDT at ONT. It was 2:30 am in my body, time to get to bed. I had made arrangements to stay at the Marriott at the airport instead of trying to drive to Palm Springs. The hotel, a perfectly decent Marriott with large rooms and a very large health club, went for $40 on Priceline.
Wired hi-speed access is another $10.
National Car Rental had no compact cars when I arrived, so I was given a choice between a mid sized sedan or a Chevrolet Monte Carlo for the same cost. The Monte Carlo looked comparatively swoopy so I opted for style over practicality. Perhaps not the best choice.
Car culture is alien to me. I’ve walked to work almost every day since 1985. With a few exceptions, I walked to work in Boise and in Lexington, Kentucky when I danced there. It freaked the dancers out at Ballet Pacifica, because I walked the 20 minute walk to the studio in Irvine even in the intense sun and with sidewalks that stopped randomly. I drive when I see Mom, but that’s about it. I was careful to check for a few things when picking up the car but somehow I manage to treat a car like software – I’ll learn features on a need-to-know basis.
This is a bad idea.
On the way out of the parking lot I hear inexplicable clicking and dialing. “Hi, this is Michelle. What is the emergency?”
I asked the only logical question. “Who are you and why are you talking to me?”
“Did you just adjust your mirror?”
I thought about denying it, but I admitted it. I had accidentally tripped the dickety-doo phone in alarm. Off I headed to the freeway interchange.
I was a few miles down I-10 when I wanted to switch lanes. I duly signaled, checked traffic in my mirror, turned my head and realized my view to the back was almost completely blocked by the headrest. Frantic beatings behind my head to slam the damned thing down had no effect. I had pretty much made up my mind to stay in the same lane for the next 70 miles to Palm Springs when there was a rest station and I cautiously made my way to it, resolving to figure out how the damned car worked. It took about three minutes to figure out the headrest and how to move the seat forward – I kept looking for a manual lever and it was an electrical control under the seat. The rest of the drive was mercifully uneventful. I did remind myself not to get over-confident that I was getting the hang of driving.
The Comfort Suites in Cathedral City looked to me like something out of David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive, older, dark and yellowed, but with a certain cheery sinisterness. Calling the room a suite was a bit grandiose a description. It was a simple bedroom with a queen bed and a kitchenette that took up too much room.
Grace arrived in Palm Springs almost at the same time that I did – we met at the hotel and I gave her a few gifts – a box in the shape of a cat and a hand knit shawl, to be described on the next entry. To her bemusement, she found that not only was I determined to go hiking in the desert, I was monomaniacally obsessed with the idea.
When I visited Grace in San Diego two years ago, she sheepishly asked if I might want to hike in the desert with her one day. “I’d never do it otherwise. Take me!” We hiked to a palm canyon in Anza Borrego and I found it fascinating; now I associate her with outdoor adventures. I would have liked to go to Joshua Tree National Park; but that is more of a drive from Palm Springs than it seems. Checking on Tripadvisor, I found the Indian Canyons that are right on the edge of town and they seemed to be exactly the thing.
We chose Palm Canyon, Grace joking that I just wanted to do the exact same thing again. Before heading down we stopped at the trading post for a snack and were both pleasantly surprised at the fair prices. A good turkey sandwich was $2.50; Grace looked at contemporary Indian pottery that was about $25 for a small piece.
Looking out over the canyon, I was surprised at the color of it; not brown or sandy, but a pale, sage green from the scrubby bushes covering the hills.
My cell phone rang.
“Mom?”
“Guess what I had for lunch!”
“Mom, I’m not where you think I am. . .”
Mom was calling to brag that she had eaten the yu choy from our last shopping adventure. I explained that I was not looking out my office window, but looking out over the desert. She was a bit surprised. The miracles of cell phone technology.
We hiked the first mile of a 15 mile trail. It was delightful. Besides stands of palms with magnificent dried-leaf skirts that in some cases looked suspiciously manicured.
There seemed to be a national lizard convention in the canyon. It was filled with the little fellows darting out from rocks and crevices and sunning themselves. For an easterner, the most interesting thing is that “The Living Desert” is no misnomer. The place was filled with life, though probably 100 yards from the stream bed is a completely different ecosystem. We saw one jackrabbit, but the most common mammal on view were ground squirrels. They look like a mangy and sandy version of an eastern gray squirrel.
We sat on a log in the shade after a mile where the trail forked. I had drunk the better part of a quart of water but was surprised that I wasn’t uncomfortable from the heat; I usually don’t take it well. It was in the 90s, but so dry that the sweat evaporated quickly. Weirdly, snow was covering the high distant peaks.
There were a few forks in the trail. Two led up a hill and into the sun; the third said “Palm Canyon Trail”. The last thing we needed to do was go up a hill and into the sun, so we chose the canyon trail. We crossed a stream bed and followed it, then went about 200 yards and . . .
Up another hill and into the baking sun. We probably went another 300 yards navigating a crevasse before we realized it was more of the same for what we could see, had enough and turned around.
Back at the trading post, an information stand was lined with hummingbird feeders and the hummingbirds were buzzing about. There were at least ten of them, at one time there were four at one feeder. I tried to get a picture of one hovering but a digital camera just doesn’t move fast enough.
The most interesting wildlife spotting came as we were driving out. Sunning itself in the road was a good sized rattlesnake. As we drove by it coiled itself. I was quite glad to view it from the safety of a car.
The canyons are at the end of South Palm Canyon Drive; Moorten Botanical Garden is at the intersection with East Palm Canyon Drive. The gardens are about four acres of exhibits and nursery of the most serendipitous collection of succulent plants. Huge agaves, tiny cacti and everything in between. The garden is private, so everything about it had a homemade kitschy feel that fit in with the David Lynch vibe of the day. The Cactarium was a Quonset hut filled with cacti spilling out of their pots, some even suspended and growing down from the bottom of the pot. If only some of them had been carnivorous. The nursery sold several varieties cacti including a few only a mother could love with swollen green bulbs and a few wispy flowers. A tiny little plant in a two inch pot was poking a few water-swollen leaves out from gravel. “It’s about seven years old. It’s a very slow grower” the attendant explained sheepishly.
After dinner, (passable Mexican at the Blue Coyote Grill, but I’ve had so much better in San Diego and San Francisco – the company was better than the food) I said good bye to Grace and headed to meet Joe and gang at The Villa. Flyertalk gatherings seem to involve a cocktail party on Friday, dinner on Saturday and brunch on Sunday. Joe was fussing good naturedly and everyone settled in to meet one another. It seemed about half the gathering was from Southern California and half from farther. I hadn’t traveled the farthest; Glenn had also come from the NYC area and Dale came from Portland, Maine. I don’t think anyone traveled internationally. I found Joe in his casita – the little cabins that make up The Villa. Though both The Villa and the Hotel Zoso were offering rates of $129/night (relatively low for Palm Springs) for our stay, I wanted to stick to budget and opted to save about $100 total by staying at the Comfort Suites. Next time, if I have it, I’ll spend the extra $100. The Villa was $50 a night nicer, bright and airy with a big rock placed mysteriously in the bathroom. I wanted to give Joe one of the hats I knitted as a thank you for all his effort. He picked the one I had just finished (and not yet photographed), a striped blue beanie. I didn’t drink at the party (I was paranoid the entire weekend being a bad enough driver sober) but I’m not much of a drinker anyway. I came back to the David Lynch Suites overtired enough that I had trouble getting to sleep, and finally passed out.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at April 1, 2006 11:31 PM
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Comments
I beg your pardon. Much as I love my shawl - and my cat puzzle-box! - I have to object on behalf of the California ground squirrel.
Just because you're used to fat gray squirrels with bushy tails, please don't malign the slimmer dun-coloured ground squirrel with its less hirsute tail. They're perfectly healthy and well-adapted for the Southern California desert climate, thank you very much.
The desert is indeed living, and although we were close to a water source, even further out it can be surprisingly busy. Coyotes roam even in the very arid areas; meanwhile, I was in Borrego Springs (the Anza-Borrego Desert that Leigh refers to), and flocks of little birds - too fast to get a good look at and compare to pictures in my bird book - were twittering and flitting about, along with kangaroo rats, snakes, and inevitable bug life (VERY LARGE stinkbugs, funny little rotund beetles of some sort, bees, ants, scorpions, and although I've never seen them in the wild, tarantulas, to name just a few). Kit fox are amazing things - tiny little foxes smaller than a small cat, but with ears the size of a jackrabbits. The occasional desultory raven flies past with its hollow caw.
There's definitely a lot going on out there; you just have to be patient and observant!
Posted by: Grace Judson at April 5, 2006 11:20 PM