Mojave, Mecca of the West

One last post from this year's camping trip.

By the way that's a baby deer standing behind our showering tent at the entrance to Grey's Meadow. He was so close I could practically feed him by hand. But there was no way I was going to share my breakfast of steak and eggs alongside 3 strips of thick applewood bacon. Mmmmm, meat.

If you ever find yourself on the way to Mammoth Lakes for some overpriced skiing. Or even further north to Tahoe for overpriced skiing and gambling, do yourself a favor and stop in Mojave.

It is a town like no other.

There are two seasons in Mojave.

Hot -- when the temperature never dips into the double digits.
Cold --when the residents stay inside and binge whatever it is they binge on.

Mojave is surreal.

And feels like it's straight out of a David Lynch movie. The main drag is Route 14, which is populated by cheap motels, thrift shops and fast food restaurants. There's even a sushi restaurant, though Mojave's location in the high desert makes that an iffy proposition at best.

It is on this occasion, our annual camping, that I permit myself one junk food indulgence at the Carl's Jr.

To the left of Route 14, there is a railroad track sporting long strains of railroad cars. No doubt hauling coal, radioactive waste and tons of child pornography, all the essentials to fuel the current Trump administration.

Beyond the tracks, there are acres and acres of skyscraper high windmill turbines. Thankfully, due to the high desert landscape, they are always turning and churning out power. Otherwise...

"Darling, the wind stopped, there'll be no television tonight."

But the real jewels of Mojave are on the right side of 14. The residential neighborhood bounded by K Street.

Here, wedged between the highway and the airplane graveyard euphemistically called the Mojave Air & Space Port, you will find the most interesting home decorations. Namely wood carved billboards of all shapes and sizes, quoting scripture. Or someone's interpretation of scripture.

We slow-rolled down K street and could not spot one house that was unadorned. As a Jew and an atheist -- no contradiction there -- I find it incredibly fascinating, you know in a smugly elitist way.

At the corner of K Street and Inyo, we hit the jackpot.

I will leave these here with no further editorialization.