Oasis North of Barstow

Total mileage for the entire trip: 6,115 miles. Time for an oil change and a car wash.

The final leg home, from St. George Utah to Los Angeles, took me a little by surprise and simply points to my ignorance of geography in this region. The drive through the Virgin River Gorge is one of the more dramatic I've taken and while I am still not terribly moved by the browns, beiges, tans, and ecrus that make up this Arizona-California desert, its remoteness struck me as otherworldly. I was pining for a little of the remoteness I experienced traveling through Missouri, Nebraska, Kansas and Wyoming when I unwillingly became part of a speeding caravan of cars headed toward LA--sort of like being absorbed into the bunny hop even when you don't want to dance. You really have no choice but to keep a constant eye out for the weavers and the right-passers. After an hour of driving in California, I did indeed conclude California has the worst drivers. Driving on various interstates this summer, I've come to appreciate the language and rules of two-lane driving. The basics are easy: left lane is for passing, right lane is for traveling. And you signal when you change lanes. Californians, I think, take pride in being able to shun, defy, loop around these basic courtesies. Needless to say, I found the traffic and the weaving all a little irritating and disheartening. I was charmed, however, by a billboard I spotted about an hour north of Barstow. Now, mind you, I don't recall EVER getting off the highway solely because of a billboard and this one was not particularly funny or cute or clever. It simply stated "Peggy Sue's 50's Diner." This appeared three times, the last one promising it was just 5 minutes ahead. I-15, Ghost Town Road exit. There it is, a twilight zone kinda place complete with diner food (decent hamburgers), a pizza parlor, a soda fountain (great shakes), and the mother of all kitschy memorabilia shops--all somehow 50s related. Sitting at the counter waiting patiently for my burger and slaw, I started taking note of the signs on the walls: "if you're mean, irritable, or just plain grouchy, a $10 charge will be added to your check." And one of my favorites: "All children unattended and running around loose will be picked up and stowed at owner's expense." This place certainly isn't Ole's, but it is a welcome bit of amusement in the heat of the Calfornia desert. Enjoying my coffee ice cream shake as I headed toward Victorville, Apple Valley and the junction for the 210 made it a little easier to accept that space, sky, grass, trees, and summer rain were all behind me. Five weeks of maps, signs, gas prices, mileage counts, museums, new cities, jazz, scrabble, books, mountains, prairies, and interesting folks were done. And three miles before my exit off the 101? A traffic jam, naturally, throwing me into second gear and beginning to erase the memory of 85 mph on the interstate.