Into The Valley

Landed in L.A., drove some, ate properly, established that I have no inherent skill at guitar hero, didn't lose any sleep over it, in fact slept log-like, awoke feeling trunk-headed for an hour or so, drove to the desert, drove past some outlet stores - accidently spent $250 on clothes I don't need but would have been foolish to not buy - drove again, ended up here.






***k me! What a place.

I've only ever seen places like this in Westerns or that bit at the end of Thelma and Louise. Above is the view from Keyes Point (although it looks like that place in Morocco in Babel, doesn't it? Where the kids were shooting their rifle from). Looking down on Indio (and therefore the Coachella site somewhere--hmmm, maybe the rifle shooting thing would have been a good idea). Breathtaking. I love that in America you can drive up to the top of the mountains near LA. In England a) the land doesn't really go this high--not often & b) if it did the only way up would be on foot, grumbling all the bloody way.

The view was breathtaking.

In the Joshua Tree National Park (below) I felt like I was in a theme park - I didn't really think it would look so much like it did on TV. Sad, isn't it? ( I remember my ex-nephew once, upon being shown a photo of the castle in Spain that was the model for the Disney Castle, complaining that the Disney castle look more realistic). There was hardly anyone around and the space was amazing. I felt very alone. But it wasn't spooky, as much as it was calm. I wanted to camp out there.

We visited the rock where Gram Parsons was semi-cremated by his friend. I don't know that I'd do that for my friends. Apart from the fact that it's a long drive there's a $15 charge to get into the park these days. If I'm taking you there for a good secret cremating it's not as though you'd be able to pay the $15 back later, is it? So if we are close, don't be expecting me to do a Gram Parsons on you when go (unless you leave me the money in an envelope or something. If you want to be left by the side of the freeway, which could be a romantic gesture, or cobbed brusquely into a canal, I'd definitely be up for that. Assuming you didn't want me to drive too far, not with the cost of petrol these days).

In the spot where the attempted burning took place there was, I'm told, once, a lot of graffiti. I was glad there wasn't any there really. If you've been to see Jim Morrisson's grave in Paris it's obvious why. All those tossers writing pointless garbage over all the surrounding graves and for what? For Jim Morrisson? No. For themselves. Who cares? No respect for the other families. Simpering wankers. And don't get me started on The Doors; the Lizard King, my todger!

The small pile of rocks in the picture below is about sixty feet high. The rocks and boulders in the valley look like they were dropped there in prehistoric times, which doesn't make any sense as everyone knows that dinosaurs only had little arms and would not have been able to move them. Some rocks' positions kind of defied comprehending.



The joshua trees went on for miles and miles. I felt for U2, poor buggers, trying to pick some good ones to stand next to. Each one had it's own charm; much like U2, one would imagine.



We drove back into LA without hitting any traffic. That was a first and, I suspect, a last.