Bike Odyssey 2014 – Day 20 (June 5) – Palmy days approaching

110 degrees in Death Valley (Arizona warnings describe it as atypical and ‘dangerous and excessive heat’): not my idea of fun on 2 wheels, but Joe liked it better than I did, and praised the desert landscape. A bit lunar for my liking. And just too damn hot. Entering California brought a surprising checkpoint built in the manner of old-style European customs buildings, subjecting all travelers to inspection & meant to establish how much everyone wants to get into California or more probably smuggle illegals into California. Either way it was an introduction to what real Amurricans see as the Californian sense of entitlement (like the New York City sense) and why they dislike both coasts.

Added to this the charmless cunning of obliging drivers to cover surprising distances without a filling station and then charging $5 a gallon when one is provided. At the filling station, a friendly fellow called Jim Fitzsimmons, Sales District Leader for Frito-Lay North America, asked me to witness his bid to achieve some kind of award (unrelated to Frito-Lay) by riding 1000 miles in 24 hours, plus a bigger award for another 500 miles in the following 12 hours. He wanted me to sign his verification chart. I did. ‘Jim, you really need a verification,’ I suggested, ‘from a mental health professional.’ ‘Beg your pardon?’ ‘You need to have your head examined.’

Arriving in Barstow looked as if it might be the appropriate climax to the day: certainly a candidate for ugliest small city / large town on the planet. Heat still rising as the afternoon goes on; no campsite (try camping at 100 degrees). Ryan, the young manager at the Budget Inn, is no Barstow enthusiast: ‘shitty town’ was the nicest thing he said about Barstow – which is like a ghastly re-run, at once lurid and decaying, of every down-at-heel American town, moribund franchises like an outbreak of hives in building form. Ryan can’t wait to get out. He’s 21, working 8 hours a day for $2.50 an hour. Why’s he even still here? Michael, night manager at the Knight’s Inn in Kingman has just signed up to join the Navy for 5 years, with 80 grand in college help as a lure: America’s way of recruiting young Americans to the patriotic military-corporate mind. But who could resist? Why would anyone resist? A life of Kingman, or Barstow, versus see-the-world and college for (all but) free.

We, gilded travelers, LOVE the Budget Inn. It has a pool! Cold, wonderful, sparkling water, right on Main Street, the stinking gas-fumes-belching road, main artery of Barstow’s eczematic Franchise World. We don’t care. After Death Valley and the Mojave’s hell on wheels, we’re in paradise. As I write this, Joe is out shopping for steak (I bought & prepared breakfast and supper the last day or two, but now we need the real thing). The reality-series version of our trip: Travels With My Chef. Incredible how Joe can produce a gourmet meal with antique camping equipment. ‘It’s all in the chopping [of the vegetables],’ he says.