White's Motel. (Thanks for that
helpful caption, Amy! You're
quite welcome.)
The White's standard poodle
sitting in the window.
Apparently, she was a bad
mother and they had to bring
a wet nurse in for her pups.
She just likes to sit in that
chair and watch the world go by.
Mojave is an interesting town. It is built in a strip along one set of railroad tracks while another set bisects town so there seems as if there is always a train coming or going and a long line of traffic being held up. This is a big route for trucks too. It's a big route for everyone headed somewhere.
The White family has been here since 1905. Roger White said that Mojave has always been involved in one mode of transportation or another-"from jack asses to space travel" I believe was how he put it. Mojave was the end of the line for the Borax mule teams and nowadays, the space shuttle lands right nearby.
We went to Denny's and ordered large salads and sat munching on them. Scott stopped eating and sat motionless, apparently deep in thought. I asked him to share what was on his mind, thinking perhaps to recapture a magical moment on the trail. He burst out, "I HATE red cabbage in my salad. Red cabbage is a cheap substitute for radicchio." I did not know this. I said, "Well maybe Wolfgang Puck just happens to be back in the kitchen and could whip you up a little plate of something." My little yuppie vagrant just sat there picking pieces of the offending vegetable out of his salad, murmuring to himself. He then returned to the motel and became engrossed in a Jean Claude Van Damme movie. My husband is a man riddled with inconsistencies.
Whenever we pull into town, Scott turns into a TV zombie, staring at shows he would never watch at home. White's Motel has a pretty good selection of channels. At the last motel in Cajon Pass, a sign proudly announced, "Free HBO in your room!" What it neglected to mention was that the only station available was HBO. This didn't stop Scott however. No matter how crummy the movie, he watched-complaining-but watching nonetheless.
Town stops are becoming weirder. Or, maybe I'm becoming weirder. (No, we don't need a show of hands) When we go into stores or restaurants I get anxious. Suddenly, there are so many choices, so many sounds, so much movement. I stand in the aisle in the supermarket and can't decide what sort of food to buy. I leap out of the way of shopping carts as if they are careening toward me instead of simply ambling along at normal speed. Sometimes I catch myself rubbing myself above my tailbone where my pack hits me forgetting that it doesn't look nice to others. People look at us, too, as if there is something not quite right about us (even when I'm not scratching my rear) You know how you can pick out Europeans even when they aren't speaking just from the way they stand? Well, that's how we are, even when we are all cleaned up and mostly normal looking.(or so I think)
Our most recent foray for food was to McDonalds where 5 busloads of children from a church youth group had beaten us there by about 10 minutes and the place was crawling with them charging around the dining room. I wanted to back against the wall and hold my head. They were heading to Las Vegas, which made Scott wonder why a church group was vacationing in "Sin City." Perhaps it was work-related. Well, we didn't ask and now we will never know for sure. (The bus driver came in and announced into the din in a voice only shades above a whisper "The Orange Grove bus is leaving" and then turned around and high tailed it for the bus. I think he was hoping to leave them all behind. I don't rightly blame the man.)
Tune in next time as we travel through the southern Sierras to Walker Pass and on to Kennedy Meadows.