If we can’t use the Mojave Desert, then what the hell good is it? —Arnold Schwarzenegger, Yale Climate Conference
In the good old days, when folks headed for Las Vegas, they stopped off at the Mojave desert oases of Barstow, or Baker. Crossroads to Death Valley, and half-way to Hell, someone once said. These two towns were the last major watering holes on Interstate 15 (once called the old Arrowhead Trail, and/or the Mojave Barstow Highway—depending on where you were coming from, or going to). Barstow is also the fabled half-way mark from Los Angeles to Las Vegas.
Once it was a long haul across the fabled Mojave Desert, where fuel and water were non-existant, and it was always a long way to the next big watering hole, Las Vegas (which means the meadows). Not only is Barstow an important crossroads, it's the Southern Pacific train hub for the region.
Farther up the Highway 15 grade from Barstow, you pass Zzyzx Road, cross the dry soda lakebed at Baker, head up another steep grade to Halloran Springs, then onto Valley Wells, and finally the ghost town of Cima and then Mountain Pass. Most of these places were once historic mining claim settlements—little more than wet spots along the way with interesting mom & pop curio shops. But that's what makes the Mojave so interesting. Who stores visits to corporate franchises in their memory banks?
Way back when, cars regularly overheated, people would sit a spell, and sip on a coke or iced tea and maybe chew on the weather while waiting for the coolness of evening before driving on. Travel was a more leisurely affair. Like William Least Heat Moon, I favor those blue highways. You're closer to the land, not being held prisoner on the conveyer belt of the interstate highway with its paucity of off-ramps.
I remember stopping off at Halloran Springs in the 1970s, and it cost the equivalent of $5 to use the toilet. There was once a gas pump in Halloran Springs too but prices were astronomical. The LoBall and Eat gas sign is an iconic desert rat's dream.
In those days, State Line (two words—not to be confused with Stateline, NV, at Lake Tahoe) was a cluster of trailers, and one rather iffy-gas pump with the cool red floaty balls leaping inside the glass tube on the face of the gas pump. Primm didn't yet exist. Business was so bad in the 1920s, that "Whiskey Pete" MacIntyre gave up pumping gas and turned to pumping bootleg. In the 1950s-70s, State Line was a gas station, with a tow truck, a large monkey wrench, and a formica lunch counter with slot machines.
If you broke down near State Line, you could get your car fixed, gamble and suck down a cold one at the same time. Some gamblers considered that wide spot in the road a little slice of heaven. Las Vegas was 40 more miles down the road.
Then in the 1980s, cars became more efficient, they had air conditioning. They could travel 350 or more miles on a tank of gas. It put State Line right out of business.
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| At the Bun Boy restaurant in in Baker, home of the world's tallest thermometer (134 feet)—commemorating the hottest day in Death Valley, the hottest place on earth. On July 10, 1913, at Furnace Creek, the thermometer reached 134°, the hottest day ever recorded. We very nearly beat that world record this year—it was 135.5° on July 1 at Badwater, but that didn't count—as it's not an official weather official station which recorded a mere 129 or 130°, depending on the tilt of your head. —Mo Hurley photo |
Once it was a long haul across the fabled Mojave Desert, where fuel and water were non-existant, and it was always a long way to the next big watering hole, Las Vegas (which means the meadows). Not only is Barstow an important crossroads, it's the Southern Pacific train hub for the region.
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| Barstow, on Historic Route 66, often called the Mother Road. Most of the diners and motels (a Route 66 invention) are gone, replaced by Mcdonalds and Marriotts. —Mo Hurley photo |
Farther up the Highway 15 grade from Barstow, you pass Zzyzx Road, cross the dry soda lakebed at Baker, head up another steep grade to Halloran Springs, then onto Valley Wells, and finally the ghost town of Cima and then Mountain Pass. Most of these places were once historic mining claim settlements—little more than wet spots along the way with interesting mom & pop curio shops. But that's what makes the Mojave so interesting. Who stores visits to corporate franchises in their memory banks?
Way back when, cars regularly overheated, people would sit a spell, and sip on a coke or iced tea and maybe chew on the weather while waiting for the coolness of evening before driving on. Travel was a more leisurely affair. Like William Least Heat Moon, I favor those blue highways. You're closer to the land, not being held prisoner on the conveyer belt of the interstate highway with its paucity of off-ramps.
I remember stopping off at Halloran Springs in the 1970s, and it cost the equivalent of $5 to use the toilet. There was once a gas pump in Halloran Springs too but prices were astronomical. The LoBall and Eat gas sign is an iconic desert rat's dream.
In those days, State Line (two words—not to be confused with Stateline, NV, at Lake Tahoe) was a cluster of trailers, and one rather iffy-gas pump with the cool red floaty balls leaping inside the glass tube on the face of the gas pump. Primm didn't yet exist. Business was so bad in the 1920s, that "Whiskey Pete" MacIntyre gave up pumping gas and turned to pumping bootleg. In the 1950s-70s, State Line was a gas station, with a tow truck, a large monkey wrench, and a formica lunch counter with slot machines.
If you broke down near State Line, you could get your car fixed, gamble and suck down a cold one at the same time. Some gamblers considered that wide spot in the road a little slice of heaven. Las Vegas was 40 more miles down the road.
Then in the 1980s, cars became more efficient, they had air conditioning. They could travel 350 or more miles on a tank of gas. It put State Line right out of business.
