After that it was dodging huge trucks, musing over what life must be like in towns like Earlimart, discussing why California's aquaduct isn't covered, admiring signs and windmills and beautiful clouds. Wildlife sightings limited to sparrows, one quick lizard, and one oh-my-God-was-that-a-dead-porcupine?
Wound up our evening in a Motel 6 in Mojave. Me, to desk clerk: "Is there, like, a downtown area where we could walk?" Clerk: "Nope." Me, hopefully: "I mean, the area where there are shops and restaurants and stuff?" Clerk: "Nope." I googled it. He was right.
So we settled on a stroll around the neighborhood. The Christian neighborhood. The crazy-ass Armageddon Hellfire Christian Signs of the Apocalypse neighborhood. It's a district. John thinks it's one guy who's just incredibly generous with his signage, but I am enjoying thinking that the desert attracts extremists, and if Mojave has no downtown maybe it does have a Tinfoil Hat district, and a Contrail Court, and so on.
This was one of the nicer signs - with a prayer bench!
So I interpret this to say that if you're proud, God will give
you an opossum.
Opossums or grace; hard choice.
Can I have one of each?
So that was our day. John's watching sports and I'm blogging and the very busy freight railroad our room is RIGHT NEXT TO will preclude conversation, so I'm gonna dig out my paperback and turn in early.
Oh - I almost forgot the highlight of the day: my daughter's send-off text, received when we were an hour or two down the road.
So - you know what that means. We're going to have
to find at least one titty bar.
Did I raise these kids?
