Things went through my mind as I drove from Parker, AZ to Joshua Tree. "Gee, this road is lonely... A lot of empty desert... Glad I'm not here in summer... Not a good place to break down in any season... But everything is fine, according to the gauges... I should make it just fine... Right?..."
What I wasn't thinking was, "I expect there to be some curious expressions of humanity out here." But I should have been.
I didn't stop to take photos on my way to Joshua Tree because I was suffering a case of my father's got-to-get-there disease. But I made a point of it on the way back.
At the junction of highway 62 and Iron Mountain Pump Station Road.
At the base of the direction totem. Why? Don't know.
Where the highway parallels a railroad track, and where the grade of the track is a few feet higher than the desert plane, people have used stones to leave their names and messages. Rock-ffiti, if you will. It goes on for miles, until the road and track diverge.
I had pulled over to take pictures when
a CHP officer stopped to check if I was okay.
Then there's the ruins of an abandoned gas station and who knows what else. Standard graffiti rules the day here.
And junk.
And shoes.
SHOES!
Some left by egotistical grannies from Hemet...
Some left by drag queens.
Freedom, indeed.
Honest art.
ReplyDeleteI felt inspired:
ReplyDeleteBill said to Al, “Let’s go for a ride.”
Al said, “Man, I got nothing to hide.”
Bill said, “True.” Al said, “So?”
Bill said, “Let’s get in your van and go.
The desert’s calling, so let’s just dive on through.
We’ll find a fence to hang a shoe out on highway sixty-two.