A Day When “Nowheres” Prevailed Over the “Usual Somewheres”

*Somewhere in “nowhere” with Travis. Digital.*

The meal looked like something out of a cartoon: a massive stack of pancakes drowning in butter and syrup, sided with comically large strips of bacon and several scoops of scrambled eggs. The Peppermill exuded Vegas stereotypes—a diner that required waitresses to serve in short skirts among a sea of neon and tabletops embedded with glitter. Two days of wandering around in the heat and several rounds of drinks the night before had taken their toll. I’d love to say that the day’s hangover was caused by a wild night, some crazy adventure filled with debauchery that had propelled us up and down The Strip, but the truth is that we had spent the evening sipping beer in the corner of a mostly empty casino bar. Between our yawns: idle conversation that had centered around the robots cleaning the gambling pits on Sunday nights.

I was already drifting back to sleep about five minutes into a day’s worth of driving towards Phoenix. The exhaustion couldn’t tamper my enthusiasm, though, I was far more excited about this particular day than I had been about the sights of Vegas. The rented Nissan struggled for speed while being weighed down by the two of us, our camera gear, and a stockpile of water. Occasionally, I’d snap out of the hypnosis, my head lifting as my ears popped with the changing altitudes or as Travis pointed out something cool along the way.

*Seven Magic Mountains. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

Our first stop was Seven Magic Mountains—an art installation that’s really wonderful even if it seems to serve mostly as a backdrop for Instagram influencers rather than a piece of remote and beautiful public art.

Along Interstate 15, Travis turned the car onto an exit and towards a pair of decaying signs still standing tall above the desert. From a distance, the advertisements reading “LO-GAS” and “EAT” might be enough to trick some travelers, but if you’re at all familiar with artwork from this area of the Mojave Desert—you probably know what this is.

The combination gas station/diner sheltering the corpse of a recreation vehicle below the signs was long abandoned. Sand had been blowing through through the structure’s empty windows for years. This deserted spot had been well traveled not just by photographers, but artists as well. The buildings were covered in graffiti and work from artists such as Shepherd Fairey and LABRAT. Still, the remains served as an enduring example of a specific time in American roadside culture—when a sign simply stating “EAT” wasn’t just a nostalgic novelty, but a way of a making a living and providing essentials along a lonely stretch of highway.

In Baker, California, we were in search of tourist traps. While we avoided the World’s Tallest Thermometer, we did make a point to stop at Alien Fresh Jerky. A parking lot lined with extra terrestrial-themed lamps connected the gift shop, ice cream stand, and under construction UFO Hotel. We loaded up on supplies of dried meat named in honor of various government conspiracies and browsed a selection of hot sauces and candy before touring some of the area’s other landmarks.

*Alien Fresh Jerky. Olympus Stylus 170 + Kodak Gold 200.*

An abandoned Burger King turned abandoned “CHINESE FAST FOOD” restaurant sat off the main drag in the shadow of the interstate and the towering Bun Boy sign.

*Bun Boy sign near Interstate 15. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

Down the road a ways: the crumbling remains of Arne’s Royal Hawaiian Motel.

Baker may bill itself as the “Gateway to Area 51,” but it was also once one of the gateways to the Mojave Phone Booth. I didn’t realize it at the time, because I hadn’t finished reading the book, but we were just a few miles away from where the booth once stood. Years ago, it had been hauled off and removed at the vengeful behest of the National Park Service. The story of the booth, often credited as the internet’s very first viral phenomenon, had long been a favorite of mine. After returning from this trip, I finally finished reading the wonderful Adventures with the Mojave Phone Booth by Godfrey “Doc” Daniels. Doc knew the booth best and his story/perspective are both incredible and moving. The book also features a few mentions of Baker and some of the landmarks Travis and I had stopped to photograph.

“...we spent the night in Baker...in a run-down motel that as of this writing remains my fourth-worst motel experience ever. At the time, though, it was the worst. Happily, nothing is left of Arne’s Royal Hawaiian Motel but an abandoned shell.”
- Doc Daniels from Adventures with the Mojave Phone Booth (2018), Chapter 3, Footnote 8.

“Before Baker had a giant thermometer, it was mostly known for the restaurant next to the thermometer. Bun Boy was a place for travelers to eat meals, buy Bun Boy souvenirs, and speculate on why anyone would name a restaurant Bun Boy.”
- Doc Daniels from Adventures with the Mojave Phone Booth (2018), Chapter 5.

In addition to the story of a remote phone booth and a few anecdotes about Baker, Doc also offers up some great insight regarding traveling through the desert.

“Many drivers regard this long stretch [Interstate 15] of sublime and subtly changing desert views in much the same way they regard the lands they dismiss as ‘flyover country’ (an expression I think says more about those who use it than about any territory it purports to describe)...To such people, places in between L.A. and Vegas are nowheres that just happen to lie in between somewheres. Although I freely use phrases such as ‘middle of nowhere,’ it’s not with derisive intent. Most nowheres interest me more than the usual somewheres.”
- Doc Daniels from Adventures with the Mojave Phone Booth (2018), Chapter 3.

As we departed Baker, we were headed straight into a long stretch of “subtly changing desert views,” as well as, the locale that I had put at the top of my list for this whole trip.

*Travis. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*Yermo, CA. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*Eddie World Gas Station. Yermo, CA. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

The heat and our speed picked up as the mental fog of the morning started to lift from me. For years, I had wanted to make it to this next waypoint and I always assumed I never would. When the opportunity arose to get here, I knew exactly how it would fit into my own personal story. My hands shaking from excitement as I loaded another roll of Kodak, we finally pulled up to the abandoned Rock-A-Hoola Water Park:

But, I’m going to save this story for another post, because it deserves its own.
EDIT: That story is now published here.

After that, we settled in for a few hours of uninterrupted driving. For years, I had traversed the Midwestern US via highways with designations such as 71, 70, 275, 75, 64, and 55. They all looked the exact same in the dark, but also held monotonous similarities in the day: endless miles of asphalt broken up only by the same chain restaurant dominated exits. The desert was different. It was warm. It felt welcoming.

*Somewhere in California. Olympus Stylus 170 + Kodak Gold 200.*

It was repetitive, yes, but it was fascinating. The same hues of brown, yellow, and green flew by outside the windows but when you stopped to focus on one object and follow it for as long as you could—the details of the landscape were amazing, perhaps only because I was unfamiliar. As the late afternoon began to slowly fade away into a dark blue sky, I described the approaching evening light in my notebook as: “gonna be gorgeous.”

*Licerne Valley, CA. Olympus Stylus 170 + Kodak Gold 200.*

Somewhere in the Lucerne Valley we stopped to photograph a car dressed up as a military tank. The cafe it advertised wasn’t open, but their anti-Governor Newsome stance (due to California’s pandemic restrictions) was on full display via hand painted signs as conservative talk radio blared from the nearby patio. After rocking about in the gusts of a windmill farm, I requested a stop to check our maps and indulge in a cigarette.

*Rt. 62 near Palm Springs, CA. Olympus Stylus 170 + Kodak Gold 200.*

Something in the air didn’t smell right. What we inhaled had the aura of a campfire and as we made it to Pioneertown, we learned about the severity of this year’s California wildfires. A battalion of San Berandino County firefighters were mustering, preparing to set off in a battle against the blazes that were currently ravaging the the Golden State. We nodded at them and went off to tour the nearby Pioneertown.

*Pioneertown, CA. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Gold 200.*

Designed to resemble the “old west,” this unincorporated community of the state’s high desert had originally been envisioned as motion picture set—a town of saloons and general stores that could be of service to western films and television shows. The place still occasionally fills in for commercial work, but its main thoroughfare is also open to the public, offering up several themed tourist attractions. Instead of gunslingers and sheriffs on horseback, though, the only souls we encountered were four people rolling around on a golf cart sipping beer.