Primm to Palms

Nevada faces some serious problems. Not a gambler, Andy said, "I'll be willing to bet that if I come back to Primm in ten years, one of the three huge casinos will be out of business."
On last night's news, a reporter interviewed a state legislator who criticized the new governor's plan to cut millions from state aid to education and state funding of higher education. "What kind of logic is that governor using?" asked Andy. "Nevada has the worst graduation rate of any state in the nation. How can a state diversify from gaming, mining and ranching by not educating its young people?"
Primm is just about the only place we have stayed that shows no evidence of conservation. The shower blasts unlimited scalding hot water, lights blaze all night, and hotel rooms neglect posting conserve towels and bed linens signs. Ecological awareness and preservation seem non-issues here. Again, education would help.
We followed Kelso-Cima Road and Kellbaker Road south into California: some stretches, oiled in the past few years; other areas, bone-jarring rocky base surfaces. On both sides of us, huge expanses of cinder cones crawled north of Interstate #40, like giant caterpillars weaving their way between threads of limestone uplifts.
"I understand why the Tea Party appeals to some people here," said Andy. "The main issue is no taxation."
For years the proceeds from casinos have paid the bills of government, and dams provided cheap water and electricity. Now that they suddenly have to pay up on all three fronts, they balk. Maybe I would too, but coming from the East, where we have paid all along, I've been raised with a different mentality.
House after house on the road into Twenty-Nine Palms was abandoned. "Utter desolation," said Andy. Shacks were boarded, trailers stood empty, doors were removed, and insides lay cluttered with debris. "I wonder who owns them now," said Andy.
We passed a Marine convoy--jeeps, labeled student driver.
Andy reminisced. "The one thing I remember about Twenty-Nine Palms was years ago when I went into a general store and a 16-ounce can of Coors was cheaper than a 12-ounce can of Coke. I've never seen that anywhere else."
The big deal now seemed to be haircuts. Best Marine cut in town read one sign. Best rate for Marine cut, said another. Barber Judi. Marine cuts here. At least seven places on one road into town offered marine haircuts; another six advertised tattoos. Guess I'll pass. Andy's still thinking about it--the haircut, that is.
A beautiful but steep and difficult trail, three miles round trip, showed us how Twenty-Nine Palms got its name. Buried behind three canyons deep in the desert, nestled in a creek bed, we found a grove of way more than 29 healthy palm trees. This was 49 Palms Oasis. In this parched land, the creek water flowed at least a foot deep from a spring. Temperatures reached higher than 80 degrees, and shirt-sleeve hiking gave us both a real workout for two hours. Andy went first, watching for snakes in the rocky terrain, but we only noticed a few small lizards.

Snakes hibernate, I know, but 80 degrees in mid-December could wake them up. I'm not gambling on it.

"Maybe I'll wear shorts tomorrow," said Andy, as we sorted clothes for the laundromat. "No, it's desert. That just wouldn't be safe, no matter what the season."

He thinks like I do.