The Salt of the Earth -2

i let my mind wander, and occasionally i would flicker back onto the highway. long rolling hills of vast nothingness beyond nothing. driving bore similarities to being in a relationship, at first everything was fresh and fast, all racing towards you, but as your body gets comfortable, you lose your focus, you forget where it was exactly you had to be and eventually realize you're about 30miles west of your original destination. time was wasted, you had an exciting adventure, caught up in the moments as your brain and body became numb, and one day you wake up to realize you shouldn't be here, and those turnoffs you passed up, were never thought of until now. alone, out of gas, and with nothing to keep you company but the dead fish rotting on the seashore. deserving of all it.

i was on a two lane blacktop 20miles west of Bombay Beach near the Salton Sea, a road with only trucks oncoming and large, overstuffed, family SUV's barreling down on me from Palm Springs. i began to realize the summation of life was out here, amongst the hot black asphalt and white dash marks that account for every tenth of a mile. this is where the musicians, painters, writers, cons, thieves, bums and everything in between was forged. impossible to write with guts until you experience the vastness outside of your door. i was beginning to understand. i was beginning to think. beginning to ask questions. lots of them. the answers laid in desolate palms and in the rust colored water, in the road hungry, wide eyed, starry faced kid with optimistic smile and with the pessimistic, cynical old man crying as he sits in his own feces. it was all there for the taking, i wasn't sure how to lay my hands on it, but it felt important to find out just exactly what was going on out here and who was in charge of the whole fucking show. that is IF anyone was in charge at all?

i pulled off at my exit and rolled to the end of town nearest the water. there was a chain across the drive onto the sand with a "road closed" sign blowing in the wind connected to it. the chain was so covered with rust that as i pulled my car up to it in order to nudge up against the chain, it let itself go onto the floor, as if the gods allowed me access. i was beyond police jurisdiction at this point.

many people would interpret this small ghost town, speckled with trailers and golf carts somewhat depressing. and in actuality, it is very depressing, but also enraging. here is what man did to this beautiful desert. improper planning caused a flood, the flood puddled at the lowest point in the desert, then known as the Salton Flats. the "greed heads" saw an opportunity to make money, and began buying up plots of land and selling at inflated rates, building yacht clubs and a playground for rich fuckers smoking good cigars and snapping their suspenders.  The people in charge had dollar signs in their eyes and were not thinking about ways to sustain the accidental man made lake. they built and built, racked in the cash hand over fist, but didn't see what was going on. the runoff water from the farms brought with it all the chemicals, and then the salt level began to rise in the lake, fish died, geese ate the fish, then they died from Botulism, everything died, and the people in charge didn't seem to care. as another flood overtook whoever was still left and then people really  began to move. i looked out over what was once inhabitable and saw phone poles out in what used to be a structure, now covered in water. man is a brutal beast.

i stepped out off of the wood planks and into the soft sand. my shoes began to sink and before i knew it i was up to my ankles in soft salty slush. i stood back on the wood. the water wasn't green. it wasn't blue. it was grey and looked very dense, as if at any time i could step out onto the water and it would be a solid surface. the wind was blowing up strong and it carried the smell of mold in the air. this was the place where people came to die. there was no life here, everything that touched the water ended up rusted or dead. this was the lake of hell, saturated with guilt and greed. i felt sympathy for it, but by appreciating this place for what it is, understanding it, commiserating with it, i felt bonded with it the same way people bond to each other. i was content. i was alone. as all the douche bags headed out to Lake Tahoe to cheat on their girlfriends and drink "lots of fucking beer bro". i was glad they would never come here, never ruining this small memory for me. i could fully engage myself here, as others only saw ways to distract themselves.

sitting out on the hood of my car which was parked atop the sea wall, the town was spread out before me. no gas stations, no grocery stores or malls. one small bar, which at this time was closed was the only structure made from brick and mortar. i saw a bit further up the road some kids tearing ass in a late 60's Chevrolet truck over the small dirt hills and roads. suddenly the truck hit the ditch and almost flipped onto it's roof, the front of it dug into the dirt and out stumbled 3 Mexicans. i decided to start heading out, but thought of stopping in first to check and make sure the guys with the truck were okay. this would lead to conversations and comradery that i could never find back at home.